Only Seconds To Draw Me In, an inception fanfic

Disclaimer: It all belongs to the film god, Nolan.

A/N: Eames technically isn't jailbait, as he's 18, but Arthur is in his late twenties. So if age gaps aren't your thing, you may want to skip this.

The new neighbor was a bit strange. Usually, when someone moved in, they made an awful racket, and Eames would feel like pounding on the wall. But this man hardly made a sound. Eames had only caught a glimpse of him on his way out that morning, not able to discern much besides the man being tall, thin, and dark-haired. But Eames didn't really care. Most of his neighbors kept to themselves, and he liked it that way. Everyone's business was their own.

That changed once he actually met him.

Eames was shuffling through his bag outside his flat, annoyed with himself for leaving his keys on the kitchen table. Didn't his mother notice that he had forgotten them? The polite thing would have been to hide the key somewhere and leave a message on his mobile as to its whereabouts. But his mum was usually too focused on her work to pay attention to such trivial things. So Eames resorted to fishing out his lock pick set that he had secretly bought on his last birthday and got to work. It was always smart to have a backup plan, after all.

That was when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. Eames nearly jumped, not having heard anyone walk down the hall. When he looked up, there stood his new neighbor, watching him with a hint of amusement. Eames was frozen, not only because he had gotten caught trying to break into his own flat, but because his neighbor was simply gorgeous.

The man pushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear, then gestured to the tools in Eames' hands. "Need any help?"

He was American. That surprised Eames, mostly because he could never stand American accents, but this man's voice was practically making him swoon. Realizing that he was just kneeling there like an idiot, he shot to his feet and coughed. "Do you make a habit of helping random thieves break into people's homes?"

Chuckling, he replied, "I know you live here. I saw you when I moved in. I'm Arthur, by the way."

"Eames."

"I'm guessing you're rather new at lock picking."

He bristled somewhat. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you're doing it wrong," Arthur said bluntly. If he wasn't giving him a lopsided smile that was doing bizarre things to his stomach, Eames would have bitten off a few nasty words. "Here, let me."

Eames reluctantly handed over his tools and stepped aside. He tried not to show too much surprise when Arthur managed to pick the lock as easily as he breathed.

"Isn't it illegal to carry a lock pick set in the UK?" Arthur asked as he stood and returned the tools.

"I doubt you'll tell on me."

And there was that smile again.

"You're a little too trusting, aren't you?" Arthur walked passed him to his own door, keys in hand. "See you around, Eames."

He stared dumbly at the space Arthur had occupied a full minute after the man had walked into his flat. Finally, Eames shook himself and went inside, on the verge of having a minor panic attack. He was attracted to women, yet Arthur held some kind of power over Eames, making him feel like he was fifteen again, weak in the knees and heart beating through his chest. It was all a terrible cliché.

Instead of dwelling on it, Eames forced himself to work on the history assignment he'd been putting off for the past week. He could only write three sentences before his mind wandered back to dark eyes and a crooked smile.

Eames let his head fall onto the desk. "I'm so fucked."

-o-o-o-

It was another two days until Eames saw Arthur again. Eames was coming back from hanging with his mates, and Arthur was on his way out. He still wasn't sure what to make of his attraction to the man, but he couldn't stop himself from staring when he saw that Arthur was clothed in the most delicious suit that clung to his lithe frame in all the right places. Eames swallowed hard.

Arthur looked at him as he walked by, clearly amused. "I see you remembered your keys today."

"Um . . . yeah." Eames couldn't believe how lame that had come out. Before he could think of anything else to say, Arthur had already turned the corner.

When Eames got to his room, he sat at his desk for all of one minute before cursing to himself and fumbling with his belt buckle.

-o-o-o-

Now that Eames had accepted the fact that he wanted to get into Arthur's trousers, sexuality crisis be damned, he kept going out in the hopes of running into him. He'd only be gone for about ten minutes, getting something from the mini market so as not to look suspicious, and he'd take his time walking down the hall. He had no idea what Arthur's schedule was or even what Arthur did for a living. But he was nothing if not determined.

On his fourth try, almost a week after last seeing him, Eames finally had some luck. Even better, Arthur was leaving his flat at the same time he was.

"Hey," Eames greeted with a nod, feeling a burst of confidence.

Arthur looked a bit knackered, but he still offered Eames a small smile. "Hello."

Falling into step beside him, Eames asked, "Rough day?"

"Yeah."

"What do you do?" Arthur's brow furrowed in obvious confusion, so Eames elaborated. "I mean, your job. Your company move you over to this side of the pond?"

Eames couldn't tell if it was his imagination, but the set of Arthur's shoulders seemed to go rigid. Pressing the down button for the lift, he replied, "Something like that. I move around a lot."

He noticed that Arthur didn't answer the first question, but he let it go. "Where've you been to?"

Arthur laughed, his cheeks dimpling, and Eames could see some of the tension in his frame melt away. "You're very inquisitive."

"Sorry." But he really wasn't.

Eames licked his lips, something that always worked on the girls he was interested in, and was thrilled when Arthur's eyes darted to them briefly.

They stepped in once the doors opened and accidentally touched when they both reached for the lobby button. Eames felt this was going quite well, so he pushed it a little more.

"I've never seen anyone else come out of your flat."

Arthur raised his eyebrows at him. "I live alone."

Eames shrugged and continued, "Doesn't mean you can't have a girl over."

He made sure to focus on Arthur's reaction, but he didn't have one. His facial features were completely neutral. When they reached the lobby, though, Arthur smirked in a way that made his blood rush to his groin.

The air outside was chilly, enough to make Eames wish he'd put on his jacket. He suppressed a shiver, not sure if it was from the cold or from the look in Arthur's eyes. Without really thinking, he asked, "You wanna go for a drink?"

Arthur stared at him for a moment, actually making Eames want to squirm. "I would, but unfortunately, I have some business I need to attend to. Maybe some other time?"

"Sure." Eames was proud at how casual he managed to make that sound. The last thing he needed was for Arthur to think he was desperate.

"Right then. Have a good night, Eames."

"You, too," he said, giving a wave that was more like a salute.

Once he was out sight, Eames couldn't help but do a reverse fist pump, earning a few odd stares. Now that he knew Arthur was interested, plans were starting to form in his head about how to take it a step further.

-o-o-o-

Eames was surprised to run into him the next day, but he didn't mind, of course. Arthur was dressed casually, an open button-down layered over a T-shirt and jeans that did wonders for his arse. Eames tried not to drool.

"Good morning," Arthur greeted, smiling brightly at him. He looked much more rested.

"'Morning. Where are you headed?"

"Breakfast. You can join me if you want."

Eames wasn't expecting that, and he tried not to seem overjoyed. Thankful that it was a weekend, Eames took him up on the offer. The grocery shopping could be put off. Asking Arthur to wait a moment, he ran back inside to let his mother know he would be a bit longer. She didn't seem to hear him, since her eyes were glued to the computer screen, but he was used that.

The walk to the café was amiable. Eames tried to guess where Arthur was from based on his accent, but he was always horrible with discerning American accents. Eames eventually gave up, and all Arthur would say was that he was born on the East Coast. He seemed to be rather tight-lipped about anything concerning his past, but that didn't really bother Eames.

Once they got their food, he changed his tactic. "Have you traveled the world, or mostly just Europe?"

"Mostly Europe. I've been to Asia a few times, though."

Eames just had to hate Arthur now. Whilst he didn't hate England, he always wanted to travel, go to places that were vastly different from what he was used to and see how other people lived. He wanted to have knowledge about things that mattered, even things that most people would see as insignificant. Besides, he felt cooped up, staying in one place for so long.

As he played with the food on his plate, Eames tried to think of questions that he was almost sure were safe to have an answer attached. He found himself starving to know everything about Arthur. "How many languages can you speak?"

Arthur laughed, showing those dimples that made Eames desperately want to kiss him. "You never stop, do you? I'm fluent in French and German, and I know enough Polish and Japanese to get by."

Eames groaned. He felt like he was falling for this man.

"What?" His smile was teasing. "Jealous?"

"Yes! And I'm terrible at French."

"If I had the time, I'd offer to tutor you."

Eames' mind fell into the gutter at that. I'd much rather you tutor me in a different area of study.

"You keep asking me all these questions. Am I allowed a turn?"

Having just taken a bite, he nodded.

"Have you always lived in London?"

Swallowing, he answered, "No, I moved here when I was four." He really loved the way Arthur was watching him from over his cup of tea as he drank. It made his throat suddenly go dry, so his next words came out more as a croak. "I don't remember anything of my hometown."

"I suppose you wouldn't, being that young."

Eames felt something brush his shin. He wanted to grab Arthur by the collar and having his way with him right there on the table. He really thought his hormones would have calmed down by that point. His teenage years were almost over, after all.

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but he abruptly closed it and dug a hand into his jeans pocket. He pulled out his mobile and appeared to be reading a text. Then he frowned and looked up at Eames apologetically. "Sorry. Work."

He could tell that Arthur was truly reluctant to go, so he didn't hold it against him. Eames took one last bite before getting up as well, ignoring Arthur's protests. They walked together to the door, and that was when Eames felt a bit awkward. He was nearly sure it was only a simple meal and not a date, even though Arthur was adamant about paying, but that didn't stop Eames from wanting kiss him. In the end, he didn't have to worry about it because, after stepping outside, Arthur laid a hand on Eames' shoulder and leant in to give him a quick peck on the lips. Eames was too stunned to move, to even breathe.

"See you later." Arthur gave him that lopsided smile he loved so much before walking down the street.

Eames stood there for a few minutes, replaying what had just happened at least ten times. He was grinning like an idiot for the remainder of the day.

-o-o-o-

They crossed paths again during the week. Eames was returning from school, and Arthur was leaving, wearing one of those fantastic suits again. The kiss automatically popped into Eames' mind, and he had to fight the ridiculous smile he knew was trying to make its way out. Since he had only just put the key in the lock, he decided it would be easy to pretend he was going out instead of in. He still had his bag slung over his shoulder, but if Arthur asked, he could lie and say he was going out to study.

"Hey," he said with a nod.

"Hello, Eames."

After receiving a kiss from Arthur, he felt assured that the man wouldn't take a compliment badly. "You look great in that, you know."

Arthur let out a short laugh as he locked his door. "Thanks. I do try." Turning towards Eames, he blatantly looked him up and down. "You look . . . interesting."

Standing up straighter, Eames replied, "It's my style. I like it."

Chuckling, Arthur walked up to him and brushed imaginary lint off Eames' plaid shoulder. "Anything someone wears with confidence can look good on them."

"So confidence is sexy to you."

Arthur's eyes were sharp, almost predatory. "Definitely."

Eames was incredibly tempted to do something stupid in the lift, like push Arthur against the wall and show him what a real kiss was like. Instead, he went fishing for answers again.

"Off to work?"

" . . . Yes."

Eames didn't miss the pause. "You had to think about it? What, is it classified or something?"

Arthur snorted. "You make it sound like I'm some kind of secret agent."

Eames still didn't rule that out. "Okay, what if I guess? Can you say if I'm close or not?"

"I don't understand why you're so curious." He didn't sound defensive, just puzzled.

As they walked through the lobby, Eames actually considered coming clean, just saying outright that he liked him, and maybe he'd want to go out sometime? It was a bit infuriating. Eames had no problem asking girls out on a date. He was a total pro. But when it came to a man, Eames felt like a virgin who'd never gone on a date in his life. He wondered if maybe Arthur's age had something to do with it. He couldn't be sure how much older Arthur was, but he figured somewhere in the six to seven years range. But then maybe it had nothing to do with age or the fact that he was a man. Maybe it was just because Arthur was Arthur.

Realizing he had gone very quiet, Eames said in a rush, "What's wrong with being curious? I think you're fascinating." Then he mentally facepalmed. He sounded like a creep.

But Arthur just gave him an amused look. "Trust me, I'm not. You really want to know what I do? It's a lot of surveillance. Very boring."

"So you're paid to watch people?"

"No, that's only part of what I do. And that's not what I'm actually paid for."

"What's the other part then?"

But Arthur apparently decided to stop being forthcoming about himself, his expression guarded.

They were standing just outside the building, shielded from the sudden rain by a small overhang. Eames couldn't help but grin at Arthur's concession. He was still being secretive, but it felt like Arthur was starting to trust him a bit.

"I keep forgetting London's like this," Arthur said, more to himself, as he looked up at the gloomy sky.

Eames reached into his bag and pulled out an umbrella. "Here, you can use mine."

"What about you?"

"I can just go back up and get another one. We practically collect brollies. I'm in no rush."

Arthur stared at him for a moment before taking the proffered umbrella, his fingers brushing against Eames' in the process. "Thank you. I'll be sure to return it."

Eames meant to say that it wasn't a problem, but he ended up kissing him instead. It was innocent, no tongue, but it went on much longer than their previous kiss. Eames wanted to turn it into something more, but he knew if he did, he'd never want to let Arthur go. And this wasn't the time or place for that.

When they parted, desire was shining in Arthur's eyes. "If I didn't have to leave . . . "

"You know where to find me."

Arthur smiled at him, opening the umbrella, and Eames stared after him until the rain washed out his image. Bringing a hand up to his mouth, he belatedly realized it was more than simple lust that was driving him. The thought terrified Eames, so he pushed it out of his mind as best he could. Focusing on sex was something he was much more accustomed to. He just couldn't handle anything beyond that at the moment.

-o-o-o-

Eames yawned as he trudged down the hallway to his flat. It had been a long day. He took a maths exam that he could only fill in half the answers for, and even most of those were probably wrong. And then he got scolded by his history teacher for something so trivial that Eames was convinced the women just had the utmost contempt for him.

"You look beat."

Resting his forehead against the door, Eames felt the stress gradually drain from his body. "Hmm, I think you're recharging my batteries, though."

Arthur chuckled and walked over to him. Leaning against the wall next to him, he asked, "Do you live with a roommate? I've never actually seen anyone else come and go, but I get the feeling you don't live alone."

"I don't. I live with my mum." He pushed himself away from the door then leant against it to mimic Arthur. "The woman barely pays attention to me, yet she says I'm too young to live on my own."

Something akin to panic flashed across Arthur's face. If Eames hadn't been so used to studying the man's every expression, he would have missed it. Before he could ask, Arthur took a step back and said almost cautiously, "You seem old enough to me. Maybe she's just overprotective."

Eames shook his head. "Nah, it's normal for people my age to be living with their parents. Do 18-year-olds in America have the luxury of freedom? 'Cause if so, maybe being a Yank isn't so bad."

Arthur suddenly grew very pale. "You . . . " He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "You're 18."

"Yeah. And?"

"'And'? I thought you were in your early twenties!"

Eames frowned. "Okay, then I'm just a few years younger than you thought. What's the big deal?"

"Christ, Eames! I'm 27!"

His frown turned into a glare. "I'm not illegal, y'know."

"That doesn't matter," Arthur bit off, looking at his watch. As he breezed passed him, he muttered, "Go find someone your own age."

Allowing himself one moment of release, Eames punched the wall after he stepped into his flat. He wasn't a child. Just because he was nine years younger didn't mean he was incapable of meeting Arthur at the same level in some aspect. Arthur was older than Eames thought, and he wasn't having an attitude about it. He hoped that maybe the whole thing would just blow over, and Arthur would apologize for being such a twat.

-o-o-o-

They didn't see each other until about a week later. The lust he felt for Arthur hadn't subsided in the meantime, so it annoyed Eames when that familiar warmth coiled low in his gut at the sight of him. Despite not forgiving Arthur for how he'd treated him, he wanted to be civil, show Arthur that he wasn't immature.

"Hello," Eames said as evenly as he could.

But Arthur didn't even look at him. He simply unlocked his door and walked in.

Eames stared in disbelief. What a fucking bastard! He was actually shaking, he was so livid. Unable to control himself, he marched over to Arthur's door and banged on it until it opened.

"What?" Arthur snapped.

"You can't even acknowledge my existence now?" He tried to keep his voice low, since the hallway had a terrible echo.

"Go home, Eames."

Arthur was about to close the door, but Eames pushed his way in and slammed the door shut behind him. Then he grabbed Arthur by his shirt and pulled him forward roughly into a kiss. Arthur didn't respond at first, but when Eames forced his tongue into the man's mouth, he kissed him back with just as much fervor. It was the most brutal kiss Eames had ever experienced, and Arthur's grip on the back of his neck was borderline painful, but Eames had never been more turned on in his entire life. He was gripping Arthur's shirt so tightly that he was probably close to ripping it. But when he gave a low moan, Arthur suddenly pushed them apart. His lips were red and swollen, and his eyes were startlingly dark. Eames tried to reach for him again, but he was slapped away.

"Get out," Arthur growled.

Eames felt like he'd just been kicked in the stomach. "You really think I'll just—"

"Get the fuck out!"

If Eames was honest with himself, which he wasn't in the habit of doing, he'd admit that the power behind Arthur's voice made him incredibly nervous. But instead of listening to his instincts, he stupidly opened his mouth and said, "Maybe you're a pedophile, and you're just too freaked out to admit it."

It looked as though something snapped in Arthur, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his hands into fists. Then he walked over to the couch, his movements surprisingly fluid, and reached in between the cushions to pull out a gun. He pointed it at Eames, his expression cold. "Leave," he said calmly.

A chill went down Eames' spine, and he stared, wide-eyed, at the gun in Arthur's hand. His feet were rooted to the floor, a big part of him wanting to believe the man wouldn't actually shoot him.

Then Arthur quickly walked up to him and pressed the muzzle to his forehead. "Think I won't do it?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "You don't know a thing about me."

Finally, Eames willed himself to move and backed away from Arthur until he reached the door. After fumbling with the knob for a couple of excruciating seconds, Eames bolted out into the hallway. Once he was in his room, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The image of Arthur's face, staring at him with malice gleaming in his incredibly dark eyes, had been burned into brain.

What was he going to do now? The man hid weaponry in his furniture. Arthur had to be some kind of criminal. But even after being scared shitless, Eames still wanted him. Having a gun pressed to his head didn't turn him on, not in the slightest, but it didn't lessen the intense desire Eames had for him. Arthur had a valid point, though. He didn't know anything about him, not really. And whatever he'd gotten out of Arthur thus far could've easily been lies. How could he still want to get involved with someone like that?

-o-o-o-

"Hey! Hold the doors!" Eames shouted as he ran towards the lift. He made it inside and went to push the button for his floor, but it was already lit. Then he looked at who was standing next to him and froze. Arthur looked back at him with an expression Eames couldn't pin down, and when the doors closed, he felt trapped. Trying to lighten the mood, Eames let out a nervous laugh and asked, "You don't have a gun strapped to your ankle or something, right?"

Arthur sighed. "No. That would be a knife."

His fake smile immediately disappeared.

"Look, Eames, I'm sorry. There's no excuse for how I acted. It's not like pulling a gun on a kid is something I normally do." At Eames' glare, he said, "But that's what you are. I can't be with a kid, no matter how much I want you."

That took Eames off guard. When the doors opened, he walked out beside him, not knowing what to say.

"Besides, I'm only here temporarily."

"So why does it have to mean anything then? It can just be a good fuck."

Keys in hand, Arthur looked sideways at him, failing at keeping the wry smile from showing. "A little overconfident, aren't we?"

Forgetting his earlier apprehension, Eames followed Arthur into his flat. This time he actually took in his surroundings, noticing how spartan the room was. Just a beat-up couch and coffee table in the living room, not even a TV. The only signs that someone lived there were the papers strewn across the table and the black duffle bag sitting next to the couch. It made Eames think of a criminal always on the run.

"I don't like anyone in my space," Arthur said as he removed his jacket.

"Didn't seem to mind having my tongue in your mouth until you went off your box," he mumbled.

Eames could see Arthur's lips twitch out of the corner of his eye. "I meant the apartment itself."

Taking a chance, Eames walked up to him, putting a hand on the man's hip. He kept his mouth shut for once. Arthur stared at him for a moment, appearing conflicted, until he finally broke down and kissed him just as roughly as the other day. But there was one difference. Arthur's hands were gentle as they went from the back of his neck to his shoulders, down his arms, teasing at his sides. Whilst his mouth was displaying raw need, his hands were betraying intimacy. In return, Eames ran his fingers through Arthur's long hair. He'd wanted to touch it ever since he noticed how it curled a bit.

Eventually, Arthur divested Eames of his shirt, pulling it quickly over his head. Eames did the same to him, and his heart nearly jumped into his throat. He forced himself to focus on what Arthur's hands were doing, which really wasn't difficult, instead of the gun that was probably nestled between the couch cushions.

Then a faint ringing traveled throughout the room. Arthur muttered a curse and pried himself from Eames, grabbing his mobile from his jacket pocket. The conversation was terse and only lasted about a minute, but Eames still fidgeted the entire time. After Arthur hung up, he grabbed his shirt off the floor and pulled it back on.

Eames groaned, looking up at the ceiling. "You've gotta be kidding me!"

"I'm sorry."

"Work, right?" He gave a sigh of defeat. Perhaps the world was against him.

"Yes, and it's extremely important." Eames began to protest, but Arthur silenced him with a quick kiss. "We can pick up where we left off tomorrow."

Mollified, Eames went over to his flat, grateful for his mother's bizarre work hours, since he needed a little release after all that buildup to nothing. That night was the fastest he'd fallen asleep in years.

-o-o-o-

Eames decided to skip school that day, only taking his bag for show. A huge grin stuck on his face, he knocked on Arthur's door. There was no answer. He knocked again, but still nothing. Just in case, Eames tried turning the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked. He slowly opened the door, thinking maybe Arthur was playing around with him. But as he went from room to room, it was as if Arthur had never even existed.

Eames walked in a daze, hoping it was some kind of sick joke. Then he noticed a small piece of paper taped to the fridge.

Sorry.

He wanted to be furious, he really did, but he just couldn't find the strength to be. Staring at the note, he wondered if he should leave it there or take it with him. He knew he'd never see Arthur again, so he supposed he shouldn't torture himself by keeping it.

"Shit. I'd really fallen for him," he said to the empty flat, wishing the pain in chest would fade. It was pathetic. He hadn't even known Arthur for that long, but it felt like years instead of a month. If Eames had believed in the concept of soulmates, he would say that he just lost his.

Blankly staring ahead, he walked out and quietly shut the door behind him.

-o-o-o-

The summer heat finally let up, so it was the perfect day for exploring. He needed a subject for his next painting. Eames didn't mind being a "starving artist." He was 25. He had plenty of time to figure out what he really wanted to do with his life if painting didn't take off. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. And as much as he wasn't a huge fan of Paris, it provided the best subjects for his art. Plus, living there finally got him to become fluent in the language. That was the one thing he promised himself he would do after Arthur left.

Taking a different route, he kept an eye on the architecture, seeing if anything stood out to him. When he got bored with that, he got a drink at a café and sat outside to watch the people walking by. It had been a while since he painted someone, but he figured there wasn't any harm in it, as long as he stuck to women. He had realized, with some horror, that all of the men he painted over the years looked too similar, all dark hair and dark eyes and a lean frame.

Then someone stuck out in the crowd. He told himself no men, and then his attention was immediately drawn to one. Sighing, Eames stood and went to catch up with the stranger. His gut was telling him there was something familiar about this man, and he was always about following his instincts. Eames kept his distance, trying to get a decent look at the guy's face.

Eventually, the man turned down an alleyway. Eames stopped, the hairs rising on the back of his neck. Logically, he knew he shouldn't continue., but trusting his gut had never let him down before.

Once he walked into the alley, he found nothing. It made Eames briefly wonder if he'd been hallucinating. Then he heard a faint click, and something metallic was pressed against his temple.

"You can have my wallet without a problem," Eames stated in perfect French. If the man had a knife instead of a gun, he knew he could take him, but he didn't like to gamble with firearms.

But the gun was lowered after a beat. "Eames?"

Slowly, he turned his head and saw a bewildered Arthur staring at him. Eames had to blink a few times to make sure he really wasn't hallucinating. It was definitely Arthur. He aged well, still as gorgeous as he was seven years ago, but with a few added frown lines and shorter hair.

Eames gave a soft chuckle. "You seem to have a penchant for putting guns in my face," he said in French, now just showing off.

Arthur smiled. "I see you didn't need me to tutor you after all." After they were back on the street, he asked, "Would you like to have some tea at my place, catch up a little? It's not far from here."

"I'd love to."

They were quiet as they walked side by side. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but Eames still wanted to break it. He had too many questions buzzing around in his head. Starting with the easiest one, he asked, "Were you actually planning to rob me?"

Arthur laughed, and the sound made Eames' heart beat faster. It seemed he still had the power to make Eames feel like a 15-year-old. "No. I felt someone tailing me, so I wanted to find out who and why."

"Ah. I guess I wasn't as subtle as I thought then."

"Not to me, at least, no."

Eames went silent again for a moment, watching where they were going and trying to memorize the surroundings. Then, "You look good."

Arthur's smile grew a bit wider, but he kept his eyes forward. "So do you."

They walked up to a large building, and Eames wasn't shocked to find that Arthur was living in a flat. He wondered if he still traveled, if he still worked in surveillance. That was one thing that always drove him a little mad. Was it Arthur's job that made him leave?

Once they stepped inside Arthur's flat, Eames' eyebrows shot up. It was far cozier than the one Arthur had back in London. There was actual color splashed in every room, and daylight streamed in through the windows. It almost seemed cluttered, with small piles of books in the living room and dishes in the sink. It had the very distinct feeling of "home."

"I like what you've done with the place," Eames said, gesturing vaguely around the room.

Arthur shrugged. "Most of it is from the previous tenant."

He followed Arthur into the kitchen, watching him put the kettle on the stove. "Only here temporarily?"

"Yes, but I come back when I can. I'm renting it indefinitely. I like it too much to just go buy a house."

Eames wasn't expecting that, but he supposed everyone needed at least one place they knew they could always return to. Paying closer attention, Arthur did seem to be very comfortable in this flat. But it killed him that the man had been so close without him knowing. He wondered how long Arthur had been renting it, how long Eames could have passed him on the street, too much in his own head to even notice him. Arthur only lived about half an hour away. Anything was possible.

After the tea was ready, they sat on the couch, which Eames practically sunk right into, not expecting it to be so cushiony. He took a tentative sip, but he was pleasantly surprised to find that it resembled the tea he missed so much from England.

"Good?"

"Mmm, very."

Arthur smiled and took a sip of his own. "What are you doing in France?"

"It's just sort of where I ended up. It's an ideal place for my art."

"Really?" His face lit up with genuine interest. "What kind?"

"Painting, mostly. I draw sometimes."

Arthur abandoned his tea on the coffee table and turned to face him. Suddenly, he looked far more like his younger self, and Eames had to restrain himself from touching. "Do you sell any of it?"

"Whatever I can, yeah. It's not much, but between that and the part-time job I have, I'm able to stay afloat." The small talk was fine, not at all uncomfortable, like he had been expecting, but Eames couldn't keep the question in any longer. It was starting to burn on his tongue. "What happened, all those years ago?"

Arthur's smile faded, and he shifted in his seat a bit, though he did manage to hold eye contact. "I suppose it would make more sense if I explained everything." He hesitated, finally looking away. For whatever reason, it was so much easier to read Arthur now than it had been in the past. Eames could see the blatant anxiety in Arthur's posture and the way his breathing sped up slightly. But he had to wonder if maybe he'd simply gotten better at reading people, instead of Arthur being more obvious with his emotions.

After about a minute passed, Arthur's eyes settled back on his own. "I had worked as an assassin. That was why I traveled constantly. But I wasn't tied to any one person or corporation. I worked for whoever would pay me and pay me enough. I had the reputation for it. Technically, I didn't lie to you when I said I did surveillance. That was a big part of the job. Anyway, that night . . . " Arthur's eyes glazed over a bit in memory, a sour look on his face. "I took out my target that night, and things went badly. I still completed my mission, but it wasn't as clean as I would've liked it to be. I had no choice but to leave immediately afterwards." Then Eames could tell he was back in the present, an expression of remorse sent his way. "I couldn't even risk saying goodbye to you. Trust me when I say that I didn't like leaving things the way they were. I just hoped you would forget me and move on."

Eames hadn't expected that sort of answer, but he appreciated his honesty. He tried not to think about Arthur killing people for money, but that was a part of who he was. Besides, he already knew Arthur was a criminal, even if he'd never gotten absolute proof of that fact. And knowing he no longer did that sort of thing made it a little easier to accept.

Putting his own tea next to Arthur's, he said, "But I never forgot you."

They both grew silent, not looking at each other. Where did they go from here?

"I'm sorry that I acted like such an asshole after I found out your age," Arthur said eventually. "I panicked. I mean, the things I wanted to do to you. And then I figured that if I continued to act that way, you'd get fed up with me, and that would be the end of it. But then you had to be so persistent." Arthur gave him a self-depreciating smile. "Turned out that I didn't have much willpower when it came to you."

Eames was proud of himself for keeping the ridiculous grin off his face. Not only would it have been a tad inappropriate, but he didn't want to come off as haughty. Instead, he coughed lightly and said, "It's alright. I can understand your side of it a little better now. But why did you want to get involved with me to begin with when you're always on the move?"

Arthur shrugged, almost looking a bit awkward. "I was too tempted. I felt bad about it, though. If you actually liked me, and it wasn't all about sex, I knew I would end up breaking your heart."

He didn't bother telling Arthur that he had done so. It felt irrelevant at that point. "You know," he said quietly, "I'm not a kid anymore."

Arthur met his eyes. "I can see that."

Then there was that conflicted look Eames recognized from years previous. Before he could think about what it meant, Arthur leant over and kissed him, not at all rough like when they were younger. It was slow, and it felt like Arthur was trying to crawl inside him. Eames moved closer, and when Arthur brought his hands up, they rested on the sides of his face before making their way into his hair. Eames thought he could live every day of his life kissing him like this.

Arthur pulled back, needing air, and Eames panted onto his cheek. Then Arthur stood and began walking out of the room. Eames was confused, also a bit hurt, until he stopped and asked over his shoulder, "Aren't you coming?"

If Eames wasn't so entranced, he would have been embarrassed at how he tripped over his own feet on the way to the bedroom.

-o-o-o-

Rolling onto his side to face Arthur, Eames reached out to trace a long scar on his bicep. It was jagged and ugly, yet he itched to kiss it.

Arthur looked over at him, eyes half lidded. "Knife wound I got in Sweden."

Eames scooted towards him a bit to touch a scar on his abdomen. "And this?"

"Minor car wreck in Poland."

He touched another scar on his upper thigh. "This?"

"Gun shot wound in Hong Kong."

Silence fell over them, and Eames just trailed his fingers lightly over Arthur's stomach, watching the muscles dance beneath his touch. Then, "You said you worked as an assassin. What's your job now?"

The smile Arthur gave him made his skin tingle.

"What do you know about dreams?"