A/N: I've been having the most awful writers block lately, so I went rooting around in my computer trying to see if I had anything that spiked my interest. I found this, which I started writing months ago and never got around to finishing, and I gave it an ending and polished it up a little and figured I might as well post it. I think it is actually the first thing I ever started in this fandom.
This is such a weird little piece, I'm not even sure what is happening.
Warnings:Violence, ambiguity, kind of murder attempt(s?), kind of suicide attempt, they may both be stuck in limbo, who knows.
Eames's fingers scrabbled at the ledge he was hanging from. He chanced a glance below him, and couldn't make out any sort of ground beneath him; only a strong wind trying to peel him off of the ledge.
Arthur crouched down at the edge of the ledge, peering past Eames towards where the ground presumably was.
"You know, you could live your whole life, turn one hundred and two, before you ever hit the ground." Arthur remarked casually.
"Uh, that's fascinating, Arthur," Eames's voice was strained. "D'you think you could help me up, then, before I spend the rest of my life falling?"
"I don't think I will." Arthur stood straight again. "I should leave you here." Arthur turned on his heel and walked away.
"Arthur!" Eames shouted after him, but Arthur kept walking. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Alright. Just- ung- have to get- oof- up- rg." Eames set about trying to pull himself onto the ledge, a task that was made even more difficult then it had to be by the glassy, slippery surface of the ledge. He managed to get to his elbows when Arthur returned.
"Arthur. Your conscience arrest you? Could I get a hand, here?"
Arthur only frowned as he stepped forwards and shoved Eames back off the ledge with a foot on his collarbone.
"Fuck, Arthur! Eames barely managed to cling to the ledge with his fingertips. "I don't understand, why are you doing this!"
"You don't understand? Is that so? Think, Eames." Arthur emphasized 'think' by stomping and twisting his heel on Eames's fingers.
Eames yelped as he felt bones snap and skin tear, but he wrapped his other arm around Arthur's leg and buried his face against Arthur's shin.
"You bastard," Eames hissed into Arthur's leg as Arthur pushed all of his weight onto Eames's fingers. Eames pulled his fingers out from under Arthur's foot with a drawn out shout, then climbed up Arthur and onto the ledge. Eames stumbled two steps away from the edge, holding his mangled fingers and hissing curses. He turned to look back at Arthur right as Arthur began to step into the air. Eames just managed to grab Arthur's wrist as Arthur fell.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Arthur?" Eames hissed as he hauled Arthur into his arms. "What the bloody hell are you thinking, jumping off of that?" Eames sat down a safe distance from the drop, shivering, with Arthur cradled in his lap. "God, Arthur," Eames hugged him, the blood from his skinned fingers getting everywhere.
Eames suddenly felt the cold muzzle of a gun against the underside of his jaw. He slotted his eyes open to look at Arthur, who stared back at him with dead eyes. Eames heard the safety click, and shut his eyes again. Arthur forced his head back with the gun, and Eames felt a tear escape his eye. Arthur reached out and touched it, before pulling the gun back. Eames didn't move. Arthur's thumb came to rest on his lip, then shoved past his teeth to pry his mouth open. He placed the gun carefully between Eames' teeth, his other hand cradling the back of Eames' head gently as he plowed the gun into Eames' mouth, skidding over Eames' teeth until it hit the back of Eames' throat.
Eames gagged against the gun, and Arthur dropped his head to Eames' shoulder, going boneless save for his thumb brushing in a steady rhythm up and down against the back of Eames' neck.
Eames gathered Arthur's unresisting body closer, his ruined fingers throbbing as he splayed them over Arthur's back, his other hand burying itself in Arthur's hair. Arthur adjusted his grip on the gun, twitching the muzzle further against Eames' throat, Eames gagging once again on the slippery metal.
Arthur huffed a sigh against Eames' shoulder as the fingers on Eames' neck slid until they rested lightly against Eames' carotid arteries. Eames made a soft sound that was mostly swallowed by the gun and turned his head into Arthur's neck as much as the metal in his mouth would let him.
Arthur pressed his slender fingers into Eames' thick neck in order to feel the leaping of Eames' pulse, steady despite the circumstance. Arthur went utterly still as he stared at his thumb digging into Eames' flesh.
He sat up abruptly, shoving the gun further down Eames' throat, forcing his head back and staring at him, wide-eyed. Eames' eyes were half closed and watering as he stared right back.
Arthur slid his hand down from Eames' neck until his arm was draped over Eames' shoulders.
"You trust me." Arthur finally broke the silence with an awed whisper.
Eames nodded as best as he was able considering the gun in his mouth.
"Why?" Arthur traced over Eames' cheekbone with his free hand, curving around Eames' jaw and stroking his thumb over Eames' lips. "Why would you do something like that?" Arthur continued talking, seeing as Eames was incapable at the moment. "So fragile." Arthur petted Eames' face for a long moment, and Eames allowed his eyes to slide shut. Arthur feathered a kiss over a closed eyelid, and a shiver ran through Eames.
"I just don't understand," Arthur's fingers followed the ridge of Eames' eyebrow. "Why would you invite someone to hurt you like that?" Arthur renewed his grip on the gun, pushing it further into Eames for a moment before sliding it slowly out of Eames' mouth.
Eames pushed his face into Arthur's chest once the gun was removed. Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames' neck and shoulders, his fingers carding gently through Eames' hair.
"Eames," Arthur brushed his lips over the top of Eames' forehead. "Explain."
Eames looked up and stared into Arthur's eyes for a moment before beginning, voice raspy and loud compared to the silk of Arthur's murmurs. "Sometimes the hurt is worth it, you know?"
Arthur frowned and shook his head, still petting Eames' hair with the hand not holding the gun.
"You don't think so? "'Tis better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all?""
"No," Arthur tightened his grip on Eames, tucking him firmly under his chin and rubbing slow circles into his scalp. "If you never love, you never loose."
Eames slid his eyes shut and sighed contentedly, happy to hold and be held by Arthur, listening to the steady beat of Arthur's heart, solid and real in his arms.
"I suppose it's all right," Arthur said after a while, his lips moving against Eames' hair. "I don't do 'lost.'"
Eames broke into a smile, though he kept his eyes shut and didn't move. "Is that so?"
Arthur flicked on the safety of the gun and dropped it behind Eames' back, one arm cradling Eames' head, and the other holding Eames' shoulders. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the back of Eames' neck.
Eames shivered and pushed closer to Arthur, tightening the grip he had on Arthur's waist. He felt Arthur smile against the back of his neck before placing a careful bite over his spine.
A/N: What can I say, my head is a strange place. Remember to review on your way out!
-Gunnr