Keep the Car Running (30/31)
Apr. 8th, 2015 09:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
earlgreytea68Title - Keep the Car Running (29/31)
Author -![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
earlgreytea68
Rating - Adult
Characters - Arthur, Eames, Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Moriarty, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Dom Cobb
Spoilers - Through "His Last Vow" in the Sherlock universe. This takes place post-movie, so I guess spoilers for "Inception"? But just for the basic fact that it's about dream thieves, nothing in this story depends overly much on the movie's plot.
Disclaimer - I don't own any of them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on.
Summary - If Mycroft Holmes lived in a world where people could steal information from the subconsciouses of others, tell me he wouldn't be all over that when he had Moriarty in custody.
Chapter 30
They got soaking wet on the way back to the restaurant. Arthur looked like a frowny little drowned rat, and Eames thought this was hilarious and that Arthur’s sister was utterly fantastic, and then Arthur’s mother said, “What took so long— Who’s this?” and Eames realized he hadn’t actually thought this through because now he was meeting Arthur’s parents and he was a mess.
Arthur said, “Mom, Dad, this is Eames.”
“Eames?” echoed Arthur’s mother, looking like she didn’t know what to make of that.
“Better than my first name,” Eames informed her gallantly, executing a kiss over her hand. “Which is Aloysius.” He winked.
“Not true,” said Arthur, long-suffering.
“Lovely to meet you,” said Arthur’s mother, turning a gratifying shade of pink. “But who are you?”
“This is the boyfriend Arthur’s been mooning over this whole time,” said Danielle helpfully.
“I haven’t been mooning,” said Arthur.
“Boyfriend,” said Arthur’s father dubiously, and took in Eames’s bedraggled appearance.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Arthur asked Danielle. “Isn’t that what this evening was supposed to be all about?”
“My boyfriend’s already at the table, perfectly dry and put-together, because we weren’t just trying to have sex up against Mom’s car,” said Danielle cheekily, before walking further into the restaurant to greet the man who stood up at the table.
Arthur’s parents both blinked in astonishment at Arthur.
“We weren’t,” said Arthur, now beet-red, and Eames thought of that blush all over Arthur’s body being absolutely wasted. “We really, really weren’t.”
“Your shirt is now missing a button,” said Arthur’s mother drily.
“I was apologizing,” Eames jumped in, trying to help. “For being a truly terrible boyfriend.”
“He is a horrible boyfriend,” Arthur agreed fervently.
“Except when I’m really a fantastic boyfriend,” said Eames.
“He’s a horrible boyfriend,” Arthur assured his parents.
Eames frowned at him. “No, no, I am, for the most part, an excellent boyfriend.”
Arthur’s mother said, with a firmness that made Eames think of being put in his place by Arthur himself during tricky extractions, “I don’t know what you did to make him look the way he looked lately, but you are never to do it again, and we’ll check back in twenty years or so on what kind of boyfriend I think you are.”
Eames could think of nothing to do but agree, “Okay.”
“Horrible,” Arthur whispered in Eames’s ear, as his parents walked away to greet Nick.
“Shut up,” Eames hissed back. “You’re worse than I am, throwing me under the bus like this. I came to Iowa City for you.”
Arthur looked at him, his eyes dark and somber, and he said, suddenly not teasing at all, “You did.” And then he just as suddenly pressed his face into Eames’s neck.
Eames, caught off-guard, awkwardly smoothed Arthur’s damp hair down and kissed his head and said, “Hey. Okay?”
Arthur nodded against him but didn’t straighten up.
Arthur’s sister gave Eames a thumbs-up sign.
***
Arthur pulled Eames aside at the end of the meal, but Eames didn’t hear what he was going to say because Arthur’s sister came up to them and said to her brother, “You know how you’re going to give Nick that whole speech about not breaking my heart?”
“Yes,” said Arthur slowly, warily.
“Go do it so I can give the same speech to Eames,” said Danielle, and practically shoved him away.
Eames had never been given such a speech before and had no idea how he was supposed to receive it.
But Danielle surprised him by starting with, “You’re not really an artist.”
Eames considered and settled on saying, delicately, “I’m good at art.”
“You carry a gun,” Danielle pointed out.
“Well,” began Eames.
“So does my brother,” said Danielle.
Eames was wisely silent.
“The thing is that I don’t care. I know he thinks I don’t know, and I know he’s probably not telling me because he’s trying to keep me safe, because that’s how Arthur is. And when my husband ran off and I had two little kids and I didn’t know what I was going to do, do you know who saved my life? It was Arthur. So I don’t care what mysterious thing it is he really does for a living. I know him. I know that he has a good heart and he’s a good person. So I want him to be happy, and he has been happy, and I’m saying all this because I swear to God, Eames, when he loves he loves and he will never stop, no matter what, and I need you recognize that, okay?”
Danielle looked nearly close to tears, and Eames felt tight with panic. He said, honestly, “I don’t think I’m the best person for Arthur to have decided to love.”
“You are. Because you realize what a gem he is, enough to be terrified by him. And that’s a good thing. I like the way he looks at you, like he can’t believe his luck. But I like better the way you look at him, like you can’t believe your luck more.” Danielle startled Eames with a hug. Eames looked at Arthur over Danielle’s shoulder, who looked as alarmed as Eames felt. “Take care of him for me.”
“That I can do,” Eames said, because he’d been trying to do it for years now.
“Good,” said Danielle, and kissed his cheek. “You’re lovely.” She turned just in time for Arthur to walk suspiciously up. “He’s lovely,” she told Arthur.
Arthur narrowed his eyes at Eames. “Not really,” he said.
Danielle laughed. “God, look at you, pretending not to be smitten. You’re doing a terrible job.” She corralled him into a hug.
“Smitten,” repeated Arthur, looking horrified.
“I have to go relieve the sitter,” Danielle said.
“I’m going with Eames,” Arthur said.
“I assumed. At least make it to the room this time, boys.”
Arthur looked aghast. “Tell Mom and Dad for me.”
“I don’t think they want to know,” Danielle called back as she left.
“Not about the room thing!” Arthur called after her.
“I like your sister a lot,” Eames informed him.
“She’s awful,” said Arthur. “All of them are awful.”
“None of them are awful,” said Eames, and put his hand on Arthur’s neck and rubbed a circle behind Arthur’s ear, because Arthur had always found that soothing, even before he’d been willing to admit that he felt better with Eames’s hands on him.
Arthur said, “Give me just one second,” and took his die out and rolled it on the table.
Eames looked down at the resulting four and said, “Darling, we’re in Iowa City. There’s no way this is a dream.”
***
The room was a sad, sorry, dreary little affair, and Arthur, feeling tense now that this moment was upon them, turned a nervous circle in it. They had been silent for the entirety of the ride there, and Arthur felt both like they’d said every word there was to say and that they could never say enough of them.
Eames said to him, “You’re absolutely dazzling in this room, petal.”
“That’s not hard to be,” said Arthur.
Eames took his poker chip out of his pocket and looked at it before flipping it onto the nightstand.
“We’re in the most depressing room in all of Iowa City,” Arthur pointed out, a bit mockingly. “There’s no way this is a dream.”
“Ah,” said Eames, and walked over to Arthur, and then kept walking, until he had him against the wall, and then he breathed into him. “But you’re standing in the most depressing room in all of Iowa City and you look absolutely dazzling and you’re all mine, and if this is a dream, I want you to keep me below until all of the stars fall out of the sky, okay?”
Arthur’s breath caught, and he would have kissed Eames, except Eames said, stepping away and sounding almost shy, “I brought you something.”
Arthur was confused. “You did?” He watched Eames go over to his bag and pull out…a packaging tube. “My Titian?” Arthur said in delight, as Eames handed it across to him. “Did you actually steal me a Titian?”
But it wasn’t a Titian. It was…Paris. Paris stretching away from him, all jumbled perspective, rooftops and doors and windows and a dreamy Eiffel Tower in the distant corner but it worked somehow, bright and blocky and yet almost smeared like a watercolor, some combination of Kandinsky and Monet. And, in the foreground, someone who was very clearly Arthur, sitting at a sidewalk café, leaned back on his seat, long, lean legs kicked out, clad in pale gray, his profile tipped away from the viewer toward the Eiffel Tower, but Arthur could recognize himself, could see how lovingly and vividly he’d been painted, the attention to detail of an Old Master.
Arthur stared at the painting.
Eames said, “It’s, like, every artistic style in the world all at once, jumbled together. It’s the problem with forgery. I can’t paint like me, I just paint like everyone else, and it—I should have just stolen you the Titian. I was going to, I was really going to—”
“Eames,” said Arthur, low and reverent. “Oh my God, Eames.” He looked up at him, looking so absurdly nervous. For what possible reason, wondered Arthur. “Did you paint this for me?”
“Of course I did,” said Eames, and then, even more absurdly, “Do you like it?”
“Eames,” said Arthur, and dropped the painting and tackled him to the bed. “Oh my God, I love it.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Shut up,” said Arthur, kissing him into compliance. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. I love it. I’m going to bring it everywhere with me. I’m going to sleep with it in my bed.”
“You’ll ruin it,” said Eames, sounding embarrassed.
“I’m going to take it to dinner with me. I’m going to carry it around with me to jobs and tell everyone my boyfriend made it for me.”
“It’s just a bloody painting, Arthur,” said Eames, almost squirming now with his embarrassment.
Arthur was delighted by this. He kissed behind Eames’s ear and said, “But I didn’t get you anything!”
Eames said, “Idiot, you got me you.”
Arthur paused, stopped moving, stopped nibbling and kissing, just stopped.
“Arthur?” said Eames uncertainly, after a moment.
Arthur shifted, stretching out over him, looking down at him. He said, “I love you. I told you I—”
“And it’s the stupidest thing, Arthur,” Eames said, all in a rush. “It’s really the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Have you ever even seen you? You’re… You’re… Go and fall in love with someone really incredible, Arthur, what the hell are you doing?”
“I see me every time I look in the mirror,” Arthur said. “You’re the one who doesn’t see you, because when you look in a mirror all you ever see is everybody else you could be. You always miss you, and I didn’t realize that until just this moment.”
“It…” Eames looked awkward underneath him. “That’s not true, I—”
“But it’s okay,” Arthur told him firmly. “Because I see you. I see everything about you. And if you tell me you want me, you can have me forever.”
Eames blinked up at him. He said, “I’ve wanted you for so long that I can’t remember what it was like not to want you.”
Arthur reached for Eames’s poker chip, read Cassino on it.
Eames said, “We’re in the worst hotel room in all of Iowa City, petal.”
“Yes, we are, you cheap bastard,” agreed Arthur, putting the poker chip back. “Let’s break the fucking bed.”
***
“I thought you were seducing me the whole time,” Arthur said against him.
“I was,” said Eames.
“Right, but I didn’t think you meant it.”
“I meant it so much I couldn’t show you how much I meant it,” said Eames.
“Your ears were red the day we met,” Arthur said sleepily. “Sunburn. You’d been on the beach, seducing the blonde twins. You had the ugliest pair of sunglasses on. You were such a smug, arrogant prick. I hated you so much that I loved you.”
Eames, amused, kissed Arthur’s nearest bit of skin, and Arthur hummed happily. “You were wearing a blazer on that bloody beach. A blazer, Arthur. It was Carnival in Rio. You were so fucking annoying I couldn’t imagine how dull my life would be without you.”
“Do you think we have a healthy relationship?” asked Arthur.
Eames laughed. “Do you want a healthy relationship?”
“I want you.” Arthur paused. “But I’m going to start making you eat a little better.”
“Not unless you start bribing me with sex acts every time I eat a carrot.”
“What if I fellate the carrot?” asked Arthur.
“Make it a courgette and we’re getting somewhere,” said Eames.
“A courgette,” mocked Arthur. “God, you’re annoying.” He kissed Eames’s chest.
Eames drifted his fingertips up and down Arthur’s bare skin and closed his eyes, thinking he might sleep for the first time in a while.
Arthur said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “Have you thought this through?”
“Depends on your definition of that,” responded Eames. “I thought Paris and lots of sex, and then, who knows? Is that thinking it through?”
“We’re going to make each other vulnerable.”
“We already do that, as Mycroft so elegantly proved.”
“Right, but now people will know that we make each other vulnerable.”
“Darling,” said Eames, “let someone try to harm you. I’d really like to see them try. We’re a pair now, you and I. We’re better together than apart.”
Arthur chuckled. “That’s what Dom told me, too.”
“Oh, God, I sound like Dom?” said Eames, sounding horrified.
“Quick, say something very un-Dom-like.”
“‘Sorry for almost getting all of you killed during that inception job, here’s some extra cash for your trouble.’”
Arthur snorted. “Christ, I can’t wait to have dinner with the pair of you.”
“If he’s nice to you, then I’ll be a sodding angel,” Eames promised.
“He is nice to me,” Arthur said.
“Have you slept since London?” Eames asked.
Arthur paused tellingly before admitting, “Not really.”
“Me, either. So let’s sleep now and talk in the morning.”
“I took a job,” Arthur said in a rush.
Eames blinked his eyes open and looked at him. “Oh,” he said.
“A couple of days ago,” Arthur went on. “After Danielle said I was mooning. And I—I was, kind of. Not a lot. I mean. Just a little. Anyway. I thought you weren’t coming, and I had to move on, and I took a job. It’s…nothing complicated, but I took it.”
“Right,” said Eames, processing.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
“No, I know,” said Eames. “I’m not… Of course, take the job, of course. I didn’t think you’d… It’s fine.”
“But I have nothing after that. One job, and then nothing. Tons of space cleared. We’ll go somewhere, just the two of us, and we’ll figure all this out.”
“Yes,” Eames agreed. “That’s a plan.” He ducked down and kissed the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “You find me this time.”
Author -
earlgreytea68Rating - Adult
Characters - Arthur, Eames, Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Moriarty, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Dom Cobb
Spoilers - Through "His Last Vow" in the Sherlock universe. This takes place post-movie, so I guess spoilers for "Inception"? But just for the basic fact that it's about dream thieves, nothing in this story depends overly much on the movie's plot.
Disclaimer - I don't own any of them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on.
Summary - If Mycroft Holmes lived in a world where people could steal information from the subconsciouses of others, tell me he wouldn't be all over that when he had Moriarty in custody.
Chapter 30
They got soaking wet on the way back to the restaurant. Arthur looked like a frowny little drowned rat, and Eames thought this was hilarious and that Arthur’s sister was utterly fantastic, and then Arthur’s mother said, “What took so long— Who’s this?” and Eames realized he hadn’t actually thought this through because now he was meeting Arthur’s parents and he was a mess.
Arthur said, “Mom, Dad, this is Eames.”
“Eames?” echoed Arthur’s mother, looking like she didn’t know what to make of that.
“Better than my first name,” Eames informed her gallantly, executing a kiss over her hand. “Which is Aloysius.” He winked.
“Not true,” said Arthur, long-suffering.
“Lovely to meet you,” said Arthur’s mother, turning a gratifying shade of pink. “But who are you?”
“This is the boyfriend Arthur’s been mooning over this whole time,” said Danielle helpfully.
“I haven’t been mooning,” said Arthur.
“Boyfriend,” said Arthur’s father dubiously, and took in Eames’s bedraggled appearance.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Arthur asked Danielle. “Isn’t that what this evening was supposed to be all about?”
“My boyfriend’s already at the table, perfectly dry and put-together, because we weren’t just trying to have sex up against Mom’s car,” said Danielle cheekily, before walking further into the restaurant to greet the man who stood up at the table.
Arthur’s parents both blinked in astonishment at Arthur.
“We weren’t,” said Arthur, now beet-red, and Eames thought of that blush all over Arthur’s body being absolutely wasted. “We really, really weren’t.”
“Your shirt is now missing a button,” said Arthur’s mother drily.
“I was apologizing,” Eames jumped in, trying to help. “For being a truly terrible boyfriend.”
“He is a horrible boyfriend,” Arthur agreed fervently.
“Except when I’m really a fantastic boyfriend,” said Eames.
“He’s a horrible boyfriend,” Arthur assured his parents.
Eames frowned at him. “No, no, I am, for the most part, an excellent boyfriend.”
Arthur’s mother said, with a firmness that made Eames think of being put in his place by Arthur himself during tricky extractions, “I don’t know what you did to make him look the way he looked lately, but you are never to do it again, and we’ll check back in twenty years or so on what kind of boyfriend I think you are.”
Eames could think of nothing to do but agree, “Okay.”
“Horrible,” Arthur whispered in Eames’s ear, as his parents walked away to greet Nick.
“Shut up,” Eames hissed back. “You’re worse than I am, throwing me under the bus like this. I came to Iowa City for you.”
Arthur looked at him, his eyes dark and somber, and he said, suddenly not teasing at all, “You did.” And then he just as suddenly pressed his face into Eames’s neck.
Eames, caught off-guard, awkwardly smoothed Arthur’s damp hair down and kissed his head and said, “Hey. Okay?”
Arthur nodded against him but didn’t straighten up.
Arthur’s sister gave Eames a thumbs-up sign.
***
Arthur pulled Eames aside at the end of the meal, but Eames didn’t hear what he was going to say because Arthur’s sister came up to them and said to her brother, “You know how you’re going to give Nick that whole speech about not breaking my heart?”
“Yes,” said Arthur slowly, warily.
“Go do it so I can give the same speech to Eames,” said Danielle, and practically shoved him away.
Eames had never been given such a speech before and had no idea how he was supposed to receive it.
But Danielle surprised him by starting with, “You’re not really an artist.”
Eames considered and settled on saying, delicately, “I’m good at art.”
“You carry a gun,” Danielle pointed out.
“Well,” began Eames.
“So does my brother,” said Danielle.
Eames was wisely silent.
“The thing is that I don’t care. I know he thinks I don’t know, and I know he’s probably not telling me because he’s trying to keep me safe, because that’s how Arthur is. And when my husband ran off and I had two little kids and I didn’t know what I was going to do, do you know who saved my life? It was Arthur. So I don’t care what mysterious thing it is he really does for a living. I know him. I know that he has a good heart and he’s a good person. So I want him to be happy, and he has been happy, and I’m saying all this because I swear to God, Eames, when he loves he loves and he will never stop, no matter what, and I need you recognize that, okay?”
Danielle looked nearly close to tears, and Eames felt tight with panic. He said, honestly, “I don’t think I’m the best person for Arthur to have decided to love.”
“You are. Because you realize what a gem he is, enough to be terrified by him. And that’s a good thing. I like the way he looks at you, like he can’t believe his luck. But I like better the way you look at him, like you can’t believe your luck more.” Danielle startled Eames with a hug. Eames looked at Arthur over Danielle’s shoulder, who looked as alarmed as Eames felt. “Take care of him for me.”
“That I can do,” Eames said, because he’d been trying to do it for years now.
“Good,” said Danielle, and kissed his cheek. “You’re lovely.” She turned just in time for Arthur to walk suspiciously up. “He’s lovely,” she told Arthur.
Arthur narrowed his eyes at Eames. “Not really,” he said.
Danielle laughed. “God, look at you, pretending not to be smitten. You’re doing a terrible job.” She corralled him into a hug.
“Smitten,” repeated Arthur, looking horrified.
“I have to go relieve the sitter,” Danielle said.
“I’m going with Eames,” Arthur said.
“I assumed. At least make it to the room this time, boys.”
Arthur looked aghast. “Tell Mom and Dad for me.”
“I don’t think they want to know,” Danielle called back as she left.
“Not about the room thing!” Arthur called after her.
“I like your sister a lot,” Eames informed him.
“She’s awful,” said Arthur. “All of them are awful.”
“None of them are awful,” said Eames, and put his hand on Arthur’s neck and rubbed a circle behind Arthur’s ear, because Arthur had always found that soothing, even before he’d been willing to admit that he felt better with Eames’s hands on him.
Arthur said, “Give me just one second,” and took his die out and rolled it on the table.
Eames looked down at the resulting four and said, “Darling, we’re in Iowa City. There’s no way this is a dream.”
***
The room was a sad, sorry, dreary little affair, and Arthur, feeling tense now that this moment was upon them, turned a nervous circle in it. They had been silent for the entirety of the ride there, and Arthur felt both like they’d said every word there was to say and that they could never say enough of them.
Eames said to him, “You’re absolutely dazzling in this room, petal.”
“That’s not hard to be,” said Arthur.
Eames took his poker chip out of his pocket and looked at it before flipping it onto the nightstand.
“We’re in the most depressing room in all of Iowa City,” Arthur pointed out, a bit mockingly. “There’s no way this is a dream.”
“Ah,” said Eames, and walked over to Arthur, and then kept walking, until he had him against the wall, and then he breathed into him. “But you’re standing in the most depressing room in all of Iowa City and you look absolutely dazzling and you’re all mine, and if this is a dream, I want you to keep me below until all of the stars fall out of the sky, okay?”
Arthur’s breath caught, and he would have kissed Eames, except Eames said, stepping away and sounding almost shy, “I brought you something.”
Arthur was confused. “You did?” He watched Eames go over to his bag and pull out…a packaging tube. “My Titian?” Arthur said in delight, as Eames handed it across to him. “Did you actually steal me a Titian?”
But it wasn’t a Titian. It was…Paris. Paris stretching away from him, all jumbled perspective, rooftops and doors and windows and a dreamy Eiffel Tower in the distant corner but it worked somehow, bright and blocky and yet almost smeared like a watercolor, some combination of Kandinsky and Monet. And, in the foreground, someone who was very clearly Arthur, sitting at a sidewalk café, leaned back on his seat, long, lean legs kicked out, clad in pale gray, his profile tipped away from the viewer toward the Eiffel Tower, but Arthur could recognize himself, could see how lovingly and vividly he’d been painted, the attention to detail of an Old Master.
Arthur stared at the painting.
Eames said, “It’s, like, every artistic style in the world all at once, jumbled together. It’s the problem with forgery. I can’t paint like me, I just paint like everyone else, and it—I should have just stolen you the Titian. I was going to, I was really going to—”
“Eames,” said Arthur, low and reverent. “Oh my God, Eames.” He looked up at him, looking so absurdly nervous. For what possible reason, wondered Arthur. “Did you paint this for me?”
“Of course I did,” said Eames, and then, even more absurdly, “Do you like it?”
“Eames,” said Arthur, and dropped the painting and tackled him to the bed. “Oh my God, I love it.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Shut up,” said Arthur, kissing him into compliance. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. I love it. I’m going to bring it everywhere with me. I’m going to sleep with it in my bed.”
“You’ll ruin it,” said Eames, sounding embarrassed.
“I’m going to take it to dinner with me. I’m going to carry it around with me to jobs and tell everyone my boyfriend made it for me.”
“It’s just a bloody painting, Arthur,” said Eames, almost squirming now with his embarrassment.
Arthur was delighted by this. He kissed behind Eames’s ear and said, “But I didn’t get you anything!”
Eames said, “Idiot, you got me you.”
Arthur paused, stopped moving, stopped nibbling and kissing, just stopped.
“Arthur?” said Eames uncertainly, after a moment.
Arthur shifted, stretching out over him, looking down at him. He said, “I love you. I told you I—”
“And it’s the stupidest thing, Arthur,” Eames said, all in a rush. “It’s really the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Have you ever even seen you? You’re… You’re… Go and fall in love with someone really incredible, Arthur, what the hell are you doing?”
“I see me every time I look in the mirror,” Arthur said. “You’re the one who doesn’t see you, because when you look in a mirror all you ever see is everybody else you could be. You always miss you, and I didn’t realize that until just this moment.”
“It…” Eames looked awkward underneath him. “That’s not true, I—”
“But it’s okay,” Arthur told him firmly. “Because I see you. I see everything about you. And if you tell me you want me, you can have me forever.”
Eames blinked up at him. He said, “I’ve wanted you for so long that I can’t remember what it was like not to want you.”
Arthur reached for Eames’s poker chip, read Cassino on it.
Eames said, “We’re in the worst hotel room in all of Iowa City, petal.”
“Yes, we are, you cheap bastard,” agreed Arthur, putting the poker chip back. “Let’s break the fucking bed.”
***
“I thought you were seducing me the whole time,” Arthur said against him.
“I was,” said Eames.
“Right, but I didn’t think you meant it.”
“I meant it so much I couldn’t show you how much I meant it,” said Eames.
“Your ears were red the day we met,” Arthur said sleepily. “Sunburn. You’d been on the beach, seducing the blonde twins. You had the ugliest pair of sunglasses on. You were such a smug, arrogant prick. I hated you so much that I loved you.”
Eames, amused, kissed Arthur’s nearest bit of skin, and Arthur hummed happily. “You were wearing a blazer on that bloody beach. A blazer, Arthur. It was Carnival in Rio. You were so fucking annoying I couldn’t imagine how dull my life would be without you.”
“Do you think we have a healthy relationship?” asked Arthur.
Eames laughed. “Do you want a healthy relationship?”
“I want you.” Arthur paused. “But I’m going to start making you eat a little better.”
“Not unless you start bribing me with sex acts every time I eat a carrot.”
“What if I fellate the carrot?” asked Arthur.
“Make it a courgette and we’re getting somewhere,” said Eames.
“A courgette,” mocked Arthur. “God, you’re annoying.” He kissed Eames’s chest.
Eames drifted his fingertips up and down Arthur’s bare skin and closed his eyes, thinking he might sleep for the first time in a while.
Arthur said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “Have you thought this through?”
“Depends on your definition of that,” responded Eames. “I thought Paris and lots of sex, and then, who knows? Is that thinking it through?”
“We’re going to make each other vulnerable.”
“We already do that, as Mycroft so elegantly proved.”
“Right, but now people will know that we make each other vulnerable.”
“Darling,” said Eames, “let someone try to harm you. I’d really like to see them try. We’re a pair now, you and I. We’re better together than apart.”
Arthur chuckled. “That’s what Dom told me, too.”
“Oh, God, I sound like Dom?” said Eames, sounding horrified.
“Quick, say something very un-Dom-like.”
“‘Sorry for almost getting all of you killed during that inception job, here’s some extra cash for your trouble.’”
Arthur snorted. “Christ, I can’t wait to have dinner with the pair of you.”
“If he’s nice to you, then I’ll be a sodding angel,” Eames promised.
“He is nice to me,” Arthur said.
“Have you slept since London?” Eames asked.
Arthur paused tellingly before admitting, “Not really.”
“Me, either. So let’s sleep now and talk in the morning.”
“I took a job,” Arthur said in a rush.
Eames blinked his eyes open and looked at him. “Oh,” he said.
“A couple of days ago,” Arthur went on. “After Danielle said I was mooning. And I—I was, kind of. Not a lot. I mean. Just a little. Anyway. I thought you weren’t coming, and I had to move on, and I took a job. It’s…nothing complicated, but I took it.”
“Right,” said Eames, processing.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
“No, I know,” said Eames. “I’m not… Of course, take the job, of course. I didn’t think you’d… It’s fine.”
“But I have nothing after that. One job, and then nothing. Tons of space cleared. We’ll go somewhere, just the two of us, and we’ll figure all this out.”
“Yes,” Eames agreed. “That’s a plan.” He ducked down and kissed the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “You find me this time.”
