Arthur is absentmindedly rolling his die over and over again when Yusuf comes in, and says he needs a test subject for some new compound of his. Just one person, and not for very long. Arthur looks around the room. Dom's staring into space, Ariadne's looking over some paradoxical map that will probably make his head hurt, and Eames is polishing his pocket watch. Arthur stands up and stretches.
"I can do it," he says, and follows Yusuf out of the room.
He's done this a million times; it's pretty much routine now. The only snag would be someone jumping into his dream while he's out, but luckily, the guy staying awake with him is Dom, and if anyone knows not to pry into what's going on in someone's head, it's Dom.
Arthur kind of wonders if he suspects, but he doesn't trust anyone else not to sneak into his dreams while waiting to give the kick. Ariadne's way too curious about everyone, and Eames… well, Arthur's pretty sure that scenario would end with him getting beaten to hell and back. Considering what he's dreaming of.
The dream opens in a hotel room overlooking some nameless dream city that sparkles in the dark. Arthur pauses to admire the sensuous velvets and soft lights of the room –Ariadne's not the only passable architect around, after all. He sits down on the bed, intent on the door.
It takes longer than it usually does for the projection of Eames to show up, but when he does, it's in true Eames fashion. He swaggers in, peers into the mini bar and selects what Arthur is sure is the most expensive drink available. Leaning against the doorframe, he grins as he swigs it.
"Hello darling."
Arthur is quiet for a moment, as he once again realizes how pathetic this all is. Eames may call him darling, and perhaps that's acceptable grounds for a little crush. But Arthur is positive that the endearments are only used because Eames knows they make him twitch a bit, and misidentifies this as annoyance rather than something… else. And there's a huge difference between a crush and constructing obsessive dreams like this one.
Meanwhile, Eames has finished his bottle. He tosses it carelessly behind him, and saunters over, sitting next to Arthur on the bed. There's a trace of wickedness on his face, Arthur notes. It's so hard to get the simulacrum right, but this is probably the best one he's come up with so far.
"What are you dreaming of?" Eames murmurs.
Arthur mentally shrugs; he doesn't see any reason to lie to his self-conscious. "You," he whispers.
Eames is silent for a moment, before chuckling. "In what context, Love?"
This is where Arthur draws the line, because even in his dreams he can't quite bring himself to say, "Every time you tease me it kind of makes me want to drag you into my bedroom and do dirty, dirty things to you." Anyway, he's kind of terrified the projection would react like the real one would, with threats of bodily harm at the very least.
So instead, he kisses him. Eames is stiff for a second before relaxing, and then surging against his lips, prying them open with his tongue. His left hand moves to cradle Arthur's head, and his right to stroke the front of Arthur's chest. Arthur is lost for a moment in the feeling, because this may be a dream, but damn, this Eames can kiss. He feels like his mouth is on fire, and the fleeting touches on his chest are like short jolts of electricity. Arthur pulls back for air, gasping when Eames begins licking at his neck instead. His breath comes in needy little whines.
Eames bites his neck softly and Arthur moans. "You like this then, my pet?" the projection whispers against a patch of wet skin, and all Arthur can do is shiver at the sensation.
Eames laughs and begins to rub Arthur's nipples through his shirt. "Well?"
It takes a second for him to remember how to talk, he's so focused on feeling Eames's tongue and hands on him. "Y-yes." He chokes out. The thought still lurks that this isn't real, can't be real, but he's almost past caring. The real Eames may never kiss him like this, but all the more reason to treasure it now.
Eames grins and lets his hand ghost down to Arthur's pants, brushing his fingers lightly over the fabric, grins more when he feels what's beneath.
"Do you want more?" he asks, drawing his hand away as he speaks, that damnable grin not moving from his face.
Arthur glares past the haze of sensation and grabs at Eames' hand, intent on putting it back where it was. Eames smiles wider, then, quick as lightning, grabs both of Arthur's hands and shoves him back on the bed, pinioning Arthur's wrists above his head. Eames moves with fluid motions so he's positioned above Arthur, his eyes dark and sensual.
"Now, now Love. One must be patient."
Arthur stares at him, wondering when his imagination got this good, and why it is that Eames's sarcastic endearments are such a total fucking turn on. He needs more, and he really really needs it now.
"Stop fucking around," he breathes, but Eames just laughs.
"We'll get there eventually." He says, moving one finger to rest on Arthur's chin. "But first, must get this off." He begins to slowly unbutton Arthur's shirt with one hand while the other keeps Arthur pinned down, working on button by agonizing button. All the while his gaze never moves from Arthur's desperate eyes.
In the back of his mind, it occurs to him that he always imagined Eames ripping off his clothing with the kind of all consuming focus he displays in other aspects of life. He never imagined this kind of slow methodical torture- though since it is torture, and this is Eames, he guesses he should have.
Still, it's almost too much to bear, the lack of sensation. He wants desperately to feel Eames's touch again, but he knows if he says anything Eames will just go slower, until he's practically begging for it.
"Wish this was real." He whimpers into the hot air between the two of them.
Eames raises an eyebrow, his hand stilling. "Do you dream about this a lot then, Darling?"
All of a sudden the falseness of this hits him like a train and he's left with the truth that in real life Eames just bothers him for fun, and would stop doing even that if he knew the affect it had on Arthur. "All the fucking time." He thinks he can feel tears in his eyes when he answers.
Eames stares at him for a moment before releasing Arthur's hands. He cradles his head as he starts kissing him again, slow and soft and careful. It's almost jarring; Arthur can't help but wonder if the real Eames would ever be able to show this kind of emotion.
Eames's hand snakes down his chest, breaking through his reverie. The fingers begin to work at the zipper, he keens as he feels them slip beneath the fabric and-
The sensation of falling crashes through the dream, shearing through the warmth and the softness of the velvet beneath him. He clutches instinctively, feeling the cold of the metal chair rather than the heat of Eames's limbs. He blinks.
He's back in the warehouse, his chair held at a slight backward angle by Dom. He can hear Yusuf mumbling something about the compound, but it passes over his ears like sea surf. Dom watches, frowning slightly as he begins removing the wires of the machine.
"You alright?"
Arthur rubs his eyes and nods. "Uh, yeah. Fine."
Yusuf taps him on the shoulder. "…and I need to know if you were able to meet up with him at all, and how long it took, if you can remember that."
Arthur guesses he must look pretty confused, because Yusuf rolls his eyes and clarifies. "Eames. We sent him in about thirty seconds after you, we wanted to see if-"
That's where he stops listening and freezes, his stomach clenching. He turns around and…shit. Because Eames is sitting in the other chair, wires trailing off his skin, an impenetrable expression on his face.
"I- I'll tell you later." He mumbles to Yusuf, oblivious to whatever the chemist is saying. He climbs unsteadily to his feet, staring at, but not registering, the floor. "I need to go." And with that he's running, sprinting, out of the room and away from people he really can't deal with right now. He picks a door at random and stumbles through it, then slides down to the floor, his hands shaking, his head pounding.
Fuck.
A/N: Damn you Christopher Nolan! You not only end the movie with that evil cliffhanger, you make two of the characters so ridiculously flirty that I end up writing slash-fic for the first time.
On that note, since I don't really know if I'm doing it right, any comments about the hotness or lack thereof would be much appreciated (especially since I couldn't find anyone who was willing to beta for Inception.)
Also there will probably be a sequel. Hopefully.