Title: The One Time He Knew
Pairings or Characters: Arthur/Eames
Rating: R
Warning: Character Death, Mentions of sex
Summary: The five times Arthur wanted to know Eames' name, and the one time he did.
Word Count: 2438
Author's Note: Um. This started out as something fluffy, but it kind of evolved into something else at the end, I think. I just had this idea, and it spun out of control all by itself.
My first time delving into Inception fanfiction, so please be gentle. :P Hope you like it.
'Arthur,' Arthur introduces the first time he meets Eames. For a moment, Arthur sees genuine amusement tangled with surprise flit across Eames eyes, but Arthur chalks it up to imagination when a moment later, Eames graces him with a brilliant smile and sticks out his hand.
'Eames,' he says, and Arthur quirks his eyebrows.
'Not a common name,' Arthur returns, and firmly grips Eames' hand in a brisk shake.
Eames stares at Arthur and his hold on the Point Man's hand perhaps lingers for just a second too long. 'That's probably because it's not a first name.'
Arthur stares disapprovingly at Eames, his brows furrowing in a way that Eames cannot help but think as adorable, and Eames can feel the corner of his mouth twitching even further upwards.
'It's only polite to reciprocate an introduction with a first name with your own.'
'Ah, but I'm not very polite now, am I, darling.'
The term of endearment slips out before Eames can stop it, but all Arthur does in response is arch his eyebrows even higher. Eames will never know it because Arthur will never tell him, but Arthur is, in his own thoughts, inexplicably pleased.
'Perhaps that is something we can work on then, Mr. Eames.'
Eames can only smile even wider (he thinks that perhaps now he can light up a whole continent with his smile) and follow Arthur as the Point Man walks out of the airport and leads Eames to their new workplace.
'Eames,' Arthur says, and Eames can very clearly hear the displeasure and exasperation coloring his voice, and he simply smiles wider.
'Yes, darling?'
Arthur frowns at Eames as the Forger drapes his arms casually over Arthur's shoulder. The warmth seeps past Arthur's suit into his skin, and he secretly wishes he could feel comfortable enough to lean into the touch because it is so very lovely and tempting, but as such, all Arthur does is push Eames' arm off his shoulders with the tip of his pen and scowl at him.
'Immigration forms are actually rather hard to fill when you refuse to give me your passport.'
'But, Arthur, my passport contains my legitimate first name!'
Arthur sighs, and Eames feels his heart bloom.
'Seriously, Eames. What is it with your first name?'
'Names have power, love.'
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and Eames grins.
'Arthur, dear, I'll let you know it when you need to know it,' Eames says, and snatches the immigration form out of Arthur's hand.
'Eames, you can't spell, and your writing is terrible!,' Arthur protests.
Eames pouts and gives Arthur his best hurt look (which Arthur secretly admits but will never tell anyone is probably more effective than a puppy eyed look, and Arthur is such a closet puppy person), and Arthur sighs and relents the form.
Eames grabs the pen from Arthur's breastpocket and happily fills in the form, and studiously hides the scrawls from Arthur's prying eyes.
Arthur frowns.
A large man stands in front of Arthur, and Arthur glares at him. Ariadne has informed Arthur that Arthur's glare should be patented, and although the man will scarcely admit it, for a moment, he thinks the same. Arthur has a scary glare that is, at the same time, uniquely him.
The man clears his throat and meets Arthur's eyes.
'Do you know the situation you're in?'
'Yes.'
'Then cooperate.'
Arthur spits at him, and the man snarls.
Arthur can feel the rope burn into his wrists, but that does not stop him from wriggling his hands against the ropes. He wonders if he will have to break his thumbs to free himself after all, but refrains from doing so. He has time.
And he has faith.
'I want his name.'
'I can't tell you his name,' Arthur says, and he is not lying.
Eames is annoying, Arthur decides. Despite his rather substantial research into Eames, the man clearly has more skill than Arthur would admit to his face in covering his identity. It was infuriating, and Arthur fumes every time he has to call Eames by his surname, and he takes it out on the Forger with snide remarks that the Forger happily returns. If anything, the man seems to enjoy it, and even the mere thought of this makes Arthur roll his eyes.
Eames is annoying, Arthur reaffirms.
'You're the best point man in the business. And you have worked with him.'
'Even the best point men have their limits, and I don't share things easy,' comes a voice from behind Arthur, and the Point Man's eyes show mirth. Arthur knows that voice, and he knew that the owner of that voice would come for him. Still, nothing beat actually hearing that voice, and Arthur feels like this whole charade is settled already.
His captor snaps his head up to look at the source of the sound, but a quick and sharp sound that the Point Man knows to be the unmistakable sound of gunfire tells him that the man is dead before he can even clap eyes on Eames. Arthur hears quick footsteps, and turns his not yet patented glare on Eames.
'Ah, darling,' Eames breathes as he looks at Arthur, takes in the blood on his face and the bruises that Arthur knows are on his arms. The Forger's hands make quick work of the rope that binds Arthur's limbs together, and Arthur grimaces slightly as the circulation flows back into his extremities accompanied by a stabbing pain. Eames touches Arthur lightly and he hisses, the wounds on his body shouting loudly. Arthur slaps Eames' hands away and sees the worry and hurt in Eames eyes, and Arthur frowns.
'This is why you should tell me your name, Eames,' is said, but what really Arthur means is 'thank you for coming for me,' and Arthur knows that Eames understands when he smiles again, a smile that Arthur has come to feel uneasy if he does not see.
Eames chuckles, and carries Arthur out of the warehouse, despite Arthur's protests.
'Do you have any idea what you're asking?'
'Of course I do, darling.'
Arthur sighs a loud sigh, and Eames fancies the thought that he can differentiate all the kinds of sighs that Arthur has to give. He knows that this one is an exasperated but fond sigh that Arthur reserves only for him, and Eames feels his heart do gymnastic things that, gravity, in all its sensibilities and logic, would not have realistically allowed.
'You're asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend.'
'If you want, pet, you can be my boyfriend.'
Arthur stares critically at Eames, and Eames knows that look on Arthur's face. He knows Arthur will say yes now, but nothing beats the joy of actually hearing Arthur acquiesce.
Arthur, on his part, sees the hope and amusement and boyish joy written all over Eames' face, and he knows he cannot refuse.
'Eames, surely you can tell me your first name now.'
Eames quirks his lips and cocks his head to the side. 'Is that a requirement?'
Arthur pauses, and Eames can see him arguing internally with himself. Then he sighs, and Eames feels victorious.
'No, I suppose it's not,' he says, and slips his hand into Eames', and the forger holds on tight and never wants to let go.
'Eames,' Arthur whispers, and the Forger shudders against Arthur's warm breath ghosting across his sensitized skin. The Point Man licks a wet stripe up the underside of Eames' cock and Eames very nearly comes right there and then. As it is, he grits his teeth and throws his head back against the pillow, emitting a low groan from his throat. Arthur brings his hand down from where it was previously playing with Eames' nipples, and for a moment, Eames feels its loss. But then Arthur's finger strokes behind his balls, and Eames gasps, a hot desperate sound.
'Arthur,' he hisses, and he can hear the man chuckle, a low, throaty sound. Eames feels pleasure pull at him at that sound, and he urges Arthur on with a soft tug on his hair.
'Tell me your name,' Arthur demands, and Eames very nearly dies then.
'Come on, Arthur, not now!'
All Arthur does is pull back, and breathe breaths that are not nearly enough across the crown, and Eames shivers. It is not enough, and he needs more.
'Arthur,' he implores, looking down at him, and the man touches the tip of his tongue to his slit before he quickly draws back.
'You're killing me,' Eames whines, and Arthur turns dark, blown pupils to him, and Eames groans.
'How about that name?'
Eames emits a frustrated noise, though that quickly morphs to something else when Arthur wraps a hand around the base of his cock and squeezes. Eames growls, and in a quick movement, flips Arthur around and presses him to the bed.
He looks at Arthur, and all he can see is radiance, as Arthur grins back cheekily at him. Here, Arthur is his. Here, he sees Arthur, and Arthur sees him. It makes Eames giddy.
He can feel Arthur, hard and leaking against him, and he carefully lines them both up and rubs, and Arthur throws his head back into the pillow, a mimicry of what Eames was doing just a moment before. Eames feels pleasure thrum through his body, and be bends down to ravage Arthur's mouth. He opens under Eames, wet and absolutely brilliant, battles with Eames with his tongue and wraps his legs around Eames waist, and Eames thinks he has never had better.
At that moment, Eames knows, a certainty that is simply absolute in its being, irrefutable. He loves Arthur. He loves, and loves and will always love. Arthur is his, and he while he wonders what he has done to deserve Arthur, he never questions if Arthur deserves him, because Arthur does. Arthur deserves everything, and Eames will give him the universe on a silver platter if he Arthur wants it.
'Two can play at this game,' Eames says, and licks the sensitive spot under Arthur's ear while his hand reaches down to stroke him, and Arthur moans, a delectable sound that Eames would never give up for the world.
'Arthur,' Eames breathes, and Arthur smiles up at him, but Eames cannot find it in himself to feel happy.
It is raining, and the rain loosens Arthur's hair and makes it plaster against his skull. If it were any other time, Eames would have teased Arthur, would have played with his hair, would have annoyed Arthur, and Arthur would give him the sweet exasperated look that Eames loves to tease out of Arthur.
If it were any other time but now.
Eames can feel warmth on his hands, countering the icy cold of the rain that spills down their backs and down their faces and into their eyes, but it is not a welcome warmth. It is the warmth that only spilled blood can give, and Eames does not want that warmth. He wants to shove it back, to shove it back into Arthur, because this cannot be happening.
Arthur cannot be bleeding out, in some alleyway, a hole in his chest from a bullet wound.
This cannot be, because this is not a dream, and Eames knows what will come next.
Arthur reaches out for Eames face, and his hand falters. Eames wants to catch his hand, to hold it tight, but he dares not remove his hands from where it is pressing on Arthur's wound, as if his hands were the only things that were still keeping Arthur in this world.
He hears the team behind him, Cobb shouting and Ariadne crying and Saito calling down the telephone, threatening medical personnel.
'Eames,' Arthur says, his voice broken and hoarse, but everything else around Eames fades away, and Arthur's voice is the only thing he hears.
'I'm here.'
'I'm glad you are,' Arthur manages, and then he coughs, a damning sound that sends splatters of red onto Eames outrageously colored shirt. Arthur frowns, and Eames almost laughs, because of course Arthur would be worried about blood stains.
'You're going to be alright, okay, darling? Stay with me. Don't you close your eyes.' Eames' voice is tight, and he knows he cannot keep the panic out of his words, but Arthur just nods and smiles at Eames, and Eames feels his heart shatter, because the smile is weak, so weak, and all Eames wants is just another one of those bright smiles that Arthur hides from the world but gives to him so willingly.
And then Arthur's eyes focus for a moment, and they are clear, and Eames knows that this is important, and he leans in.
Arthur's mouth works, but no sounds comes out of it, but Eames is patient, and he waits.
'Name,' is the only word that Arthur manages, but Eames knows what he means.
Eames lips quirk up and his brows furrow, and Arthur sees many things. He sees sorrow, he sees the grief that is to come, he sees the desperation, and above all, he sees the love. He wishes he could tell Eames he loves him, but Arthur knows that words will never be enough, and he does not have the strength to try. He moves his hand to lightly touch Eames' white knuckles, and hopes that this time, like all other times, Eames will understand.
Eames bows his head, and for a moment, Arthur can see him quaking, and his chest hurts. It is not the wound, Arthur knows, because that has gone numb a long time ago.
When Eames lifts his head, Arthur can barely keep his eyes open.
'Arthur,' Eames whispers, and the Point Man knows that it is not his name that the Forger is calling. He cannot help it; he laughs, but all that comes out is a fresh spray of blood, and Eames' hold on him tightens.
'All this time,' Arthur gasps, and Eames laughs a hollow laugh, and the Point Man decides that he never ever wants to hear that sound again. It is a terrible sound, and does not suit Eames. Does not suit the man that smiles and flirts without shame, that is bright and dazzling like the sun.
Black dots fill Arthur's vision, eating into the corners of his sight like a malignant disease. His eyelids flutter, and Arthur knows that this is it.
'Arthur Eames,' he says, and Eames chants a litany of 'nonononono, Arthur, no'.
'I love you,' they say together, and Arthur knows no more.