Title: Dance

Summary: Arthur knows how to dance. Eames discovers this and suddenly he wants to learn how to dance as well. One shot fic.

Author's note: I originally wrote this for a land comm challenge over on Livejournal. It's un-betaed so any mistakes are mine (and I apologize for that).

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or the characters Arthur and Eames.

Arthur had casually mentioned to Eames that he knew how to dance. And, true to what he had expected, Eames had laughed.

He wiped away the tears from his eyes before continuing, "Dancing? Really?"

Arthur nodded.

"For some reason, Arthur, I cannot even begin to imagine you ever dancing."

"You never took up ball room dancing when you were a kid?" Arthur asked casually. "As a hobby or anything?"

Eames eyed Arthur at this point and smirked at him as he said, "As a kid I didn't have time to learn how to ballroom dance when I was busy spending time in jail or pulling off crimes."

"Oh."

And that was probably the most either said about their past. Arthur never brought up the subject of dancing again (he didn't even know what had made him bring it up in the first place) and Eames didn't mention his shady past again. There were a few jokes Eames was hesitant to let go of, however, such as the constant mentioning of each and every dance film he could remember, one of them being Dirty Dancing. By the end of the week, Arthur swore to Eames he would punch him if he so much as referenced that film again.

"You wouldn't mind giving me a few dance lessons, would you, darling?" Eames had teased. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Because I need something to do in my spare time and I figured dancing wouldn't be too horrible. Of course I have two left feet but I was hoping we could work past that…"

"Dancing is just about as natural as walking and breathing," Arthur replied. "You've been to nightclubs before, haven't you?"

"Yes…"

"Well, you danced there, didn't you?"

"As much as it may amuse you to think that I danced at nightclubs, I was the gentleman much more prone to hanging around the bar than on the dance floor."

"Well…haven't you ever been to weddings or anything?"

Eames shook his head.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. "So why do you want to take up dancing?"

"I just told you—I'm terribly bored and dancing doesn't sound all that bad."

"You aren't just doing it to get close to me, are you?" Arthur narrowed his eyes at Eames suspiciously.

Eames chuckled. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I know you, Eames?" Arthur shot back, brow raised suggestively. "Listen, I'll teach you how to dance. But after this mission is completed and finished."

"So you'll teach me to dance if we both don't die on this mission, is that it?"

"If we both survive, I'll teach you to dance."

Arthur didn't know what he had with Eames. They were friends—Arthur considered it as that. But he also knew there was something else going on. He was attracted to Eames and Eames had made it known he was attracted to Arthur. So the fact that they were still practically denying to each other the love they each had made no sense at all. It was as if their relationship was acknowledged and unacknowledged.

"You do know what we have, don't you?"

Eames frowned before answering nonchalantly, "A working relationship?"

Arthur sighed. Sometimes he just wanted to strangle Eames for being so oblivious. "Don't you…" he cleared his throat. Eames was the type who never wanted to talk about whatever relationship he was in and Arthur was, quite frankly, afraid to bring it up, for some reason. "Eames," he said forcefully, "we're dancing around our relationship."

Eames raised a brow as if saying, "So?"

"Well," Arthur continued slowly, "what are we? Are we a couple? Are we just really close friends? Some days I don't even know if you and I are together anymore."

"Arthur." There was a grin playing on Eames' face and he leaned closer to Arthur, which was extraordinary, considering he was practically (and figuratively) joined at the hip with Arthur. "I love you. You do know that, right?"

Arthur nodded.

Eames shrugged and crossed his arms. "I assure you that I will always love you."

Arthur nodded again.

So Eames was deliberately dancing around the status of their relationship. Arthur realized that. He didn't need to confirm it but he needed to in order to see where they stood.

The next few days were uneventful. Eames continued bugging Arthur about wanting to learn how to dance. One day he burst out laughing and then said, "Sorry, I just had the image of you break dancing."

Arthur declined to tell him that there had been a time when he did know how to break dance, but that had been back in high school. He doubted he could do it now.

"You want to learn how to dance then stop bugging me."

Eames nodded. To Arthur's surprise, he stopped bugging him.

They were holed up in a ballroom. Eames laughed at the irony of where they ended up under enemy siege. Arthur sighed. It always seemed to go so wrong. So when the projections started to fire at them Arthur didn't bat an eye—he'd been there and done that and the only thing that was really new about this time was that they were holed up in a ballroom.

Eames said, still chuckling lightly, "Now wouldn't be quite such a bad time for you to teach me how to dance, darling, would it?"

Arthur waved the gun at him. "How about I just shoot you now and end this?"

Eames tsked at him. "Not quite yet, love. Job's not over yet and I still need to do my part in all this. Besides, you shoot me and this whole dream collapses. That wouldn't be wise, would it, darling?"

"And stop it with those words. You know they bug me."

Eames grinned. "That's why I use them."

Arthur sighed. Of course they could pull a Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid and retreat from their hiding place and walk out of the ballroom and face a deluge of bullets but, for some reason, the thought of dying didn't appeal to him, and he figured waiting out the projections would be better. Cobb would rescue them soon.

"Have any grenades with you?" Arthur asked.

"Still haven't learned?" Eames asked, passing him one.

"Grenades aren't my specialty."

"No, tiny small guns are. Apparently my teaching you to dream a little bigger hasn't been going so well."

Arthur shrugged and placed the grenade on the floor. "One dance."

"Oh?" A deluge of gun fire broke the front windows on the door. "At this time?" Now Eames looked slightly worried. "Are you sure?"

Arthur bit back a grin. "Stop looking so shocked." He put his gun in the holster, put his jacket back on, and stood. "One dance and then we continue the job. Because otherwise you'll never stop bugging me and, you know, while in Rome…" he gestured to the ballroom.

"But we haven't completed the mission. I mean what if you get shot and die in my arms while we're dancing? That doesn't sound too appealing."

Both of them moved to the center of the room. It seemed so ironic—Arthur was teaching Eames to dance in the middle of a gunfight. A hail of bullets was their background noise and, ironically, their music that Arthur could keep in time with. Only Eames would so blatantly place a dance hall in his dream level just so he could dance under a siege of gunfire, if that even was his plan in the first place.

Arthur placed one hand on Eames' back and, with his left hand, held Eames' right hand high. "This is the closed position. Your left hand should be on my back, Eames, not my butt."

Eames smirked.

"We're going to do the box step. It's the building block for any type of waltz. It was the first thing I ever learned when I started dancing."

Eames nodded. "Right."

"I'll lead."

"Why?"

"Because I'm the one teaching you," Arthur answered testily. "First, the box step is named after the pattern that occurs from the steps. It makes a box."

"Right."

"First, you step back with your right as I step forward with my left." They did so. "Then you step to the left with your left foot and I do the same, but I go to the right." They did the movement. "Move back. And you step forward with your right, I step back with my left." They did the movement again. "And that's the box step. Want to try leading?"

Eames apologized profusely for stepping on Arthur's feet as he awkwardly led Arthur during the box step. Arthur waved it aside. "You're learning. I was clumsy my first time."

"Sounds quite like another activity I know and love so well," Eames suggested playfully. Arthur grimaced at the innuendo and asked, "Again?" Eames shook his head.

"It's good practice."

Eames sighed dramatically and muttered, "If you must insist…" and took the lead again with Arthur murmuring which foot to step with and which way to go. Pretty soon he started counting out loud and he could hear Eames counting with him. After a minute or so Eames said, "Hey, I think I'm actually getting it."

"Told you that you would."

"There's just one thing left to do…" Eames trailed off and moved his arms from Arthur's waist, bringing one up to cup Arthur's chin in his hand.

A hail of gunfire rained on the room before Arthur could reply with his quip, and before Eames could actually kiss Arthur, and they moved to hide behind a section of tables put together to act as a barrier. "Damn," he muttered and picked up the grenade.

"Arthur, dear, I'm afraid you've been shot."

It hadn't registered with Arthur until Eames had pointed it out. But then he felt the pain—imaginary though it may have been, the pain felt all too real—and he felt the warm blood trickling down his skin. "Do you want me to complete the job?" Eames asked and took out his gun from the holster, cocking it. He said it so casually he might as well have been asking if Arthur wanted a drink from Starbucks. "I mean it looks like you might not last through this mission."

Arthur nodded. He knew he wouldn't make it through, and only trying to would make Eames worry about him and therefore make Eames a vulnerable target. He knew it would only help the team if he woke up right then rather than try to hang on. "Please," he gasped.

"It's too bad."

"Why?"

"Well, I didn't get to kiss you while we were dancing. I think it's only fair to say that you owe me one dance and a kiss after we complete this job, yes?"

Arthur scowled momentarily before smiling, grimacing slightly in pain. "Fine. One dance and a kiss."

Eames nodded. Then he said, "See you on the other side," and pulled the trigger.

A/N: I apologize for any errors in the whole 'box step'/'waltz' thing. I don't know how to do either and so I did research on the Internet and was using a picture chart in order to figure out which foot goes where.