Written (and cross posted) for a prompt on the Inception Kink meme: Cobb likes poetry. Maybe it's a secret, and Arthur finds him reading late at night and kisses away all the embarrassment. Or maybe they're clashing because Cobb keeps being all whimsical and word-tangled and Arthur keeps laying things out in straight lines. Whatever, go anywhere with this.
(The poem referenced in the story is one of the wonderful sonnets of Edna St. Vincent Millay.)
When it came down to it, people always expected Mal to be the artistic one, full of whimsy. It was what was expected, apparently, from Mal's French blood. Everyone seemed to think that France was a land where people sipped wine like water and poured poetic verses softly into each other's ears.
Mal had always gotten a good laugh out of their own whimsical musings before leaning in to explain that it was really quite the reverse. Her mind had always been built out of the constructs of reality while Dom's had drifted off somewhere around the clouds. She had been the one content to build within the dream space they already had, after all, while Dom had been determined to explore all that dream share had to offer, wanting to push out to its very boundaries.
It was what had doomed them in the end.
After everything that happened, Dom had done his best to force himself back down to earth, knowing that he couldn't behave the way he had before. He probably wouldn't have gotten through as well as he did if Arthur hadn't been there to be the constant steady presence that he had once sought out from Mal.
Dom had thought he had lost Arthur once inception (a dangerous, yet fond return to his fanciful way of thinking) was completed. There wasn't any reason for Arthur to come guard him anymore, after all, not now that he was finally back with his children. So he almost dropped his mug of coffee on the floor when he opened the door one day to find Arthur there, arms laden with an amusing assortment of toys and suitcases.
The kids had climbed all over Arthur once they realized he was there, overjoyed to see their "Uncle" Arthur once again. Arthur had managed to shuffle them off into the living room, though, where they pounced upon their new toys in glee. And Dom really had dropped his mug then, somewhere in the kitchen, when Arthur finally gave up stammering through whatever speech he had prepared and just kissed him.
Arthur hadn't left since and Dom had no intention of asking him to.
Still, despite how many months they had been together, there was still one thing that Dom had tried to hide from Arthur. Which was why he nearly jumped out of his skin when Arthur entered the bedroom unexpectedly.
"I thought you were putting the kids to bed," Dom said, trying desperately to catch his bed.
"I was," Arthur said, "but they fell asleep before I could even finish the first book. The fair must have really tried them out..." He trailed off when he rose his head to look at Dom properly, eyes falling on the book that the other man was currently clutching. "Is that-"
"A book of poetry?" Dom cut in. "Yes, yes, it is." He sighed when Arthur didn't say a word. "Well aren't you going to tell me how ridiculous it is?"
Arthur's eyebrows shot up a few inches. "Why would I do that?" he asked.
"Because you're...well you." Dom waved a hand in Arthur's general direction. "And that means straight lines and no nonsense thoughts all squeezed into a sexy suit."
Arthur barked out a laugh. "Is that how you really see me?" His voice was warm with amusement, but there were traces of fondness in it too now.
Dom rose his own eyebrows, eyes wide with mock innocence. "Hey, I did point out that your suits were sexy."
"That you did." Arthur moved over to sit down on the bed, still chuckling to himself. He shifted up against the headboard before turning so he could rest his head on Dom's shoulder. "But, really, Dom, this isn't the type of thing I'm going to judge you for."
Dom offered up two slow blinks while he processed this. Then he nudged Arthur in the ribs. "Who are you and what have you done with my Arthur?" he asked.
Arthur let out a real laugh now, the kind that made the crinkles show up around the corners of his eyes and his dimples come deep into his cheeks. "You are ridiculous." He popped his head up to press a kiss to Dom's cheek. "But I think I like that best about you." He settled his head back down, a soft smile still on his lips. "Now will you read to me?"
Dom swallowed hard as he remembered the last time he had read from this book. Mal had been doing her nails on this very bed, making them gleam a deeper red with each new coat. He moved away from the poem he had read then, though.
Arthur wasn't Mal, after all. He had ushered in an entirely new part of Dom's life and for that he deserved a poem of his own.
"Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Not yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for good.
It well may be. I do not think I would."