fiction: reaching my threshold, 2/3
( reaching my threshold -staring at the truth 'til i'm blind- 2/3 ) NC-17, 9592 words.
eventual Arthur/Cobb/Eames, established Arthur/Eames, Arthur/Cobb, Cobb/Eames.
warnings: dub-con, breath play, elements of bdsm, bottom!cobb
Cobb starts to feel the emptiness of his missing partner as he lives his life with his children. Strange enough though, that's the time when Arthur and Eames start to come back into his life.
Sorry this took long. Um. I said I was to update it soon after the first, but I lost my file awhile back- lets blame my little sister, right. So I had to rewrite and re-edit this from an old draft between final exams and final assessments.
[prev]
Cobb now spends his days going over the course curriculum, looking over the students' opinions on the class and adding his own touch here and there. He doesn’t start until the spring semester, but he’s nervous anyway.
It’s a Thursday morning and he’s writing week 6’s class presentation on American Colonial and Georgian architecture when his phone dances across the table’s surface. He picks it up without even looking at the screen. “Dominick Cobb speaking.”
“Or should it be Professor Cobb?” purrs Eames over the line and Cobb freezes before leaning back in his chair, gripping his pen tightly.
His eyes move to the corner of the desk where the ring is, sunlight reflecting off it.
“Mr Daniel Philippe Eames,” he greets, butterflies fluttering wildly in his stomach and he hears Eames huff loudly.
“Oh, so this is what I get for being a smashing reference? A cold greeting? I’m hurt, Nick, wounded.”
“You and Arthur need to do something besides meddle with my life,” says Cobb, putting down his pen, lips stretching into a small smile. “You’re starting to be very parental. It’s frightening.”
“We are! Well, at least, I am. Been around the Middle East, you know, stirring up trouble and such. I’m back in London now,” says Eames, the last line spoken more softly.
Cobb sits up straight, lips curving down. “It’s time, isn’t it?” he asks, feeling the butterflies burst into ashes that swirl in the pit of his stomach.
“You don’t need to-“
“I do, she’s my mother, Eames. Despite. Despite it all. Yeah, I’ll book for a week in London,” he drags his laptop close and pulls up an air flight site. “I can get Marie to come down, I guess, for the-”
“Just call Arthur,” says Eames, matter-of-factly. “Or Ariadne, Yusuf even. It’s called abusing friendship.”
Cobb blinks. Huh. But says, “I don’t know… Eames-”
“For fuck- Dominick, if you don’t call Arthur, I’ll call him myself. You know your kids love him, and that he’d be happy to look after them for the week.” Eames sounds so sure of himself that it makes Cobb’s curiosity pique. Do they actually care for him that much that they would just drop everything they do to please him?
He shakes the thought out of his head, and forces his mind to go back to the conversation. “How would you know?”
“Look, just book a flight for the 24th through to the 1st, sugar, and I’ll see you at the airport.”
Cobb doesn’t even argue against it, he just nods. When he remembers he’s on the phone, he chokes out, “Okay, yeah. I’ll call Arthur.”
“You do that. Now look, I’ve gotta get going but I’ll see you in nine days.”
-
Cobb books the flight straight after the call but holds off on contacting Arthur until three days later. He doesn’t want to admit, but he’s nervous about it, and he doesn’t really know why. The worst Arthur can do is reject him, say no, but Eames had sounded so sure on the line.
Making a decision, he sends a quick email to Eames, asking for Arthur’s most recent contact number.
Two hours later, a number and its usage period are in his inbox.
He toys with the idea of just calling Marie, but even that conversation would be painful.
By the time the night is coming to a close and the kids are in bed, he calls Arthur. Two rings are all it takes for Arthur to pick up.
“Hello?” He sounds worried.
“Arthur, hey,” says Cobb, pen doodling a high rise apartment on the corner of his paper.
“Are you alright?” asks Arthur, “Is something wrong?”
“No, hey, calm down, it’s alright. Nothing’s wrong. I just. My mother’s anniversary.”
“Oh,” breathes Arthur, voice small. “Yeah, Eames told me about her. I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” says Cobb, shaking his head even though Arthur won’t be able to see him, “but I was thinking of visiting her grave with Eames. She was like a mother to him, too.”
“And you want me to look after the kids,” construes Arthur, “I’d love to, Dom. You should know that.”
Cobb smiles then, realising that his fears about Arthur rejecting him was unwarranted, that he’s known all along that, whether he wants Cobb or not, Arthur has always loved his kids. “Yeah… yeah, I do.”
-
Cobb flies out, much to the horror of his wailing kids, shouting for him not to leave them again and it makes him feel ashamed and guilty. Arthur does his best to calm them, holding one in each arm.
Arthur looks hurt, seeing his kids like this and something clenches in Cobb’s chest.
“Go,” says Arthur and Cobb presses a kiss to his kids’ heads before leaving, and as he lifts from James’ head, Arthur leans in to brush his lips against Cobb’s cheek.
“Have a safe flight,” he says and Cobb’s cheeks burn as he makes his way toward his gate.
-
Eames greets him in London, the weather wet and dreary. He’s the only one holding an obnoxious bright blue umbrella and when Cobb looks at it, dismayed, he winks and says, “It brings out your eyes.”
Cobb catches the silver around his finger and suddenly becomes too aware of the weight in his pocket. He ducks his head in response and punches Eames in the shoulder.
“Shut up.”
-
The first day is awkward. It’s like Eames can sense the discomfort radiating off Cobb and now that Cobb thinks about it, Eames probably can. It comes with his job description after all.
They spend the day wallowing at opposite ends of the apartment, looking out cold windows and at grey skies.
-
The second day is better because Cobb gets so sick of the tension, the tip-toeing, that he breaks the ice.
Eames is high-tailing it at the sight of Cobb watching TV in the living room, when Cobb rushes after him, grabbing a hold of his wrist. He doesn’t say anything, just tugs and Eames follows him to the couch. Cobb shoves him down, against an arm, and curls by his side, content at the warmth he gives off.
-
The third day is when they go to visit his mother’s grave, the rain inescapable. Cobb tries to discreetly curl his fists into Eames’ coat. He thinks Eames knows and is thankful when he doesn’t say anything.
The grave itself isn’t anything fancy, bought with a small percentage of the money the house and everything in it sold for. After giving up everything, Cobb had flown to Paris to start a new life.
But seeing it again makes his vision blurry and his throat hurt. Cobb closes his eyes against the ache and steps out from under the umbrella and crouches close.
Eames doesn’t say anything but Cobb’s sure his own crying says everything.
-
The fourth day, Eames tries to keep him happy by taking him around to museums and art galleries.
It doesn’t help.
But the hot chocolate afterwards kinda does.
-
The fifth day, at night; Cobb tosses and turns in bed before he gets up and trudges to Eames’ room. The man is sleeping without a shirt on, tattoos prominent against his skin, thick curving black lines on his shoulder, and a city on the other. Cobb catches the letters d, o and m under the curve of his collarbone and flushes, remembering coming home from break to find a 17 year old Eames stained with art.
He comes closer until he’s crawling over Eames, fingers brushing over the tattoo. It’s a faded blue right now, in need of a touch up.
Eames stirs beneath him, hand catching his wrist in a tight hold, eyes snapping open. “Christ, Nick,” he breathes, letting go and looking up. “What’re you doing here?”
Cobb thinks about the excuses he can make, but the hand resting on Eames’ chest clenches into a fist and he leans his head beside it. Eames’ skin is warm against his, heartbeat a soft throb. “I can’t sleep,” he says, “it's cold.”
Eames doesn’t reply, instead he brushes his palms up Cobb’s arms, making his skin break out at the touch. Cobb shivers.
“It’s okay,” murmurs Eames, hand now cupping his face and bringing it up, towards his. “Let me.”
Cobb gives in to the warm of his mouth and gasps when Eames grinds up, eyes fluttering shut.
-
It’s the sixth day, the next morning and Cobb freaks the fuck out. Oh God, oh shit. He sits up in an empty bed and tries to discern where Eames is. He pulls his legs up to his chest and smacks his head against his knees, hoping it will somehow take him back in time.
“Keep calm,” says Eames, coming into the room. He presses a bottle of water to Cobb’s neck and Cobb flinches at the cold. “Why are you panicking?”
“Are you seriously asking me why?” He looks up at Eames, eyebrows furrowed. “I didn’t mean to- I hadn’t wanted to.”
“Didn’t want to have sex with me, huh?” asks Eames, looking sad. He pulls the bottle away and sets it on the nightstand before stretching out onto the foot of the bed.
“No!” says Cobb, floundering, his face burns at the sight of Eames sprawled naked before him. “Well, not exactly I- I don’t know. I hadn’t really considered. And the both of you-” He groans. “Arthur,” he says, “what about Arthur, what would he think?”
Thinking about it all is too confusing, he wasn’t sure what to do before this predicament and now that he’s in it, he’s at a complete lost.
Eames leans over to Cobb and puts a hand on his throat.
Cobb looks down the length of his arm in question.
“Do you need me to tell you what to do, Dominick? Help clear your thoughts a little?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Cobb, reaching up to put a hand on Eames’ wrist. He isn’t sure what Eames is planning, but he wants to make sure he’d be able to at least try and stop it if something is to happen.
“No?” laughs Eames, fingers suddenly tightening on Cobb’s neck, putting little points of pressure into the skin that increases with every second. “So you’re telling me you didn’t become a University teacher because Arthur told you to? Didn’t book the flight here and call Arthur like I told you to? Tell me you don’t like to sit when I say sit. Tell me, Dominick, tell me.”
Cobb whimpers under the pressure, nails biting into Eames’ wrist. “I didn’t. I didn’t do any of that because the both of you told me to. I did it because I wanted it, I. I wanted it. That’s why.”
“Oh? And what do you want now? If I let you go, will you be good and stay? Or will you go and do what you supposedly want?” His hand immediately lets go at his words, allowing Cobb to breathe again. He trails his fingers down the length of Cobb’s torso, tweaking a nipple on the way and Cobb jerks under the touch. “Stay,” murmurs Eames, pressing his hand onto Cobb’s hip, the other coaxing his legs to spread. “Stay and let me in.” He presses a kiss to the corner of Cobb’s mouth, eyes sad. “It’s your choice.”
Cobb thinks about getting up and leaving, just packing all of the things that he has strewn all over Eames’ apartment and leave for a hotel. It’s not like he’s short on money and he only has a couple of days left until he flies back. His hand clenches into a fist and he thinks about burying it in Eames’ face, teach him a lesson for abusing their friendship, punishing him for leading Cobb into this, putting thoughts and possibilities into his head.
He thinks about ending it all then and there, 24 years of friendship down the drain, telling Eames to never see him again, because he doesn’t need to see Eames again. He has a life now, one oriented around his kids and-
It’s a lie, all a lie. (Because he doesn’t want that; he wants something more, something fulfilling, just something.)
Cobb stops thinking and parts his thighs. Eames licks into his mouth for a kiss, hand creeping up to press a bruise onto his throat.
-
Cobb comes home, happy to see his kids. Arthur stands a distance away, smiling wide. After giving into the kids' whims and forfeiting gifts, he greets Arthur.
“Hey,” he starts, fluffing up the wide collar of his trench coat, “thanks again for this.”
“No problem,” says Arthur, raising an eyebrow, “why don’t you take off your coat? I’ve got the heater on.”
Cobb nods and turns his back to hang up his coat. He avoids looking at Arthur, turned away from him to watch the kids enjoy their gifts. He hopes Arthur won’t notice- and if he does, won’t do anything. But nothing seems to go his way.
“Dom,” says Arthur and he turns Cobb with a harsh tug that almost makes him topple. He can tell the exact moment Arthur gets a glimpse of his neck, because his eyes widen, brows furrowed. “Dom, what?” But before he can put a hand up to touch it, Cobb smacks it away.
“It’s nothing,” he says, moving to turn but Arthur slants a quick look at the kids before dragging him into another room.
“This isn’t nothing,” hisses Arthur, fingers deftly undoing the tie and buttons of his collar to reveal the whole bruise. He hears Arthur inhale sharply and flushes slightly under his gaze. He knows what Arthur will see is a yellowing bruise in the shape of Eames’ hand. Cobb closes his eyes against the memory of Eames fucking hard into him, pressing him into the mattress until he comes without a breath of air in his body.
“That British bastard,” says Arthur, but it’s not in anger, rather in awe. Cobb opens his eyes to see Arthur staring hungrily at his neck, fingers tentatively tracing the mark. “I said he could get you first but this? This is…” He trails off, like he can’t think anymore, like there’s nothing greater than the stained skin before him.
“I don’t understand,” says Cobb, taking a step back, “or rather, I don’t- I’m sorry, I guess. Or- you said he…?” He doesn’t know where to start first, how to make sense of all these conflicting thoughts in his head.
But Arthur, reliable as ever, banishes them all with a smile and fits his hand to the bruise. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Dom. We told you that we wanted you but I guessed the both of us at once would be too much. As you’re more familiar with Eames, we thought it’d be best if you were to get with him first. After all that I’ve waited, I can wait a bit longer.” Arthur pulls his hand away and exhales, hand running through his hair. “We just want you to realise that we have what you need, that we want you and that you shouldn’t be afraid.”
Cobb shakes his head. “I’m not afraid,” he says and he narrows his eyes at the amused smile Arthur gives him.
-
Arthur doesn’t leave straight away, and the kids don’t complain at all. He can see them beaming bright when Arthur follows in on the routine; helping with the dishes, the dinner, the shopping, the picking up and dropping off, the park, the play time and so forth.
It boggles him to see the neighbours greet him casually and the parents of the kids’ friends making small talk with him. He sees their sly smiles and their knowing looks. He knows what they’re implying but doesn’t deny it, though he doesn’t go along with it either. He tries to stay on neutral grounds at best, but it’s hard to when he’s just as dispirited as the kids when Arthur leaves for ‘business’.
It’s absolutely ridiculous.
He sees what Arthur is doing, can see how he’s making a place for himself within Cobb’s life and Cobb thought they were done forcing their way into his life, that he was allowed to think on it now.
Still.
He can’t help but feel appreciated under the attention.
Then he gets angry at himself for falling so neatly into their plans and just wishes he could stop thinking.
The phone rings. And Cobb hesitates in answering it.
“Dominick speaking,” he says, hushed, into the receiver and he hears a disgruntled sound.
“That took a little longer than necessary, what’s the problem now?” says Eames, direct to the point.
Cobb sits up straight, letting go of the ring he was playing with. The silver clinks to a stop when it rolls onto the mahogany table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I was just a little busy when you called.” He fingers the curling edge of the large drawing pad in front of him, blocked in with doodles of different types of buildings; the panopticon, Chaoyangmen Soho, the Guggenheim Bilbao.
“You see, that? That is a lie. The peculiar thing about you, Dominick, is that you’re quick to think of a fitting lie to explain your situation. To any other it sounds fully believable and flawless.”
“Let me guess, to you it sounds fake and so forth,” drawls Cobb, annoyed.
“Not entirely,” says Eames and Cobb can almost hear the shrug he makes. “it’s just that when you’re truly in a situation, you tend to be flustered about it. If the nature of your lie were true, then you’d respond in a way like; there’s no problem, Eames, I was just- y’know, doodling again, in all your American vernacular that hasn’t disappeared even though I was sure I had beaten them out of you during our childhood together.”
“Ever the Forger,” remarks Cobb, annoyed at how perceptive Eames always is.
“Don’t be like that,” whines Eames, and if they were talking face to face, his eyes would be wide, glistening almost, “I just wanted to know what’s wrong.”
Cobb wipes a hand down his face, doing his best not to sigh. “Nothing’s wrong, and there’s no problem. You’re just being paranoid, as usual.”
“Oh, is that why Arthur called me to tell me he’s worried that you’re rejecting his presence in the house?”
Cobb’s jaw drop, baffled at how perfectly the nail was hit on the head. “I-What? I’m not!”
“Oh, so you’re aware of that problem?” asks Eames, still using that higher pitched voice in that annoying nonchalant tone.
“It’s not- I know what he’s trying to do. What the both of you are trying to do”, says Cobb and Eames hums tunelessly at him.
“Hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re imagining all that. You haven’t told Arthur to leave, you are the one clinging on to him. Tell me, who’s been warming your bed?”
Cobb’s face flushes under the accusation and the question. There’s no pointing denying anything if Arthur has already told Eames everything.
Especially the part where Cobb had shown up at the guest room’s door in the middle of the night, to watch Arthur sleep and the way the moonlight highlighted the skin of his face, licking at the skin of his neck, his arm. It’s always strange to see Arthur out of his formal clothes and so casual, in his night clothes. From there, Cobb could see how much his collarbones protrude and he didn’t realise he’d made a sound (from what! From wanting Arthur, from the way he seemed to fill the bed with his presence, the way it seemed so warm in the space he made) until Arthur turned in his sleep, eyes slitting open.
“Dom?” he’d asked, bringing a hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “What time is- what are you doing here?”
Cobb shook his head, embarrassed. “Nothing, I just- I’m going back to bed now.” He turned and exited to the bedroom, fitting himself into the indentation he made on the bed. Apparently, he only ever lies in the one spot, never moving. Maybe it’s because even in his sleep, he knows that there isn’t anybody else in the bed to warm up to.
A minute later, his door opened and feet shuffled across the floor. Cobb didn’t even open his eyes to see who it was. He knew. He curled up even tighter when Arthur slid in behind him.
“Christ,” muttered Arthur, “have you been sleeping like this, Dom?” He’d put a hand on the curve of Cobb’s back and pushed. “Straighten out a bit; it’s not good if you’re trying to fold into yourself.”
Cobb made a sound, flinching at the touches but Arthur coaxed him out of the position and into a straight one. He kept Cobb that way by slotting right behind him, as if supporting him, legs tangled with his.
“That’s better isn’t it?” asked Arthur, nuzzling his neck and Cobb had flushed. From then on, he’s never been cold at night.
“I,” starts Cobb but Eames laughs.
“Making up a lie again? Didn’t that already fail? Listen, sugar, I know you’re feeling out of sorts and I know I should give you something to do, so here it is; go and have a nice romp with Arthur and you’ll both be a lot better off.”
Cobb is scandalised by the suggestion and makes it known. Eames laughs even harder.
“Such a pure affront you put on, but when you’re beneath me-”
“That’s different!” shouts Cobb, and Eames winces in his ear. “We’re different. I. how long have we known each other now? Twenty something years?”
“Twenty four and a bit,” says Eames, sounding nostalgic.
“And you’ve always been there for me, Eames. You’ve seen my bad and good. And it’s- it’s easier to fall apart beneath you,” whispers Cobb and he hears Eames sigh softly.
“Arthur’s been by your side for almost twelve years, Nick, isn’t it time to let him in?”
“But-”
“Though we’ve know each other for twenty four years, how many times have you seen or heard from me in that period? But I’ve bet that Arthur has always been with you, through thick and thin. He ought’ve been your best man.”
“Eames,” chokes Cobb, hurt.
“Sorry,” breathes Eames, “I got carried away. But, you should- do what I say. Or think about why you fell into bed with me. And why you won’t do the same with Arthur, he loves you too you know.”
Cobb sits up straight at those words. “L- love? What, Eames," but Eames hangs up and Cobb is left talking to a dial tone.
-
When Arthur slides in behind Cobb, arms around his waist, Cobb turns in them and kisses him.
It perplexes Arthur, “What, Dom,” he says, putting a hand on his chest. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you, I thought that was obvious,” says Cobb and moves in again. But Arthur stops him.
“I know what you’re doing, I mean- why? I thought you?”
“Let’s say I had a talk with Eames,” says Cobb, not divulging any more information and he kisses Arthur’s slack mouth, nipping at his jaw and down his throat. Arthur’s hand comes up to his hair and pulls, hard.
Cobb winces and follows the force of Arthur pulling him off.
“Did Eames tell you to do this?” asks Arthur, looking absolutely livid, lips upturned into a slight snarl.
“Yes but not. Not the way you think, I’m doing this because I want to, partially because he told me- told me something, but not to do it. But. This is coming out all wrong,” says Cobb, huffing.
“What did he tell you?” asks Arthur, tugging on Cobb’s hair lightly this time, before just petting his head.
“He said- I don’t think he meant to but he said.” Cobb pauses and looks at Arthur, who looks at him with a serious expression. “He said you love me too.”
Arthur blinks at that, dumbfounded and raises an eyebrow. “Anything else?”
Cobb shakes his head. “That’s it- he hung up after. I just- you both love me?”
Arthur blinks at him, still looking dumbfounded, and says, “Yeah? For as long as- are you surprised by this fact? Or by the fact that it was Eames who said it, because the latter I get. I’m surprised Eames said that too, but.”
“You both love me,” says Cobb, clenching his hands into fists on Arthur’s wife beater, ducking his head. “That, that surprises me because. Why?”
“Oh,” breathes Arthur, “oh,” and he catches Cobb’s chin and brings his face up for a kiss. “Because it’s you,” he murmurs and Cobb shivers and lets Arthur roll him onto his back, strip him of his clothes.
When Arthur is staring down at him, like he’s appreciating everything Cobb stands for, he throws an arm over his face in embarrassment. That makes Arthur chuckle, plucking it off to kiss him again.
Cobb exposes everything to Arthur, and Arthur thanks him by sealing it all back in afterwards, with rings of bruises around Cobb’s wrists.
-
When Cobb wakes up, he’s met with Eames' sleeping face. Jesus Christ.
“Jesus Christ!” he repeats loudly, scrabbling to sit up and Eames wakes up to his flailing, sitting up sleepily.
Arthur stirs as well, tightening his arms around Cobb’s waist and mumbling a deep, “What the hell is it?” into his shoulder.
“When did Eames get here?” asks Cobb, staring at Eames, trying to discern if he’s real or not. Eames scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck.
“Last night, I don’t know,” slurs Arthur, “time s’it?”
“Seven oh five, darling,” says Eames and it’s a low, rumbly noise that captures Cobb’s attention.
“Shit it to hell,” swears Arthur, always sounding like a bad excuse for a sailor when he’s woken up unscheduled, “he got here about- two hours ago? Knocked on the door and everything. Or did he call?”
“Okay I know how he got here but why is he here?”
“Oh,” says Arthur, yawning, “I called him last night and told him about us- what we did,” he seems to wake up more, as if he’s suddenly processing what’s happening, the things he’s saying. “Oh, oh, Dom, I, you have to understand, I-”
“He was so happy that he could cry,” says Eames, grinning, but it looks false and forced, “in fact I think he did.”
“And so Eames rushed here,” snipes Arthur, with narrowed eyes. “He never could sleep alone anyway.”
Eames winces at Arthur’s words and he turns to look at Cobb, who continues staring. “Look, I’ll just- go take Arthur’s bedroom or whatever,” he says, getting off the bed, looking more than uncomfortable. He’s standing up; ready to start walking when Cobb tries to make sense of the feeling that seems to be telling him to follow, to stop him. He shoots out of Arthur’s arms and halts Eames, staring wide-eyed at his grip on Eames’ bicep.
“Um,” he starts and he ducks his head in embarrassment, “you don’t have to- I mean, for now? You’re already here, and it’s too damn early to think. It’s a Sunday, and.” He pulls and Eames follows easily like an eager puppy. Cobb scoots back into the middle of the bed and Arthur’s arms come around him again. He sees the way Eames looks at that, and tries to dispel Arthur’s action.
“It’s okay,” says Eames, lying in front of Cobb, a hand gently palming the side of his face, “when you’re ready, hmm?” He slides his hand down Cobb’s arm, thumb gently tracing the marks around his wrist before removing his hand. He crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes.
Cobb tries his best to relax in this situation, being sandwiched by these two, and surprisingly it isn’t hard. Maybe it’s because he’s warm and surrounded, safe and sound.
Whatever the reason, it does the trick. He shifts his head forward so that the sun doesn’t shine onto his face, and eventually into the crook of Eames’ neck. He falls asleep like that, in the blinding white of light, unafraid.
-
Eames doesn’t really leave, well, he does go off on jobs more frequently than Arthur, but he also comes home all the same.
After the first night, Eames had made true to his word and departed for Arthur’s room when it was time for bed. But every time Cobb opens his eyes before the alarm, Eames would be there; one hand settled on Cobb’s hip, fingers intertwined with Arthur’s, thumb pressing in the groove of his hip.
Cobb doesn’t call him out on it, just lets Eames wake up before he does, lets him brush a light kiss on his forehead before easing out of the bed. Cobb feels bad for acting strange towards Eames, they have been friends forever but Eames has never been with Cobb when he was with another.
The things he shows Eames, he doesn’t know if he can show Arthur and vice versa.
The kids don’t seem to be adverse to the idea of Eames being a fixture in their life as much as they weren’t adverse with Arthur sticking around a lot. Except while Phillipa would beg for a ride on Eames’ shoulders, giggling and squealing, James would look on with trepidation, watching his sister go up so high with a man who he can’t really remember.
Arthur would always try to coax him; telling him Eames isn’t all that bad.
And it isn’t like Eames doesn’t try to make nice but James always comes running to Cobb, burying his face in his knee. Eames gets this broken-hearted look on his face every time, but he hides it away in Arthur’s shoulder.
Cobb’s at a complete lost as to why James is acting like this. He doesn’t know if he should interfere or let Eames try to solve it himself.
But finally, there is one particularly awkward dinner where James insists on sitting on Cobb’s lap for dinner, refusing to eat anything not from Cobb’s spoon. Phillipa tries to get him to sit on his own by teasing him and Arthur tries to get him to move too, just so Cobb would have some time to eat, but James is adamant in his decision and makes a fuss. Cobb sighs and sets to feeding James, and delaying his dinner til later. Eames even tries makes an effort, but James blatantly ignores him and that troubles Eames so much that he dismisses himself from the table.
Phillipa kicks up a rage then, wanting Eames to come back and James is shouting back. All Cobb wants to do is crack a wall in with his head.
“Can you look after Phillippa?” asks Cobb, lifting James onto himself and Arthur nods while Phillipa yells that she can take care of herself. Cobb takes James back to his room and sets him on the floor, stern expression on his face.
“What’s wrong, James?” he asks, “You’ve been very grumpy lately and you ignore Eames every time he talks to you. I don’t understand.”
“I don’t like Eames,” cries James, face red, eyes wet, nose dripping.
“But why? Did he do something bad?” coaxes Cobb, running a hand through James’ hair. James hiccups.
“No, maybe,” breathes James, and then he launches himself back onto Cobb, arms going around his neck. He starts going into hysterics, talking really fast and incoherent and Cobb has to shush him, patting his back to get him to calm down.
“What, James, you have to talk slower. Daddy can’t understand you if you talk too fast, now calm down, breathe and talk to daddy.”
“Eames is going to take Arthur away! And then he’s going to take you away! And Phillippa away!” blurts James, fisting his shirt and Cobb is taken aback by the outburst.
“What do you mean? Eames hasn’t taken anyone away,” says Cobb.
“But he will! Phillipa loves him and Arthur loves him and you love him,” bawls James, going into hysterics again, and Cobb is so surprised he can’t even form words. He has no idea where James has gotten these notions but he suspects maybe a little too much TV may be the culprit.
“Eames loves you, James,” says Cobb, “he loves everyone. He would never take anybody from anyone, and if he did, he wouldn’t take just one, he’d take all of us, yeah? Because we’re a family. Daddy and Phillipa would never leave you alone.”
“And Arthur?” hiccups James, rubbing the wetness out of his eyes and Cobb plucks a tissue from the bedside table to help him. “Arthur is family too?”
Cobb licks his lips in contemplation, before nodding, “Yeah. Yeah. Arthur’s family too.” He takes a breath and glances at the door to make sure there’s no one there. “And so is Eames. You know, daddy and Eames have been friends for a long time, since daddy was 13! You know how old daddy is now?”
James shakes his head.
“37, James, and that means daddy has known Eames for 24 years. That’s a big number, yeah? Way bigger than yours or Phillipa, like triple, no, quadruple! So maybe you can trust daddy when he says that Eames is family, and he will never take anyone away. We stick together.” Cobb hooks his pinkie with James and that makes him giggle wetly.
“You promise daddy? You promise we all stay together and be family?”
Cobb kisses James’ hair and pulls him onto his knee, rocking back and forth, “Yeah, promise, James. Daddy won’t lie to you.” He closes his eyes and buries his face into his son’s hair and realises his white lies are complete truths.
-
It’s the cold that wakes Cobb. It usually is. But it’s strange for him to wake from it now, because he’s usually always warm with either Arthur or Eames plastered to his side.
When he wakes, neither are in the bed and it confuses him. He has a brief moment of panic, hands shaking as he considers whether it’s an induced dream for a second and then shakes his head to clear the thought. He’s left that doubt behind- he’s here, in this world, with his kids and that’s enough. There’s no time to doubt anything.
Cobb gets up from the bed, slow with sleep, and checks the time.
3. 23.
They went to bed five hours ago.
He walks out and checks on the kids, their room adjacent to his. He tucks Phillipa back in and smoothes down James’ sheets. When he leaves, he keeps the door partially open thinking about how in ten years, they’ll be slamming the doors and locking him out.
He wanders about the house, the living room, the kitchen, without seeing Eames and Arthur, and decides to check the guest bedroom that is situated on the other end of the hall to their bedrooms. He frowns when he sees moonlight filtered through the open door.
Cobb usually makes it a general rule to keep all doors closed because he doesn’t want the kids to be able to just walk into rooms and mess around or even get hurt by being alone. He walks closer, reaching to close it but freezes at the door way when he catches Arthur and Eames on the bed.
He hands clench at the sight, tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip. He doesn’t know what to do, because Arthur is rocking gently into Eames, back gleaming with sweat. Eames is talking beneath him, chanting something that Cobb doesn’t understand at first, but makes out as, “C’mon Arthur, show me, show me, show me, yeah. Show me how you fucked him, tell me about the noises he made, how he looked. C’mon Arthur.”
It takes seeing Arthur holding Eames’ hands down, anchoring himself on his right leg to thrust smoothly, to discern that Arthur is fucking Eames like he did Cobb that one night. That Eames is talking about him in his incoherent babble.
His cheeks burn at that, and they burn even more when he realises that he’s reacting to it all, hardening in his sweats.
Arthur makes a sound in the back of his throat and leans down, sharing a kiss with Eames that sounds slick and wet. “You want it like him?” murmurs Arthur, “Or do you want me to fuck you like you did him?” He gives a hard thrust, one that makes Eames muffle his groan. “Don’t think I don't remember what you told me- how you coaxed his legs open and fingered him until he begged for it, all the while holding his throat down, fuck,” Arthur frees one hand to put it on Eames’ throat and Eames responds with a guttural sound that knocks Cobb out of his reverie.
He startles and backs away before quickly making his way back to the bedroom. It isn’t until he’s closed the door, sliding down against it, that he breathes a little easier.
What the hell, he thinks. What the hell was that? How could they- do that in his house? Cobb shakes his head and scrubs at his face with his hands. If they wanted to have sex couldn’t they just leave for a hotel or something- why did they have to do it in his house, under his roof with the kids here- oh God the kids. Now Cobb’s really irritated, he-
He fists his hands in the material of his sweats and looks down at the bulge of his erection. He drags his hand through his hair, not sure of what to do, he doesn’t want to admit that- that he’s turned on by the sight of Arthur and Eames naked, skin slicked with sweat, sharing intimate kisses while sharing intimate acts. He doesn’t want to admit that he had a brief moment where he wanted to be beneath Arthur or in between, to feel the both of them hold him, constrain him, all the while driving him crazy-
Cobb rests his head back against the door and slides a hand into his pants, fingers stroking his length. He does his best not to think about anything in particular, not what he’s seen or his own thoughts, but it’s hard not to when every time he closes his eyes, they’re all he can see.
Cobb squirms in his own grip, panting softly, hand increasing in speed. He gives in to his thoughts about what would happen if Arthur and Eames finished soon and come back to the room, opening the door up to catch Cobb touching himself. He flushes at the thought, ears keeping out for any sounds as he tries to finish fast.
He thinks about Arthur and Eames catching his wrists and pinning his hands to his sides, telling him how wayward he is, bringing himself off without either of them there.
Cobb shakes his head. No. He doesn’t need their approval to do this, he’s a grown man. He licks at his lips, teeth worrying the bottom as he shimmies his sweats low to the top of his thighs.
His other hand joins him, caressing his balls before dipping the tip of his finger to his hole. The memory of Eames doing this to him flashes in his mind and he pulls his hand away as if it burns.
He curses himself at that reaction, because what the hell, why is he so reluctant to do this to himself?
Cobb gets onto his knees and spits into his hands and goes for it, panting louder now. He still keeps an ear out for Arthur and Eames, and the thought of them catching him floods into his mind again; the way Arthur would be stroking him, Eames fingering him, rumbling words into his shoulder.
He comes with a soft cry, wetting his hand and clenching around his finger. He shudders hard and gives himself a second or five to catch his breath before he’s scrambling to pull his pants up, to wipe his hands clean.
Tossing the tissues into the wastebasket, he turns to the door, hoping that they haven’t returned and crawls into bed, curling up again.
He’s filled with regret now, in the aftermath of it all, a slow burn in the pit of his stomach. He buries his head into his knees, and tries not to think about it. How all that consumes his thoughts is of the two people that have been pursuing him. It’s stupid to- to want them but not- and not to go after them, especially when they’ve made it clear they want him back.
He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, why he’s so hesitant but it makes him dizzy, thinking about it all. He waits for a long time, wishing that they’d come back now but is disappointed, when he drops off to sleep, cold like before.
-
The morning after, he’s sleeping straight again, Arthur plastered against his back and Eames at his front. He blushes when he remembers last night, and hopes that they can’t tell what he did.
He sits up, groggy and blames it on being awoken last night. Not having at least nine hours sleep disorientates Cobb, he’s used to this life and can no longer survive on minimal sleep.
Eames stirs beside him, hand clenching over his. “What’s wrong?” he mumbles sleepily. “Why’re you up so early?”
“It’s nothing,” says Cobb, trying to pull his hand away and he does so in a gesture of running his fingers through his hair. “I just woke up.”
“Go back to sleep,” says Eames, “It’s still early and you look tired.” He pulls on Cobb’s hand and lays him down again. He nudges his forehead against Cobb’s and murmurs, “You’re a little warm, Arthur a bit too hot for you?”
Cobb laughs, low and husky, and shakes his head. He closes his eyes against Eames’ stare, and eventually falls asleep again.
-
When he wakes up again, he’s alone once more. He curls in on himself, and moans low in his throat. He feels terrible; his body is aching and there’s a scratch at the back of his throat. He coughs to dispel it, but it doesn’t help.
“Cobb,” says Arthur, putting a hand to his back, “time to get up,” and Cobb makes an acquiesce sound and hears Arthur leave. He tells himself five more minutes and falls asleep again.
-
The third time he wakes up, he sits up, eyes looking for the clock.
“Calm down, it’s all done,” says Eames, sitting against the headboard, reading, “Arthur took the kids to school and is grocery shopping and paying off the gas bill. You just go back to bed.”
“I can’t,” says Cobb, moving to get out. He ignores the aches and clears his throat, feeling the rumble rip at the soreness. “I’ve got things to do, I can’t stay in bed. Why didn’t you wake me up when I fell asleep?”
“Nick,” says Eames, sounding stern. “Get the bloody hell back into bed, you’re sick.”
Cobb blinks at him and wonders what Eames is talking about. Sure, he feels bad but it’s just from not sleeping well late night, and sleeping irregularly now. No way can he be sick, he usually isn't.
In the time that he’s thinking, Eames pulls him back onto the bed and tucks him back in, fingers dancing over his forehead.
“How did I?” asks Cobb, trying to wrack his brain for a reason and Eames looks guilty at the question.
“You must’ve gotten cold,” says Eames, offhandedly, and Cobb thinks to last night.
He opens his mouth to say something, maybe get Eames to spill but that gets him thinking to what he did and he says instead, “Could I get some tea?”
“Yeah,” says Eames, putting his book to the side. “Earl Grey, love?”
Cobb nods, head following after Eames’ departing hand and he almost falls off the bed.
“Careful,” says Eames and he presses a kiss to Cobb’s forehead before leaving.
Cobb curls back in bed, hand pressed to the kiss. It’s the first time Eames’ has done that while he’s awake.
-
When Arthur gets back he’s equipped with fruits, vegetables, chicken soup and medicine.
Cobb curls back from the innocent looking boxes, and doesn’t make a sound when Arthur and Eames argue over dinner.
“What are the kids going to eat if you’ve got all this for Nick?”
“We’ll get them take out for today, I just- Dom,” says Arthur.
“They can’t have take out, healthy-”
“It won’t be McDonalds or anything, but from a restaurant. It’ll still be healthy, just not made by us, okay. I- I’ll think about it later.” Arthur climbs onto the bed and holds a hand to Cobb’s forehead. “He’s gotten hotter. Pass me the- I don’t know which one it is, fever medication. And some bottled water.”
“You’re overreacting,” says Cobb, pushing Arthur away. “It’s just a bit of a fake flu, you know, the ones that start like a cold but after a day it’s all good?”
“Yeah, well, better safe than sorry,” says Arthur, settling on the edge of the bed, “Have Phil and Jay got their vaccination shots? I was thinking it’d be a good idea.”
“I, I don’t think so. I.” Cobb frowns, the kids have yet to be sick in his care, and Marie hasn’t told him of any of her experiences with them.
“Here we are,” says Eames, coming back in with the water and meds. Arthur takes it and passes it on to Cobb.
“Take this and we’ll get you some chicken soup.”
Cobb tries his best to smile, and nods. He pops the capsules out of their foil, two red ones, and slips them into his mouth, setting the box onto the nightstand. He’s uncapping the bottled water as Arthur and Eames walk out and takes a gulp of water, doing his best to swallow it down.
-
It’s the second day and Cobb still feels terrible. Both Arthur and Eames are running circles around Cobb like headless mother hens. It annoys him that they don’t let him do much of anything, even if his fever only spikes sporadically.
He’s tired, he admits, but that doesn’t mean he should lie in bed doing nothing.
But every time he sneaks off to do work, one of them would drag him back to bed. They also fret when he forgets to take his medication, setting an alarm at every four hour interval until Cobb threw the phone at the wall, cracking it open in rage.
On the third day though, Eames has a job, one less guard to watch him. But Arthur seems more vigilant than ever, except he can’t keep an eye on Cobb when he’s out- taking the kids to school, grocery shopping or running other errands. That’s when Cobb hauls ass to the office to work.
The next day, Arthur gets a call. Apparently he has to go save Eames’ ass.
“This is bad timing, but don’t worry. I’ve got you someone.”
“I’m fine, Arthur,” groans Cobb, turning in bed, kicking the covers off cause it’s so fucking hot. “It’s the fourth day. I’m on the road to recovery.”
“And that’s all good but still. I’m going to head to the airport now, and she’ll be here in a few hours. Go to sleep.”
Cobb gets a kiss on the forehead and a frown. He waits until Arthur is rushing out the door, to fall over on his side and cough his lungs out.
Ouch.
-
Hours later, he wakes up to the sound of someone moving in the house. He thinks it’s Eames but remembers he’s off on a job. And then he remembers Arthur is out saving him.
That means-
Cobb can feel the panic start to rise in him but it’s immediately quelled when Ariadne pops into the doorway.
“Sick, huh,” she says and Cobb blinks blearily at her.
“Tell me you’re a hallucination.”
“Don’t tell me they’ve hit you up with the hard drugs,” she says and he rolls his eyes.
“What are you doing here, Ariadne? How did you get in?”
Ariadne shrugs, coming in to sit tentatively on the edge. “Oh, I’m just on break, you know, before taking up my masters. And I thought, what’s the best way to spend it? Look after a sick, old man! And Arthur left the key under the welcome mat.”
“Arthur made you, huh,” sniffles Cobb and Ariadne shrugs again.
“The kids love me,” she says in way of an explanation.
“You don’t know how to drive,” points out Cobb, feeling the creeping feeling of another cough up his throat, “how will you get them h-home? It’s cold out, I’ll drive.” He smothers his mouth with his hands, doing his best to stifle his cough, make it sound less booming and haggard than it really is.
“Are you even all right to drive?” asks Ariadne, half off the bed as if she wants to stroke Cobb’s back, make it better, but doesn’t. She knows better.
Cobb nods. “I’ve been sick for a few days now, I’m on the road to recovery.”
“But that doesn’t mean you’re well.”
“A parent is akin to a superhero,” grins Cobb, hoping he looks convincing through the pale of his face, the slight flush to his cheeks.
Ariadne looks like she wants to say something, but she bites it back, nods.
“I’ll wake you when it’s time- school ends at 3, right?”
Cobb nods.
“I’ll just make myself at home-” she starts, standing up and Cobb blurts out, “Don’t sleep in the guest room!” his face burning at the memory.
Ariadne blinks. “Er, okay?”
“Just- it might be- Eames is currently living in there, you see.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind if I hunker down in his room for a few days.”
“Change the sheets,” coaxes Cobb, coughing lightly into his fist, “don’t know what he’s been up to.”
Ariadne crinkles her nose at that. “Alright, I did not want to think about Eames doing- oh my God, isn’t Arthur staying with you too? Okay, I do not want to sleep in that room.”
“The couch,” offers Cobb and Ariadne nods, shifting her weight.
“Go to sleep and I’ll bring you some soup, then we’ll pick up the kids. I’m a mean cook.”
“So is Arthur,” mumbles Cobb, eyes already heavy again and he squirms back into the pile of pillows behind him.
Ariadne laughs.
-
True to her word, Ariadne wakes Cobb up around 2 in the afternoon. “Soup,” she says, placing the bowl on his bedside table. She waves something else in his face, “and medicine, yay!”
“I’m overjoyed,” drones Cobb, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His whole body still aches, making him feel like he’s too old. His face feels hot, skin clammy, but he sits up right anyway, hands on his lap.
“You don’t need me to feed you, right?”
“I can do that by myself,” coughs Cobb, eyeing Ariadne wearily.
“Oh good, it’s just that Arthur’s left a long list of instructions and I don’t know if I should follow it all to a T.”
“It mentions spoon-feeding me?”
Ariadne laughs, ducking her head. “Only if you refuse to eat,” she says, jokingly.
Cobb doesn’t put it past Arthur to have written a mile long list of ways to cluck over him. He sighs and then coughs wetly, hacking into a quickly grabbed tissue.
Ariadne winces. “We might need to get some decongestant for that.”
“It’s fine,” says Cobb, “just that, lingering mucus or something. I’m getting better. If I need anything I’ll tell you.”
“Alright,” says Ariadne, slanting Cobb a doubtful look before taking off.
Cobb sighs and rolls his shoulder. He takes the bowl off the nightstand shakily, grateful that it’s not hot but warm enough that he can drink it all down, warming his throat. When he’s done, he curls back into the warmth of the bed, forgetting about the pills.
-
Driving onto the street, Cobb isn’t sure if he’s made the right choice but thankfully it’s a ten minute drive and he gets a parking spot before the streets get flooded with cars of other parents.
“So how long have they’ve been living with you?” asks Ariadne, hands pressed to the window, keeping an eye out for the kids.
“Hmm?” sniffles Cobb, trying not to react to the warmth blasting at him from the car heater as his body goes into another heat flush, “Oh, um.” He doesn’t know if he can blush right now, but he’s feeling it. “Awhile?”
“Like a week awhile or weeks into months awhile?” she teases, not turning to look at him.
“How about none of your business awhile,” deadpans Cobb and Ariadne laughs.
“That doesn’t even make sense, Cobb.”
“Well, I’m sick so you have to excuse me for not making sense.”
“You’re impossible,” she says, shooting Cobb a sly look like she knows everything before turning back to the window.
Cobb turns his head away and looks out the window for the kids. He jumps when Ariadne makes a happy sound, opening the door and jumping out. He watches her run the distance to the gate, gathering the bundled James into her arms and hugging Phillipa.
He smiles to see them walking back, even though the cold wind has got him shivering. Damn conflicting temperatures.
“Daddy!” the kids shout when Ariadne gets them into the car.
“Hey guys,” croaks Cobb, pulling out of the spot and back onto the road, “how was school today?”
“Good!” says Phillipa, and when he flicks his eyes to the rear view mirror, he sees her trying to flatten down her windblown hair. “How about you, dad? Eamesy said you’re sick!”
Cobb coughs and nods, “Yeah, but I’m much better! And I have Ariadne here to help me because Arthur went to help Eames on his business.”
“They’re always away,” says James and Cobb can hear the pout in his voice.
“They’re working to buy you presents,” interjects Ariadne, craning over the seat. “Cause they love all of you very much.”
He knows what Ariadne is implying even if she’s not shooting him a look and blushes, not saying a word as they get home.
-
Cobb lets Ariadne help around the house, but being free of his prison guards who wouldn’t take no for an answer, he’s able to do the things that he wants. He works constantly, trying to make up for lost time- it’s approaching December and the spring semester starts in the middle of January. He hasn’t even finished putting together the curriculum for it.
And he thinks about Christmas, too.
He’s thinking of getting everything together before the rush because that happened last year when he got back to the kids. He was so glad to have them around that he forgot about the tradition of taking care of the Christmas shopping, instead of just plying the kids every month with gifts.
He received an email too, from Miles, forwarding a client proposal for his employment of a small architectural design for a hotel to be built in 2013. He wonders if he should do it, and thinks about how Arthur and Eames seems to be flashy with their money and sends back a response of interest.
“Cobb,” calls Ariadne, knocking on the door and opening it. She’s giving him a look like she’s trying to scare him back to bed and he ignores it. She sighs. “Do you think we could go grocery shopping? We’re a bit low on vegetables and we’re out of bread. It won’t be long, just a bit.”
Cobb nods and tells her to get the children dressed and groans when she closes the door. He takes deep breaths in and out, ignoring his fluctuating body temperature. He stands up and ignores the twinge of pain in his knees and his back as he gets to the door.
-
Cobb tries to get breakfast in order, but his coughing hurts so much that he has to take a break, lean his pounding head against the cool of the stainless steel refrigerator, hand clutching at his chest, rubbing at his throat.
“Daddy?”
Cobb turns around to see Phillipa.
“Hey, Pips,” he greets, ruffling her hair.
“You okay, dad?” asks Phillipa, taking a seat at the table.
“Fine, just tired. Daddy’s been working hard to become a teacher.”
“Okay,” says Phillipa, looking doubtful, “can I have some scrambled eggs and toast today?”
“Nothing else?”
“Milk and bananas,” chirps Phillipa and Cobb nods. He tries to keep his coughing down as he patters about the kitchen, ignoring the aches in his joints, the way his eyes feel bruised and heavy.
“Good morning Ariadne!” greets Phillipa.
Cobb turns to see her looking blearily at him.
“Morning Phillipa- Cobb, you’re up already? You should be in bed, I’ll do breakfast.”
“I’m fine, Ariadne, I’ll just do this. What would you like?” He stifles his cough and Ariadne looks at him doubtfully.
“I’ll help then. Just- eggs and toast, huh?”
Cobb nods and tries not to feel thankful when she grabs the bread, popping them into the toaster. He doesn’t think he can move that much with the constant ache pulsing in his body.
[next]
eventual Arthur/Cobb/Eames, established Arthur/Eames, Arthur/Cobb, Cobb/Eames.
warnings: dub-con, breath play, elements of bdsm, bottom!cobb
Cobb starts to feel the emptiness of his missing partner as he lives his life with his children. Strange enough though, that's the time when Arthur and Eames start to come back into his life.
Sorry this took long. Um. I said I was to update it soon after the first, but I lost my file awhile back- lets blame my little sister, right. So I had to rewrite and re-edit this from an old draft between final exams and final assessments.
[prev]
Cobb now spends his days going over the course curriculum, looking over the students' opinions on the class and adding his own touch here and there. He doesn’t start until the spring semester, but he’s nervous anyway.
It’s a Thursday morning and he’s writing week 6’s class presentation on American Colonial and Georgian architecture when his phone dances across the table’s surface. He picks it up without even looking at the screen. “Dominick Cobb speaking.”
“Or should it be Professor Cobb?” purrs Eames over the line and Cobb freezes before leaning back in his chair, gripping his pen tightly.
His eyes move to the corner of the desk where the ring is, sunlight reflecting off it.
“Mr Daniel Philippe Eames,” he greets, butterflies fluttering wildly in his stomach and he hears Eames huff loudly.
“Oh, so this is what I get for being a smashing reference? A cold greeting? I’m hurt, Nick, wounded.”
“You and Arthur need to do something besides meddle with my life,” says Cobb, putting down his pen, lips stretching into a small smile. “You’re starting to be very parental. It’s frightening.”
“We are! Well, at least, I am. Been around the Middle East, you know, stirring up trouble and such. I’m back in London now,” says Eames, the last line spoken more softly.
Cobb sits up straight, lips curving down. “It’s time, isn’t it?” he asks, feeling the butterflies burst into ashes that swirl in the pit of his stomach.
“You don’t need to-“
“I do, she’s my mother, Eames. Despite. Despite it all. Yeah, I’ll book for a week in London,” he drags his laptop close and pulls up an air flight site. “I can get Marie to come down, I guess, for the-”
“Just call Arthur,” says Eames, matter-of-factly. “Or Ariadne, Yusuf even. It’s called abusing friendship.”
Cobb blinks. Huh. But says, “I don’t know… Eames-”
“For fuck- Dominick, if you don’t call Arthur, I’ll call him myself. You know your kids love him, and that he’d be happy to look after them for the week.” Eames sounds so sure of himself that it makes Cobb’s curiosity pique. Do they actually care for him that much that they would just drop everything they do to please him?
He shakes the thought out of his head, and forces his mind to go back to the conversation. “How would you know?”
“Look, just book a flight for the 24th through to the 1st, sugar, and I’ll see you at the airport.”
Cobb doesn’t even argue against it, he just nods. When he remembers he’s on the phone, he chokes out, “Okay, yeah. I’ll call Arthur.”
“You do that. Now look, I’ve gotta get going but I’ll see you in nine days.”
-
Cobb books the flight straight after the call but holds off on contacting Arthur until three days later. He doesn’t want to admit, but he’s nervous about it, and he doesn’t really know why. The worst Arthur can do is reject him, say no, but Eames had sounded so sure on the line.
Making a decision, he sends a quick email to Eames, asking for Arthur’s most recent contact number.
Two hours later, a number and its usage period are in his inbox.
He toys with the idea of just calling Marie, but even that conversation would be painful.
By the time the night is coming to a close and the kids are in bed, he calls Arthur. Two rings are all it takes for Arthur to pick up.
“Hello?” He sounds worried.
“Arthur, hey,” says Cobb, pen doodling a high rise apartment on the corner of his paper.
“Are you alright?” asks Arthur, “Is something wrong?”
“No, hey, calm down, it’s alright. Nothing’s wrong. I just. My mother’s anniversary.”
“Oh,” breathes Arthur, voice small. “Yeah, Eames told me about her. I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” says Cobb, shaking his head even though Arthur won’t be able to see him, “but I was thinking of visiting her grave with Eames. She was like a mother to him, too.”
“And you want me to look after the kids,” construes Arthur, “I’d love to, Dom. You should know that.”
Cobb smiles then, realising that his fears about Arthur rejecting him was unwarranted, that he’s known all along that, whether he wants Cobb or not, Arthur has always loved his kids. “Yeah… yeah, I do.”
-
Cobb flies out, much to the horror of his wailing kids, shouting for him not to leave them again and it makes him feel ashamed and guilty. Arthur does his best to calm them, holding one in each arm.
Arthur looks hurt, seeing his kids like this and something clenches in Cobb’s chest.
“Go,” says Arthur and Cobb presses a kiss to his kids’ heads before leaving, and as he lifts from James’ head, Arthur leans in to brush his lips against Cobb’s cheek.
“Have a safe flight,” he says and Cobb’s cheeks burn as he makes his way toward his gate.
-
Eames greets him in London, the weather wet and dreary. He’s the only one holding an obnoxious bright blue umbrella and when Cobb looks at it, dismayed, he winks and says, “It brings out your eyes.”
Cobb catches the silver around his finger and suddenly becomes too aware of the weight in his pocket. He ducks his head in response and punches Eames in the shoulder.
“Shut up.”
-
The first day is awkward. It’s like Eames can sense the discomfort radiating off Cobb and now that Cobb thinks about it, Eames probably can. It comes with his job description after all.
They spend the day wallowing at opposite ends of the apartment, looking out cold windows and at grey skies.
-
The second day is better because Cobb gets so sick of the tension, the tip-toeing, that he breaks the ice.
Eames is high-tailing it at the sight of Cobb watching TV in the living room, when Cobb rushes after him, grabbing a hold of his wrist. He doesn’t say anything, just tugs and Eames follows him to the couch. Cobb shoves him down, against an arm, and curls by his side, content at the warmth he gives off.
-
The third day is when they go to visit his mother’s grave, the rain inescapable. Cobb tries to discreetly curl his fists into Eames’ coat. He thinks Eames knows and is thankful when he doesn’t say anything.
The grave itself isn’t anything fancy, bought with a small percentage of the money the house and everything in it sold for. After giving up everything, Cobb had flown to Paris to start a new life.
But seeing it again makes his vision blurry and his throat hurt. Cobb closes his eyes against the ache and steps out from under the umbrella and crouches close.
Eames doesn’t say anything but Cobb’s sure his own crying says everything.
-
The fourth day, Eames tries to keep him happy by taking him around to museums and art galleries.
It doesn’t help.
But the hot chocolate afterwards kinda does.
-
The fifth day, at night; Cobb tosses and turns in bed before he gets up and trudges to Eames’ room. The man is sleeping without a shirt on, tattoos prominent against his skin, thick curving black lines on his shoulder, and a city on the other. Cobb catches the letters d, o and m under the curve of his collarbone and flushes, remembering coming home from break to find a 17 year old Eames stained with art.
He comes closer until he’s crawling over Eames, fingers brushing over the tattoo. It’s a faded blue right now, in need of a touch up.
Eames stirs beneath him, hand catching his wrist in a tight hold, eyes snapping open. “Christ, Nick,” he breathes, letting go and looking up. “What’re you doing here?”
Cobb thinks about the excuses he can make, but the hand resting on Eames’ chest clenches into a fist and he leans his head beside it. Eames’ skin is warm against his, heartbeat a soft throb. “I can’t sleep,” he says, “it's cold.”
Eames doesn’t reply, instead he brushes his palms up Cobb’s arms, making his skin break out at the touch. Cobb shivers.
“It’s okay,” murmurs Eames, hand now cupping his face and bringing it up, towards his. “Let me.”
Cobb gives in to the warm of his mouth and gasps when Eames grinds up, eyes fluttering shut.
-
It’s the sixth day, the next morning and Cobb freaks the fuck out. Oh God, oh shit. He sits up in an empty bed and tries to discern where Eames is. He pulls his legs up to his chest and smacks his head against his knees, hoping it will somehow take him back in time.
“Keep calm,” says Eames, coming into the room. He presses a bottle of water to Cobb’s neck and Cobb flinches at the cold. “Why are you panicking?”
“Are you seriously asking me why?” He looks up at Eames, eyebrows furrowed. “I didn’t mean to- I hadn’t wanted to.”
“Didn’t want to have sex with me, huh?” asks Eames, looking sad. He pulls the bottle away and sets it on the nightstand before stretching out onto the foot of the bed.
“No!” says Cobb, floundering, his face burns at the sight of Eames sprawled naked before him. “Well, not exactly I- I don’t know. I hadn’t really considered. And the both of you-” He groans. “Arthur,” he says, “what about Arthur, what would he think?”
Thinking about it all is too confusing, he wasn’t sure what to do before this predicament and now that he’s in it, he’s at a complete lost.
Eames leans over to Cobb and puts a hand on his throat.
Cobb looks down the length of his arm in question.
“Do you need me to tell you what to do, Dominick? Help clear your thoughts a little?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Cobb, reaching up to put a hand on Eames’ wrist. He isn’t sure what Eames is planning, but he wants to make sure he’d be able to at least try and stop it if something is to happen.
“No?” laughs Eames, fingers suddenly tightening on Cobb’s neck, putting little points of pressure into the skin that increases with every second. “So you’re telling me you didn’t become a University teacher because Arthur told you to? Didn’t book the flight here and call Arthur like I told you to? Tell me you don’t like to sit when I say sit. Tell me, Dominick, tell me.”
Cobb whimpers under the pressure, nails biting into Eames’ wrist. “I didn’t. I didn’t do any of that because the both of you told me to. I did it because I wanted it, I. I wanted it. That’s why.”
“Oh? And what do you want now? If I let you go, will you be good and stay? Or will you go and do what you supposedly want?” His hand immediately lets go at his words, allowing Cobb to breathe again. He trails his fingers down the length of Cobb’s torso, tweaking a nipple on the way and Cobb jerks under the touch. “Stay,” murmurs Eames, pressing his hand onto Cobb’s hip, the other coaxing his legs to spread. “Stay and let me in.” He presses a kiss to the corner of Cobb’s mouth, eyes sad. “It’s your choice.”
Cobb thinks about getting up and leaving, just packing all of the things that he has strewn all over Eames’ apartment and leave for a hotel. It’s not like he’s short on money and he only has a couple of days left until he flies back. His hand clenches into a fist and he thinks about burying it in Eames’ face, teach him a lesson for abusing their friendship, punishing him for leading Cobb into this, putting thoughts and possibilities into his head.
He thinks about ending it all then and there, 24 years of friendship down the drain, telling Eames to never see him again, because he doesn’t need to see Eames again. He has a life now, one oriented around his kids and-
It’s a lie, all a lie. (Because he doesn’t want that; he wants something more, something fulfilling, just something.)
Cobb stops thinking and parts his thighs. Eames licks into his mouth for a kiss, hand creeping up to press a bruise onto his throat.
-
Cobb comes home, happy to see his kids. Arthur stands a distance away, smiling wide. After giving into the kids' whims and forfeiting gifts, he greets Arthur.
“Hey,” he starts, fluffing up the wide collar of his trench coat, “thanks again for this.”
“No problem,” says Arthur, raising an eyebrow, “why don’t you take off your coat? I’ve got the heater on.”
Cobb nods and turns his back to hang up his coat. He avoids looking at Arthur, turned away from him to watch the kids enjoy their gifts. He hopes Arthur won’t notice- and if he does, won’t do anything. But nothing seems to go his way.
“Dom,” says Arthur and he turns Cobb with a harsh tug that almost makes him topple. He can tell the exact moment Arthur gets a glimpse of his neck, because his eyes widen, brows furrowed. “Dom, what?” But before he can put a hand up to touch it, Cobb smacks it away.
“It’s nothing,” he says, moving to turn but Arthur slants a quick look at the kids before dragging him into another room.
“This isn’t nothing,” hisses Arthur, fingers deftly undoing the tie and buttons of his collar to reveal the whole bruise. He hears Arthur inhale sharply and flushes slightly under his gaze. He knows what Arthur will see is a yellowing bruise in the shape of Eames’ hand. Cobb closes his eyes against the memory of Eames fucking hard into him, pressing him into the mattress until he comes without a breath of air in his body.
“That British bastard,” says Arthur, but it’s not in anger, rather in awe. Cobb opens his eyes to see Arthur staring hungrily at his neck, fingers tentatively tracing the mark. “I said he could get you first but this? This is…” He trails off, like he can’t think anymore, like there’s nothing greater than the stained skin before him.
“I don’t understand,” says Cobb, taking a step back, “or rather, I don’t- I’m sorry, I guess. Or- you said he…?” He doesn’t know where to start first, how to make sense of all these conflicting thoughts in his head.
But Arthur, reliable as ever, banishes them all with a smile and fits his hand to the bruise. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Dom. We told you that we wanted you but I guessed the both of us at once would be too much. As you’re more familiar with Eames, we thought it’d be best if you were to get with him first. After all that I’ve waited, I can wait a bit longer.” Arthur pulls his hand away and exhales, hand running through his hair. “We just want you to realise that we have what you need, that we want you and that you shouldn’t be afraid.”
Cobb shakes his head. “I’m not afraid,” he says and he narrows his eyes at the amused smile Arthur gives him.
-
Arthur doesn’t leave straight away, and the kids don’t complain at all. He can see them beaming bright when Arthur follows in on the routine; helping with the dishes, the dinner, the shopping, the picking up and dropping off, the park, the play time and so forth.
It boggles him to see the neighbours greet him casually and the parents of the kids’ friends making small talk with him. He sees their sly smiles and their knowing looks. He knows what they’re implying but doesn’t deny it, though he doesn’t go along with it either. He tries to stay on neutral grounds at best, but it’s hard to when he’s just as dispirited as the kids when Arthur leaves for ‘business’.
It’s absolutely ridiculous.
He sees what Arthur is doing, can see how he’s making a place for himself within Cobb’s life and Cobb thought they were done forcing their way into his life, that he was allowed to think on it now.
Still.
He can’t help but feel appreciated under the attention.
Then he gets angry at himself for falling so neatly into their plans and just wishes he could stop thinking.
The phone rings. And Cobb hesitates in answering it.
“Dominick speaking,” he says, hushed, into the receiver and he hears a disgruntled sound.
“That took a little longer than necessary, what’s the problem now?” says Eames, direct to the point.
Cobb sits up straight, letting go of the ring he was playing with. The silver clinks to a stop when it rolls onto the mahogany table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I was just a little busy when you called.” He fingers the curling edge of the large drawing pad in front of him, blocked in with doodles of different types of buildings; the panopticon, Chaoyangmen Soho, the Guggenheim Bilbao.
“You see, that? That is a lie. The peculiar thing about you, Dominick, is that you’re quick to think of a fitting lie to explain your situation. To any other it sounds fully believable and flawless.”
“Let me guess, to you it sounds fake and so forth,” drawls Cobb, annoyed.
“Not entirely,” says Eames and Cobb can almost hear the shrug he makes. “it’s just that when you’re truly in a situation, you tend to be flustered about it. If the nature of your lie were true, then you’d respond in a way like; there’s no problem, Eames, I was just- y’know, doodling again, in all your American vernacular that hasn’t disappeared even though I was sure I had beaten them out of you during our childhood together.”
“Ever the Forger,” remarks Cobb, annoyed at how perceptive Eames always is.
“Don’t be like that,” whines Eames, and if they were talking face to face, his eyes would be wide, glistening almost, “I just wanted to know what’s wrong.”
Cobb wipes a hand down his face, doing his best not to sigh. “Nothing’s wrong, and there’s no problem. You’re just being paranoid, as usual.”
“Oh, is that why Arthur called me to tell me he’s worried that you’re rejecting his presence in the house?”
Cobb’s jaw drop, baffled at how perfectly the nail was hit on the head. “I-What? I’m not!”
“Oh, so you’re aware of that problem?” asks Eames, still using that higher pitched voice in that annoying nonchalant tone.
“It’s not- I know what he’s trying to do. What the both of you are trying to do”, says Cobb and Eames hums tunelessly at him.
“Hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re imagining all that. You haven’t told Arthur to leave, you are the one clinging on to him. Tell me, who’s been warming your bed?”
Cobb’s face flushes under the accusation and the question. There’s no pointing denying anything if Arthur has already told Eames everything.
Especially the part where Cobb had shown up at the guest room’s door in the middle of the night, to watch Arthur sleep and the way the moonlight highlighted the skin of his face, licking at the skin of his neck, his arm. It’s always strange to see Arthur out of his formal clothes and so casual, in his night clothes. From there, Cobb could see how much his collarbones protrude and he didn’t realise he’d made a sound (from what! From wanting Arthur, from the way he seemed to fill the bed with his presence, the way it seemed so warm in the space he made) until Arthur turned in his sleep, eyes slitting open.
“Dom?” he’d asked, bringing a hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “What time is- what are you doing here?”
Cobb shook his head, embarrassed. “Nothing, I just- I’m going back to bed now.” He turned and exited to the bedroom, fitting himself into the indentation he made on the bed. Apparently, he only ever lies in the one spot, never moving. Maybe it’s because even in his sleep, he knows that there isn’t anybody else in the bed to warm up to.
A minute later, his door opened and feet shuffled across the floor. Cobb didn’t even open his eyes to see who it was. He knew. He curled up even tighter when Arthur slid in behind him.
“Christ,” muttered Arthur, “have you been sleeping like this, Dom?” He’d put a hand on the curve of Cobb’s back and pushed. “Straighten out a bit; it’s not good if you’re trying to fold into yourself.”
Cobb made a sound, flinching at the touches but Arthur coaxed him out of the position and into a straight one. He kept Cobb that way by slotting right behind him, as if supporting him, legs tangled with his.
“That’s better isn’t it?” asked Arthur, nuzzling his neck and Cobb had flushed. From then on, he’s never been cold at night.
“I,” starts Cobb but Eames laughs.
“Making up a lie again? Didn’t that already fail? Listen, sugar, I know you’re feeling out of sorts and I know I should give you something to do, so here it is; go and have a nice romp with Arthur and you’ll both be a lot better off.”
Cobb is scandalised by the suggestion and makes it known. Eames laughs even harder.
“Such a pure affront you put on, but when you’re beneath me-”
“That’s different!” shouts Cobb, and Eames winces in his ear. “We’re different. I. how long have we known each other now? Twenty something years?”
“Twenty four and a bit,” says Eames, sounding nostalgic.
“And you’ve always been there for me, Eames. You’ve seen my bad and good. And it’s- it’s easier to fall apart beneath you,” whispers Cobb and he hears Eames sigh softly.
“Arthur’s been by your side for almost twelve years, Nick, isn’t it time to let him in?”
“But-”
“Though we’ve know each other for twenty four years, how many times have you seen or heard from me in that period? But I’ve bet that Arthur has always been with you, through thick and thin. He ought’ve been your best man.”
“Eames,” chokes Cobb, hurt.
“Sorry,” breathes Eames, “I got carried away. But, you should- do what I say. Or think about why you fell into bed with me. And why you won’t do the same with Arthur, he loves you too you know.”
Cobb sits up straight at those words. “L- love? What, Eames," but Eames hangs up and Cobb is left talking to a dial tone.
-
When Arthur slides in behind Cobb, arms around his waist, Cobb turns in them and kisses him.
It perplexes Arthur, “What, Dom,” he says, putting a hand on his chest. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you, I thought that was obvious,” says Cobb and moves in again. But Arthur stops him.
“I know what you’re doing, I mean- why? I thought you?”
“Let’s say I had a talk with Eames,” says Cobb, not divulging any more information and he kisses Arthur’s slack mouth, nipping at his jaw and down his throat. Arthur’s hand comes up to his hair and pulls, hard.
Cobb winces and follows the force of Arthur pulling him off.
“Did Eames tell you to do this?” asks Arthur, looking absolutely livid, lips upturned into a slight snarl.
“Yes but not. Not the way you think, I’m doing this because I want to, partially because he told me- told me something, but not to do it. But. This is coming out all wrong,” says Cobb, huffing.
“What did he tell you?” asks Arthur, tugging on Cobb’s hair lightly this time, before just petting his head.
“He said- I don’t think he meant to but he said.” Cobb pauses and looks at Arthur, who looks at him with a serious expression. “He said you love me too.”
Arthur blinks at that, dumbfounded and raises an eyebrow. “Anything else?”
Cobb shakes his head. “That’s it- he hung up after. I just- you both love me?”
Arthur blinks at him, still looking dumbfounded, and says, “Yeah? For as long as- are you surprised by this fact? Or by the fact that it was Eames who said it, because the latter I get. I’m surprised Eames said that too, but.”
“You both love me,” says Cobb, clenching his hands into fists on Arthur’s wife beater, ducking his head. “That, that surprises me because. Why?”
“Oh,” breathes Arthur, “oh,” and he catches Cobb’s chin and brings his face up for a kiss. “Because it’s you,” he murmurs and Cobb shivers and lets Arthur roll him onto his back, strip him of his clothes.
When Arthur is staring down at him, like he’s appreciating everything Cobb stands for, he throws an arm over his face in embarrassment. That makes Arthur chuckle, plucking it off to kiss him again.
Cobb exposes everything to Arthur, and Arthur thanks him by sealing it all back in afterwards, with rings of bruises around Cobb’s wrists.
-
When Cobb wakes up, he’s met with Eames' sleeping face. Jesus Christ.
“Jesus Christ!” he repeats loudly, scrabbling to sit up and Eames wakes up to his flailing, sitting up sleepily.
Arthur stirs as well, tightening his arms around Cobb’s waist and mumbling a deep, “What the hell is it?” into his shoulder.
“When did Eames get here?” asks Cobb, staring at Eames, trying to discern if he’s real or not. Eames scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck.
“Last night, I don’t know,” slurs Arthur, “time s’it?”
“Seven oh five, darling,” says Eames and it’s a low, rumbly noise that captures Cobb’s attention.
“Shit it to hell,” swears Arthur, always sounding like a bad excuse for a sailor when he’s woken up unscheduled, “he got here about- two hours ago? Knocked on the door and everything. Or did he call?”
“Okay I know how he got here but why is he here?”
“Oh,” says Arthur, yawning, “I called him last night and told him about us- what we did,” he seems to wake up more, as if he’s suddenly processing what’s happening, the things he’s saying. “Oh, oh, Dom, I, you have to understand, I-”
“He was so happy that he could cry,” says Eames, grinning, but it looks false and forced, “in fact I think he did.”
“And so Eames rushed here,” snipes Arthur, with narrowed eyes. “He never could sleep alone anyway.”
Eames winces at Arthur’s words and he turns to look at Cobb, who continues staring. “Look, I’ll just- go take Arthur’s bedroom or whatever,” he says, getting off the bed, looking more than uncomfortable. He’s standing up; ready to start walking when Cobb tries to make sense of the feeling that seems to be telling him to follow, to stop him. He shoots out of Arthur’s arms and halts Eames, staring wide-eyed at his grip on Eames’ bicep.
“Um,” he starts and he ducks his head in embarrassment, “you don’t have to- I mean, for now? You’re already here, and it’s too damn early to think. It’s a Sunday, and.” He pulls and Eames follows easily like an eager puppy. Cobb scoots back into the middle of the bed and Arthur’s arms come around him again. He sees the way Eames looks at that, and tries to dispel Arthur’s action.
“It’s okay,” says Eames, lying in front of Cobb, a hand gently palming the side of his face, “when you’re ready, hmm?” He slides his hand down Cobb’s arm, thumb gently tracing the marks around his wrist before removing his hand. He crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes.
Cobb tries his best to relax in this situation, being sandwiched by these two, and surprisingly it isn’t hard. Maybe it’s because he’s warm and surrounded, safe and sound.
Whatever the reason, it does the trick. He shifts his head forward so that the sun doesn’t shine onto his face, and eventually into the crook of Eames’ neck. He falls asleep like that, in the blinding white of light, unafraid.
-
Eames doesn’t really leave, well, he does go off on jobs more frequently than Arthur, but he also comes home all the same.
After the first night, Eames had made true to his word and departed for Arthur’s room when it was time for bed. But every time Cobb opens his eyes before the alarm, Eames would be there; one hand settled on Cobb’s hip, fingers intertwined with Arthur’s, thumb pressing in the groove of his hip.
Cobb doesn’t call him out on it, just lets Eames wake up before he does, lets him brush a light kiss on his forehead before easing out of the bed. Cobb feels bad for acting strange towards Eames, they have been friends forever but Eames has never been with Cobb when he was with another.
The things he shows Eames, he doesn’t know if he can show Arthur and vice versa.
The kids don’t seem to be adverse to the idea of Eames being a fixture in their life as much as they weren’t adverse with Arthur sticking around a lot. Except while Phillipa would beg for a ride on Eames’ shoulders, giggling and squealing, James would look on with trepidation, watching his sister go up so high with a man who he can’t really remember.
Arthur would always try to coax him; telling him Eames isn’t all that bad.
And it isn’t like Eames doesn’t try to make nice but James always comes running to Cobb, burying his face in his knee. Eames gets this broken-hearted look on his face every time, but he hides it away in Arthur’s shoulder.
Cobb’s at a complete lost as to why James is acting like this. He doesn’t know if he should interfere or let Eames try to solve it himself.
But finally, there is one particularly awkward dinner where James insists on sitting on Cobb’s lap for dinner, refusing to eat anything not from Cobb’s spoon. Phillipa tries to get him to sit on his own by teasing him and Arthur tries to get him to move too, just so Cobb would have some time to eat, but James is adamant in his decision and makes a fuss. Cobb sighs and sets to feeding James, and delaying his dinner til later. Eames even tries makes an effort, but James blatantly ignores him and that troubles Eames so much that he dismisses himself from the table.
Phillipa kicks up a rage then, wanting Eames to come back and James is shouting back. All Cobb wants to do is crack a wall in with his head.
“Can you look after Phillippa?” asks Cobb, lifting James onto himself and Arthur nods while Phillipa yells that she can take care of herself. Cobb takes James back to his room and sets him on the floor, stern expression on his face.
“What’s wrong, James?” he asks, “You’ve been very grumpy lately and you ignore Eames every time he talks to you. I don’t understand.”
“I don’t like Eames,” cries James, face red, eyes wet, nose dripping.
“But why? Did he do something bad?” coaxes Cobb, running a hand through James’ hair. James hiccups.
“No, maybe,” breathes James, and then he launches himself back onto Cobb, arms going around his neck. He starts going into hysterics, talking really fast and incoherent and Cobb has to shush him, patting his back to get him to calm down.
“What, James, you have to talk slower. Daddy can’t understand you if you talk too fast, now calm down, breathe and talk to daddy.”
“Eames is going to take Arthur away! And then he’s going to take you away! And Phillippa away!” blurts James, fisting his shirt and Cobb is taken aback by the outburst.
“What do you mean? Eames hasn’t taken anyone away,” says Cobb.
“But he will! Phillipa loves him and Arthur loves him and you love him,” bawls James, going into hysterics again, and Cobb is so surprised he can’t even form words. He has no idea where James has gotten these notions but he suspects maybe a little too much TV may be the culprit.
“Eames loves you, James,” says Cobb, “he loves everyone. He would never take anybody from anyone, and if he did, he wouldn’t take just one, he’d take all of us, yeah? Because we’re a family. Daddy and Phillipa would never leave you alone.”
“And Arthur?” hiccups James, rubbing the wetness out of his eyes and Cobb plucks a tissue from the bedside table to help him. “Arthur is family too?”
Cobb licks his lips in contemplation, before nodding, “Yeah. Yeah. Arthur’s family too.” He takes a breath and glances at the door to make sure there’s no one there. “And so is Eames. You know, daddy and Eames have been friends for a long time, since daddy was 13! You know how old daddy is now?”
James shakes his head.
“37, James, and that means daddy has known Eames for 24 years. That’s a big number, yeah? Way bigger than yours or Phillipa, like triple, no, quadruple! So maybe you can trust daddy when he says that Eames is family, and he will never take anyone away. We stick together.” Cobb hooks his pinkie with James and that makes him giggle wetly.
“You promise daddy? You promise we all stay together and be family?”
Cobb kisses James’ hair and pulls him onto his knee, rocking back and forth, “Yeah, promise, James. Daddy won’t lie to you.” He closes his eyes and buries his face into his son’s hair and realises his white lies are complete truths.
-
It’s the cold that wakes Cobb. It usually is. But it’s strange for him to wake from it now, because he’s usually always warm with either Arthur or Eames plastered to his side.
When he wakes, neither are in the bed and it confuses him. He has a brief moment of panic, hands shaking as he considers whether it’s an induced dream for a second and then shakes his head to clear the thought. He’s left that doubt behind- he’s here, in this world, with his kids and that’s enough. There’s no time to doubt anything.
Cobb gets up from the bed, slow with sleep, and checks the time.
3. 23.
They went to bed five hours ago.
He walks out and checks on the kids, their room adjacent to his. He tucks Phillipa back in and smoothes down James’ sheets. When he leaves, he keeps the door partially open thinking about how in ten years, they’ll be slamming the doors and locking him out.
He wanders about the house, the living room, the kitchen, without seeing Eames and Arthur, and decides to check the guest bedroom that is situated on the other end of the hall to their bedrooms. He frowns when he sees moonlight filtered through the open door.
Cobb usually makes it a general rule to keep all doors closed because he doesn’t want the kids to be able to just walk into rooms and mess around or even get hurt by being alone. He walks closer, reaching to close it but freezes at the door way when he catches Arthur and Eames on the bed.
He hands clench at the sight, tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip. He doesn’t know what to do, because Arthur is rocking gently into Eames, back gleaming with sweat. Eames is talking beneath him, chanting something that Cobb doesn’t understand at first, but makes out as, “C’mon Arthur, show me, show me, show me, yeah. Show me how you fucked him, tell me about the noises he made, how he looked. C’mon Arthur.”
It takes seeing Arthur holding Eames’ hands down, anchoring himself on his right leg to thrust smoothly, to discern that Arthur is fucking Eames like he did Cobb that one night. That Eames is talking about him in his incoherent babble.
His cheeks burn at that, and they burn even more when he realises that he’s reacting to it all, hardening in his sweats.
Arthur makes a sound in the back of his throat and leans down, sharing a kiss with Eames that sounds slick and wet. “You want it like him?” murmurs Arthur, “Or do you want me to fuck you like you did him?” He gives a hard thrust, one that makes Eames muffle his groan. “Don’t think I don't remember what you told me- how you coaxed his legs open and fingered him until he begged for it, all the while holding his throat down, fuck,” Arthur frees one hand to put it on Eames’ throat and Eames responds with a guttural sound that knocks Cobb out of his reverie.
He startles and backs away before quickly making his way back to the bedroom. It isn’t until he’s closed the door, sliding down against it, that he breathes a little easier.
What the hell, he thinks. What the hell was that? How could they- do that in his house? Cobb shakes his head and scrubs at his face with his hands. If they wanted to have sex couldn’t they just leave for a hotel or something- why did they have to do it in his house, under his roof with the kids here- oh God the kids. Now Cobb’s really irritated, he-
He fists his hands in the material of his sweats and looks down at the bulge of his erection. He drags his hand through his hair, not sure of what to do, he doesn’t want to admit that- that he’s turned on by the sight of Arthur and Eames naked, skin slicked with sweat, sharing intimate kisses while sharing intimate acts. He doesn’t want to admit that he had a brief moment where he wanted to be beneath Arthur or in between, to feel the both of them hold him, constrain him, all the while driving him crazy-
Cobb rests his head back against the door and slides a hand into his pants, fingers stroking his length. He does his best not to think about anything in particular, not what he’s seen or his own thoughts, but it’s hard not to when every time he closes his eyes, they’re all he can see.
Cobb squirms in his own grip, panting softly, hand increasing in speed. He gives in to his thoughts about what would happen if Arthur and Eames finished soon and come back to the room, opening the door up to catch Cobb touching himself. He flushes at the thought, ears keeping out for any sounds as he tries to finish fast.
He thinks about Arthur and Eames catching his wrists and pinning his hands to his sides, telling him how wayward he is, bringing himself off without either of them there.
Cobb shakes his head. No. He doesn’t need their approval to do this, he’s a grown man. He licks at his lips, teeth worrying the bottom as he shimmies his sweats low to the top of his thighs.
His other hand joins him, caressing his balls before dipping the tip of his finger to his hole. The memory of Eames doing this to him flashes in his mind and he pulls his hand away as if it burns.
He curses himself at that reaction, because what the hell, why is he so reluctant to do this to himself?
Cobb gets onto his knees and spits into his hands and goes for it, panting louder now. He still keeps an ear out for Arthur and Eames, and the thought of them catching him floods into his mind again; the way Arthur would be stroking him, Eames fingering him, rumbling words into his shoulder.
He comes with a soft cry, wetting his hand and clenching around his finger. He shudders hard and gives himself a second or five to catch his breath before he’s scrambling to pull his pants up, to wipe his hands clean.
Tossing the tissues into the wastebasket, he turns to the door, hoping that they haven’t returned and crawls into bed, curling up again.
He’s filled with regret now, in the aftermath of it all, a slow burn in the pit of his stomach. He buries his head into his knees, and tries not to think about it. How all that consumes his thoughts is of the two people that have been pursuing him. It’s stupid to- to want them but not- and not to go after them, especially when they’ve made it clear they want him back.
He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, why he’s so hesitant but it makes him dizzy, thinking about it all. He waits for a long time, wishing that they’d come back now but is disappointed, when he drops off to sleep, cold like before.
-
The morning after, he’s sleeping straight again, Arthur plastered against his back and Eames at his front. He blushes when he remembers last night, and hopes that they can’t tell what he did.
He sits up, groggy and blames it on being awoken last night. Not having at least nine hours sleep disorientates Cobb, he’s used to this life and can no longer survive on minimal sleep.
Eames stirs beside him, hand clenching over his. “What’s wrong?” he mumbles sleepily. “Why’re you up so early?”
“It’s nothing,” says Cobb, trying to pull his hand away and he does so in a gesture of running his fingers through his hair. “I just woke up.”
“Go back to sleep,” says Eames, “It’s still early and you look tired.” He pulls on Cobb’s hand and lays him down again. He nudges his forehead against Cobb’s and murmurs, “You’re a little warm, Arthur a bit too hot for you?”
Cobb laughs, low and husky, and shakes his head. He closes his eyes against Eames’ stare, and eventually falls asleep again.
-
When he wakes up again, he’s alone once more. He curls in on himself, and moans low in his throat. He feels terrible; his body is aching and there’s a scratch at the back of his throat. He coughs to dispel it, but it doesn’t help.
“Cobb,” says Arthur, putting a hand to his back, “time to get up,” and Cobb makes an acquiesce sound and hears Arthur leave. He tells himself five more minutes and falls asleep again.
-
The third time he wakes up, he sits up, eyes looking for the clock.
“Calm down, it’s all done,” says Eames, sitting against the headboard, reading, “Arthur took the kids to school and is grocery shopping and paying off the gas bill. You just go back to bed.”
“I can’t,” says Cobb, moving to get out. He ignores the aches and clears his throat, feeling the rumble rip at the soreness. “I’ve got things to do, I can’t stay in bed. Why didn’t you wake me up when I fell asleep?”
“Nick,” says Eames, sounding stern. “Get the bloody hell back into bed, you’re sick.”
Cobb blinks at him and wonders what Eames is talking about. Sure, he feels bad but it’s just from not sleeping well late night, and sleeping irregularly now. No way can he be sick, he usually isn't.
In the time that he’s thinking, Eames pulls him back onto the bed and tucks him back in, fingers dancing over his forehead.
“How did I?” asks Cobb, trying to wrack his brain for a reason and Eames looks guilty at the question.
“You must’ve gotten cold,” says Eames, offhandedly, and Cobb thinks to last night.
He opens his mouth to say something, maybe get Eames to spill but that gets him thinking to what he did and he says instead, “Could I get some tea?”
“Yeah,” says Eames, putting his book to the side. “Earl Grey, love?”
Cobb nods, head following after Eames’ departing hand and he almost falls off the bed.
“Careful,” says Eames and he presses a kiss to Cobb’s forehead before leaving.
Cobb curls back in bed, hand pressed to the kiss. It’s the first time Eames’ has done that while he’s awake.
-
When Arthur gets back he’s equipped with fruits, vegetables, chicken soup and medicine.
Cobb curls back from the innocent looking boxes, and doesn’t make a sound when Arthur and Eames argue over dinner.
“What are the kids going to eat if you’ve got all this for Nick?”
“We’ll get them take out for today, I just- Dom,” says Arthur.
“They can’t have take out, healthy-”
“It won’t be McDonalds or anything, but from a restaurant. It’ll still be healthy, just not made by us, okay. I- I’ll think about it later.” Arthur climbs onto the bed and holds a hand to Cobb’s forehead. “He’s gotten hotter. Pass me the- I don’t know which one it is, fever medication. And some bottled water.”
“You’re overreacting,” says Cobb, pushing Arthur away. “It’s just a bit of a fake flu, you know, the ones that start like a cold but after a day it’s all good?”
“Yeah, well, better safe than sorry,” says Arthur, settling on the edge of the bed, “Have Phil and Jay got their vaccination shots? I was thinking it’d be a good idea.”
“I, I don’t think so. I.” Cobb frowns, the kids have yet to be sick in his care, and Marie hasn’t told him of any of her experiences with them.
“Here we are,” says Eames, coming back in with the water and meds. Arthur takes it and passes it on to Cobb.
“Take this and we’ll get you some chicken soup.”
Cobb tries his best to smile, and nods. He pops the capsules out of their foil, two red ones, and slips them into his mouth, setting the box onto the nightstand. He’s uncapping the bottled water as Arthur and Eames walk out and takes a gulp of water, doing his best to swallow it down.
-
It’s the second day and Cobb still feels terrible. Both Arthur and Eames are running circles around Cobb like headless mother hens. It annoys him that they don’t let him do much of anything, even if his fever only spikes sporadically.
He’s tired, he admits, but that doesn’t mean he should lie in bed doing nothing.
But every time he sneaks off to do work, one of them would drag him back to bed. They also fret when he forgets to take his medication, setting an alarm at every four hour interval until Cobb threw the phone at the wall, cracking it open in rage.
On the third day though, Eames has a job, one less guard to watch him. But Arthur seems more vigilant than ever, except he can’t keep an eye on Cobb when he’s out- taking the kids to school, grocery shopping or running other errands. That’s when Cobb hauls ass to the office to work.
The next day, Arthur gets a call. Apparently he has to go save Eames’ ass.
“This is bad timing, but don’t worry. I’ve got you someone.”
“I’m fine, Arthur,” groans Cobb, turning in bed, kicking the covers off cause it’s so fucking hot. “It’s the fourth day. I’m on the road to recovery.”
“And that’s all good but still. I’m going to head to the airport now, and she’ll be here in a few hours. Go to sleep.”
Cobb gets a kiss on the forehead and a frown. He waits until Arthur is rushing out the door, to fall over on his side and cough his lungs out.
Ouch.
-
Hours later, he wakes up to the sound of someone moving in the house. He thinks it’s Eames but remembers he’s off on a job. And then he remembers Arthur is out saving him.
That means-
Cobb can feel the panic start to rise in him but it’s immediately quelled when Ariadne pops into the doorway.
“Sick, huh,” she says and Cobb blinks blearily at her.
“Tell me you’re a hallucination.”
“Don’t tell me they’ve hit you up with the hard drugs,” she says and he rolls his eyes.
“What are you doing here, Ariadne? How did you get in?”
Ariadne shrugs, coming in to sit tentatively on the edge. “Oh, I’m just on break, you know, before taking up my masters. And I thought, what’s the best way to spend it? Look after a sick, old man! And Arthur left the key under the welcome mat.”
“Arthur made you, huh,” sniffles Cobb and Ariadne shrugs again.
“The kids love me,” she says in way of an explanation.
“You don’t know how to drive,” points out Cobb, feeling the creeping feeling of another cough up his throat, “how will you get them h-home? It’s cold out, I’ll drive.” He smothers his mouth with his hands, doing his best to stifle his cough, make it sound less booming and haggard than it really is.
“Are you even all right to drive?” asks Ariadne, half off the bed as if she wants to stroke Cobb’s back, make it better, but doesn’t. She knows better.
Cobb nods. “I’ve been sick for a few days now, I’m on the road to recovery.”
“But that doesn’t mean you’re well.”
“A parent is akin to a superhero,” grins Cobb, hoping he looks convincing through the pale of his face, the slight flush to his cheeks.
Ariadne looks like she wants to say something, but she bites it back, nods.
“I’ll wake you when it’s time- school ends at 3, right?”
Cobb nods.
“I’ll just make myself at home-” she starts, standing up and Cobb blurts out, “Don’t sleep in the guest room!” his face burning at the memory.
Ariadne blinks. “Er, okay?”
“Just- it might be- Eames is currently living in there, you see.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind if I hunker down in his room for a few days.”
“Change the sheets,” coaxes Cobb, coughing lightly into his fist, “don’t know what he’s been up to.”
Ariadne crinkles her nose at that. “Alright, I did not want to think about Eames doing- oh my God, isn’t Arthur staying with you too? Okay, I do not want to sleep in that room.”
“The couch,” offers Cobb and Ariadne nods, shifting her weight.
“Go to sleep and I’ll bring you some soup, then we’ll pick up the kids. I’m a mean cook.”
“So is Arthur,” mumbles Cobb, eyes already heavy again and he squirms back into the pile of pillows behind him.
Ariadne laughs.
-
True to her word, Ariadne wakes Cobb up around 2 in the afternoon. “Soup,” she says, placing the bowl on his bedside table. She waves something else in his face, “and medicine, yay!”
“I’m overjoyed,” drones Cobb, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His whole body still aches, making him feel like he’s too old. His face feels hot, skin clammy, but he sits up right anyway, hands on his lap.
“You don’t need me to feed you, right?”
“I can do that by myself,” coughs Cobb, eyeing Ariadne wearily.
“Oh good, it’s just that Arthur’s left a long list of instructions and I don’t know if I should follow it all to a T.”
“It mentions spoon-feeding me?”
Ariadne laughs, ducking her head. “Only if you refuse to eat,” she says, jokingly.
Cobb doesn’t put it past Arthur to have written a mile long list of ways to cluck over him. He sighs and then coughs wetly, hacking into a quickly grabbed tissue.
Ariadne winces. “We might need to get some decongestant for that.”
“It’s fine,” says Cobb, “just that, lingering mucus or something. I’m getting better. If I need anything I’ll tell you.”
“Alright,” says Ariadne, slanting Cobb a doubtful look before taking off.
Cobb sighs and rolls his shoulder. He takes the bowl off the nightstand shakily, grateful that it’s not hot but warm enough that he can drink it all down, warming his throat. When he’s done, he curls back into the warmth of the bed, forgetting about the pills.
-
Driving onto the street, Cobb isn’t sure if he’s made the right choice but thankfully it’s a ten minute drive and he gets a parking spot before the streets get flooded with cars of other parents.
“So how long have they’ve been living with you?” asks Ariadne, hands pressed to the window, keeping an eye out for the kids.
“Hmm?” sniffles Cobb, trying not to react to the warmth blasting at him from the car heater as his body goes into another heat flush, “Oh, um.” He doesn’t know if he can blush right now, but he’s feeling it. “Awhile?”
“Like a week awhile or weeks into months awhile?” she teases, not turning to look at him.
“How about none of your business awhile,” deadpans Cobb and Ariadne laughs.
“That doesn’t even make sense, Cobb.”
“Well, I’m sick so you have to excuse me for not making sense.”
“You’re impossible,” she says, shooting Cobb a sly look like she knows everything before turning back to the window.
Cobb turns his head away and looks out the window for the kids. He jumps when Ariadne makes a happy sound, opening the door and jumping out. He watches her run the distance to the gate, gathering the bundled James into her arms and hugging Phillipa.
He smiles to see them walking back, even though the cold wind has got him shivering. Damn conflicting temperatures.
“Daddy!” the kids shout when Ariadne gets them into the car.
“Hey guys,” croaks Cobb, pulling out of the spot and back onto the road, “how was school today?”
“Good!” says Phillipa, and when he flicks his eyes to the rear view mirror, he sees her trying to flatten down her windblown hair. “How about you, dad? Eamesy said you’re sick!”
Cobb coughs and nods, “Yeah, but I’m much better! And I have Ariadne here to help me because Arthur went to help Eames on his business.”
“They’re always away,” says James and Cobb can hear the pout in his voice.
“They’re working to buy you presents,” interjects Ariadne, craning over the seat. “Cause they love all of you very much.”
He knows what Ariadne is implying even if she’s not shooting him a look and blushes, not saying a word as they get home.
-
Cobb lets Ariadne help around the house, but being free of his prison guards who wouldn’t take no for an answer, he’s able to do the things that he wants. He works constantly, trying to make up for lost time- it’s approaching December and the spring semester starts in the middle of January. He hasn’t even finished putting together the curriculum for it.
And he thinks about Christmas, too.
He’s thinking of getting everything together before the rush because that happened last year when he got back to the kids. He was so glad to have them around that he forgot about the tradition of taking care of the Christmas shopping, instead of just plying the kids every month with gifts.
He received an email too, from Miles, forwarding a client proposal for his employment of a small architectural design for a hotel to be built in 2013. He wonders if he should do it, and thinks about how Arthur and Eames seems to be flashy with their money and sends back a response of interest.
“Cobb,” calls Ariadne, knocking on the door and opening it. She’s giving him a look like she’s trying to scare him back to bed and he ignores it. She sighs. “Do you think we could go grocery shopping? We’re a bit low on vegetables and we’re out of bread. It won’t be long, just a bit.”
Cobb nods and tells her to get the children dressed and groans when she closes the door. He takes deep breaths in and out, ignoring his fluctuating body temperature. He stands up and ignores the twinge of pain in his knees and his back as he gets to the door.
-
Cobb tries to get breakfast in order, but his coughing hurts so much that he has to take a break, lean his pounding head against the cool of the stainless steel refrigerator, hand clutching at his chest, rubbing at his throat.
“Daddy?”
Cobb turns around to see Phillipa.
“Hey, Pips,” he greets, ruffling her hair.
“You okay, dad?” asks Phillipa, taking a seat at the table.
“Fine, just tired. Daddy’s been working hard to become a teacher.”
“Okay,” says Phillipa, looking doubtful, “can I have some scrambled eggs and toast today?”
“Nothing else?”
“Milk and bananas,” chirps Phillipa and Cobb nods. He tries to keep his coughing down as he patters about the kitchen, ignoring the aches in his joints, the way his eyes feel bruised and heavy.
“Good morning Ariadne!” greets Phillipa.
Cobb turns to see her looking blearily at him.
“Morning Phillipa- Cobb, you’re up already? You should be in bed, I’ll do breakfast.”
“I’m fine, Ariadne, I’ll just do this. What would you like?” He stifles his cough and Ariadne looks at him doubtfully.
“I’ll help then. Just- eggs and toast, huh?”
Cobb nods and tries not to feel thankful when she grabs the bread, popping them into the toaster. He doesn’t think he can move that much with the constant ache pulsing in his body.
[next]