Fic: A Big Deal
Title: A Big Deal
Author: sunriseinspace
Character(s): Arthur / Eames
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Inception, its characters or plotlines, including any recognizable dialogue.
Rating: PG-13
Written for this prompt on inception_kink
Summary: It's Arthur's birthday and he doesn't even realize it. Eames realizes it, though.
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It's the smell of roasted chicken and garlic that strikes him first, before he even has a chance to slip his key in the lock. Gun in hand, he nudges the door open with his foot, sighting around corners and doors until he's standing in the doorway of his kitchen. There, mouth dropping open in surprise and weapon instinctively lowered, he stares and tries to take in the scene.
"Eames?" he finally manages, hands moving to engage the safety on his gun and lay it on the kitchen counter.
"Satisfied I'm the only one here?" Eames asks mildly, not even looking up as he continues stirring the pot on the stove. Mouthwatering scents are rising in the air, making Arthur realize just how long it's been since his coffee and bagel that morning. "Hello, darling," he says, stepping away from the stove long enough to peck a kiss to Arthur's lips.
"What-what are you doing?" Arthur's bewildered, honestly thrown by Eames' presence in his apartment. Last he'd heard, the forger was lying low somewhere in Somalia, living on cheap whiskey and sunshine if Eames' last phonecall was to be believed. Certainly nothing in Arthur's network had hinted at Eames' sudden desire to venture stateside when Mossad was likely still on his tail. "Should I be worried?" Arthur hazards, not liking that he doesn't have all the details in this situation.
"So far as I know, there's no one eavesdropping on our conversation, nor peeping at us through the curtains." He turns, carrying the pot with him, to start spooning pilaf onto a pair of plates waiting on the counter. Already, there's grilled chicken and sauteed green beans waiting on the plates, the pleasing smell of cooked garlic wafting from the food. "I lost my tail somewhere near Cairo." He looks up at Arthur and grins. "Figured that was the wrong kind of birthday surprise."
"Birthday?" Arthur frowns. "It's February. Yours isn't until September."
The look on Eames' face goes somewhere between anger and sadness, his eyes opaque with unreadable emotion. Arthur takes a step forward, instinctively wanting to erase that expression, as Eames tosses the spoon back into the pot he's holding and dumps the whole affair into the sink. The line of Eames' shoulders goes taut as he braces his hands on the edge of the sink, head hanging. Completely lost, Arthur ditches his bag in the doorway and walks over to slide his hands up over Eames' back and around, resting his cheek against Eames' shoulderblade. They stand like that for a few moments, the mostly empty pot steaming in the sink as the food on the plates slowly cools.
"February seventeenth, Arthur. February-fucking-seventeenth." He turns his head to speak over his shoulder. "Your birthday, darling. Thirty years. Didn't anyone ever--"
Arthur shrugs, speaking against Eames' back, eyes on the cooling dinner Eames made. For him. "Mal did. Dinner and presents and singing." He laughs, lowly, sadly. "Boston Cream Pie and peanut butter cookies. Every year for five years. 'Til she jumped." He sighs. "It's not a big deal--"
"It is a big deal!" Eames exclaims, turning so suddenly Arthur hasn't any choice but to let him go. "It's your birthday. You were born today, Arthur. And you've been alive for thirty years. That is a major achievement, especially considering our line of work. It deserves fanfare and I won't let it pass without acknowledging it in some way, whether you like it or not."
A small smile quirks the corner of Arthur's mouth as he takes in the angry stiffness of Eames' features. "Shouldn't it matter whether or not I like it?" he asks softly.
"What?" Eames blinks, face losing some of its tension.
"If it's my birthday, shouldn't we be doing what I want?"
Eames stares at him for a beat, then barks a tired laugh. "Yes, darling." He loops his arms around Arthur's back, pulling him close enough for Arthur to lay his cheek against Eames' chest. Eames presses a kiss to the crown of Arthur's head and tilts his cheek against Arthur's hair. "What would you like to do?"
He doesn't even have to think about it. "I would like to eat the dinner you made me. I would like to pretend that the rest of the dreamshare community doesn't exist. I would like to pretend my dead best friend's husband didn't completely forget to remind me I turn thirty today. And I would like for you to help me acknowledge my birthday in whatever way you see fit. Within reason," he stipulates, seeing Eames' devious grin.
"Well, best be getting on with that, yeah?" Eames prompts, glancing at the clock on the microwave. "Only three hours until it isn't your birthday anymore and all. C'mon, darling, pour the wine," he instructs but pulls Arthur back against his chest when he moves to comply.
The kiss they share is soft and sweet, just a little dirty. The warm feeling of Eames' determination to celebrate Arthur's birthday spreads through him, weighting his limbs and slowing his thoughts, spinning him down out of work-mode. Little by little, with Eames' body close and warm against his and the appealing smell of good food taunting him with promise, Arthur lets himself remember what it is to be human, to be appreciated for nothing more than being, to be cared for by someone who truly feels he matters. The smile that spreads across his face breaks their kiss, but they only move apart enough to breathe.
"Thank you. For this," Arthur says, words fanning out over Eames' lips.
And Eames smiles back, soft and fond. "You're important to me, Arthur. I'd do a lot more than make you dinner on your birthday to prove that, darling." Arthur just blinks at this man, this man, and tugs him back down into a kiss.