Dreams of You
Prompt: Eames uses the PASIV to dream each night and Arthur wants to know why... so he decides to visit Eames' dream. He expects Eames to dream about hookers, gambling, and other unsavory pastimes, but instead finds him living a sweet and romantic domestic life with a doting projection!Arthur. Cue fluff.
The situation was strange.
No. The man decided as his face crinkled into one of deep thought. The oddity of the situation could not be defined because a strong enough word hadn't been invented.
He couldn't for certain remember how it happened, as things pertaining Eames usually have a way of confounding the mind. One moment, he relished in thoughts of living in New York. Alone. The very next, he had acquired a roommate. An annoying roommate who thought himself to be charming.
Because he is.
Arthur shook his head, knocking that thought straight from his mind. Living with Eames for a month had been an arduous task due to his disruptive manner. Arthur merely wanted to unwind after the Inception gig, but found it difficult with Eames around. The forger seemed critical of everything Arthur did.
For instance, Eames had been under the impression that Arthur solely owned and wore expensive suits. When Arthur had stumbled out of his bedroom one day, mid-afternoon, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, Eames needed his totem to convince himself of reality.
Alright, Arthur mentally conceded, I had a hangover. He probably was trying to be funny and I wasn't having his overdramatic bullshit. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed deeply before forcing himself to watch the ball game. Taking a quick swig of his imported beer, he suppressed a moan when he heard the door creak open.
The pointman prepared himself for the banter. Waited for a remark on his choice of beer, sports, or attire.
It never came.
The opening of another door and a sharp click confused Arthur. Eames locked himself in the office and hadn't resurfaced by three-thirty when Arthur decided to retire for the night. Striding over to the door, he raised a closed fist to knock. He swung his arm forward, but changed his mind as soon as his knuckles grazed the closed door. Whatever Eames was doing, was his business.
The next morning, Eames acted subdued as he leaned against the wall, which divided kitchen from living room. A pensive look never left his face. The pointman tried to initiate several conversations, to which he received one-word answers, even on questions that required more.
The peculiar behavior continued for three days. Their conversations mere shades of what they used to be. And Arthur begrudgingly admitted to himself he missed how things once were. The silence resonating in the large apartment felt foreign. He began feeling tense and uptight, as he had post-Inception. How blind Arthur had been in believing Eames's rambunctious behavior deterred from his unwinding process. It had aided it.
The next night, Arthur decided to investigate what kept Eames occupied during all times of the night (and mentally during the day). Like clockwork, Eames locked in himself in the office that night. An hour later, Arthur unlocked the door quietly and pushed the door open slightly. Arthur didn't know what he had expected, but he wasn't shocked.
At the desk, Eames was lounging in the chair, connected to the PASIV. Arthur sat down in another chair and studied the disorganized mess companying the PASIV. Papers littered the desk, written in the sloppiest of handwriting. Arthur could barely decipher the words, but the words 'sex' and 'money' showed up a lot. He rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. He turned around and left swiftly, accidentally ramming into a bookshelf. Muttering a curse, he continued out, feeling a little more than pain.
Of course, Eames would use the PASIV for unsavory things, like sex and gambling. Bastard didn't have a sensitive bone in his body. He walked to the couch and plopped down into the inviting leather. Grabbing the remote, he turned on the television and started to watch some movie. Arthur could not shake the feeling in his chest.
You're jealous. Eames's voice was so clear in his mind; he looked around, half expecting the forger to be standing beside the couch. No, I am not fucking jealous. No reason to be.
Keep telling yourself that, darling.
That night, Arthur tossed and turned, yet didn't sleep. His mind raced and he occasionally fought with his mental projection of Eames, who insisted of Arthur's jealousy.
At nine am, Arthur decided sleeping was futile and made his way to the kitchen to brew a strong pot of coffee. Leaning against the counter, he closed his eyes, waiting for the pot to finish brewing.
"You look bloody awful." Arthur cracked an eye open to see Eames looking too cheerful for nine am. "If you'd stop drinking such piss-tasting beer, perhaps, darling, you wouldn't get nasty hangovers." Arthur lifted his brow, challenging the Englishman to continue. "Ah, wrong side of the bed routine." He took the cup of tea he was drinking and went to the living room. The fact that Eames said more to him in that moment than in the past five days combined did not elude Arthur, even through his exhausted haze.
After pouring the coffee, Arthur strode over to the chair in the living room and put his feet up on the coffee table. He sipped his coffee. The pleasant flavor washed over his senses, giving him a slight jolt. Lazily propping his head up on his palm, his eyes gazed out the window at the developing storm. A few raindrops splashed against the window.
"Supposed to be a nasty storm today."
Brown eyes shifted, looking at the man on the couch. A wry expression passed his features, "Oh, you're speaking to me again?"
"I was never not speaking to you, darling." Tipping back his mug, he finished his tea with a satisfied sigh. "But knowing you, Arthur, you'll manipulate the situation until it fits just so."
Arthur shot up, face angered, "You're the manipulative one. You ignored me for practically five days."
"Feeling jealous, darling?" He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Of projections of hookers and prostitutes, sure." The sarcasm dripped from every word as he went into his bedroom, slamming the door closed.
"Prostitutes and hookers aren't my style. Not anymore." The voice was quiet, almost like he intended for Arthur not to hear.
Arthur quickly dressed and grabbed his umbrella and wallet. Leaving the apartment, he walked around the busy streets of the city. The noise cluttered his mind, making it impossible to reflect on Eames's words. He needed distraction from the gnawing in his chest after reading the notes and even worse, after the confrontation from the morning.
Once the storm picked up, Arthur determined it would be best to get inside. Winding up in an obscure coffee shop, he ordered a dark roast with two shots of espresso. The pointman cozied up in a chair by the fireplace. The quiet atmosphere allowed the thoughts to flow through his mind, which he shielded himself from all day.
I am jealous. Arthur closed his eyes, taking a long gulp of his hot coffee. Internally, he had battled his attraction to the forger since their first encounter, pushing it to the back of his mind. His humor, the pet names, his overbearing nature; he loved all of it. Perhaps, his agreement to the roommate situation had blossomed for his hope of a romantic relationship. But hell, Arthur could never admit such a thing. Sure, Eames 'flirted' with him, but Eames flirted with everyone.
Finishing his coffee, the pointman stood up and deposited his empty cup in the trash. Opening his umbrella, he went out into the pouring rain. Due to the wind, the umbrella did very little to protect him from the chilled downpour.
Thirty minutes later, he arrived to the apartment, drenched to the bone. Not surprisingly, Eames was nowhere to be found. His chest ached, but he tried to ignore it. He pushed on to his bedroom and stripped. He left the wet clothes in a ball on the floor and shuffled across the room and into his private bathroom. Stepping into his shower, he turned the water on as hot as he could stand and stood under it. His mind cleared as the hot water spilled down his bare skin. He showered until the water started to run cooler, just hoping the miserable feelings would swirl down the drain.
Shutting off the water, he stepped out of the shower and immediately wrapped a towel around his waist. After a moment, he stood before the mirror. Removed the towel, he used it to wipe the mirror. Arthur examined his face, slightly flushed from the hot shower. He looked so sad; something that he knew never suited him well. Shaking his head, he moved out of the bedroom and went to his bed. He fell asleep on top of the covers, his body succumbing to the exhaustion.
A big flash of lightning illuminated the pitch-black room. Arthur stirred with a groan. Standing up, he rubbed his sore neck and sleepily staggered to his dresser for some pajamas. Pulling on a white t-shirt and a pair of black plaid bottoms, he sighed heavily. Opening his door, he noticed the sliver of light shining out into the darkened living area from underneath the closed office door.
Prostitutes and hookers aren't my style. Not anymore. The words echoed through his mind, making his chest ache again. If it wasn't about sex and gambling, what could it be?
Curiosity took over as he half-ran across the room to the office door. Turning the handle, it surprisingly opened. Grabbing a chair, he moved it to the desk and grabbed a line. He pushed the needle into his vein.
The scent of baked goods filled his senses; butter being the most overpowering note. A couple walked past him, speaking in French. Paris. Why would Eames be dreaming about Paris of all places?
Arthur immediately recognized the area as he started walking, searching for Eames. He passed one of his favorite coffee and pastry shops. That's where he found him. Sitting at a table with a projection.
He is sitting at table with a projection of me? Confusion passed over Arthur's face. Walking closer, he grabbed a table far enough away from Eames and the projection to observe.
Eames's projection of him was smiling and staring at Eames with the most fascination. Occasionally, he would laugh at something the forger would say. His features were relaxed. Immediately, Arthur recognized what was going on. The projection was in love with Eames. Why would Eames dream about this? Unless…
No, that can't be it.
The dream suddenly shifted and Arthur found himself in a familiar place. The guestroom in his apartment Eames had been occupying.
"Took you long enough, love." Eames murmured, standing in the doorway.
"I'm not a projection." Arthur bluntly said, feeling out of place.
Eames smiled, "I know. My version of you is positively doting. But I could sense you, the real you. I decided, perhaps, we best discuss this, darling."
"But in a dream?"
As soon as he said that, he woke up. Looking over at the PASIV, the timer read 00:00. Arthur looked everywhere but Eames's face, feeling embarrassed.
Finding his voice, Arthur spoke, still avoiding the forger's eyes, "You use it to dream about me."
"A version of you. But yes, Arthur."
"Then, what was with all of the papers scattered all over the desk yesterday?"
Eames smirked brilliantly, "I had a feeling you would eventually venture into the office and try to figure out what I was up to. I wanted to intrigue you enough to enter the dream and see what I see." Eames stood up and moved toward the chair where Arthur was sitting.
Arthur stood. Without thinking, he pressed his lips against Eames's. He felt arms wrapping around him, bringing him closer. They remained like that until Arthur felt dizzy from a deprivation of oxygen. Pulling back, he rested his head against Eames's chest and let out a slow breath.
"You never said anything. Why?" The words lacked accusation, merely drenched in curiosity.
"Nor did you. I've been aware of your fascination with me since day one, darling. But you're not the easiest to court or the easiest person to get to open up. Not to mention, we never worked long enough on a job together to establish something. But, for the past several years, my dreams have been about you, whether PASIV-induced or not. " Arthur felt himself blush slightly at Eames's words. "I decided that after working the Inception job with you, I wasn't willing to let go again."
"And here I thought you just wanted to annoy the hell out of me." Arthur said with a chuckle, pulling out of the embrace.
Eames reached over and ruffled his hair affectionately, "Oh, darling, I may love you deeply, but it runs second to my love of annoying you."
Arthur rolled his eyes before grabbing Eames's hand and leading him into the master bedroom. Once they got inside the bedroom, Arthur closed the door behind himself and crawled on top of Eames, who was already on the bed. He kissed him deeply before whispering against his lips, "I love you too."