Disclaimer: I am the owner of one rampant obsession and that's it. Nothing else belongs to me.
A/N: I just woke up with this idea in my head and this is what I wound up with. I know its a little OCC but this whole thing is mostly fluff so that couldn't really be avoided. Feedback is always appreciated!
I.
He blames his brother's upcoming wedding for planting the idea in his head because he knows it didn't get there by itself. Over the course of the last few weeks, he's heard more about dresses and cakes and venues and invitations- and the amount of effort that goes into those is just baffling- than he'd ever cared to and it's beginning to wear on him a little.
Eames should never get married. He should never even want to get married because that just goes against everything he's ever stood for and hell, he shouldn't even be in a stable relationship, or want one, but Arthur changed all of that when he came strolling into his life and effectively turned it upside down.
Arthur settled him, for the most part, and Eames doesn't feel the need to try to find anyone because Arthur is the only person who has ever understood him and he balances him out in a way that no one else ever could. They fight and bicker constantly and their relationship has seen its fair share of ups and downs but they always come back to each other in the end.
Eames doesn't care how soft it makes him seem because he loves Arthur and he knows that no one could ever, ever, make him as happy as Arthur makes him and he doesn't plan on just giving that up.
This is what he wants for the rest of his life- he's certain of it.
So when he arrives late after dealing with a rather frantic phone call from his sister-in-law to be regarding some snafu with their caterer and his opinion on whether or not they should cancel- God forbid a guest wind up with salmon rather than steak- Eames drops down in the empty seat next to Arthur, who is hunched over his desk, eyebrow knitted together in concentration as he studies the stack of paperwork in front of him, and says, quite casually, "Marry me."
Arthur doesn't even bother to glance up from his work but Eames can see him roll his eyes and the frown lines around the corners of his mouth deepen just a little as his pursed lips turn into pursed, downturned lips. "That isn't funny, Mr. Eames," he replies curtly, scribbling a note in the margin of his paper.
Eames chuckles. "I wasn't trying to be funny, pet."
He leans back in his chair and tucks his arms behind his head and just smirks as he watches Arthur stiffen and drop his pen out of his now lax fingers. His jaw drops just the slightest bit and he suddenly looks nervous. Vulnerable. It's not a look that Eames sees very often but he enjoys it whenever he does.
"You… you're serious?" Arthur asks and his voice cracks a little, conveying his uncertainty.
And Eames just loves the way it sounds.
"That's typically not something one brings up if they're just kidding, you know."
Arthur looks as if he's about to respond but then Cobb returns to the room and Arthur immediately snaps out of his daze and is all business again- launching right back into his description of their latest mark that Cobb had so rudely interrupted earlier.
Arthur doesn't speak to Eames for the rest of the day and they don't even make eye contact and judging from the way that Arthur keeps his back to him the entire time, Eames assumes his answer is no.
II.
They're sharing Eames's dream tonight. They alternate every once in awhile to ensure some variety because Eames can only take so many ornate decorations and simple and clean architecture and because Arthur can only handle so many run down and smoky bars and out of the way alleys.
The dream isn't so much a dream as it is a memory- one of Eames' favorites- but there's something different about it.
It's their first morning together during which Arthur- or rather; Eames' projection of Arthur- rises early and spends the following few hours padding barefoot around the flat with his hair a mess and a pair of glasses perched on his nose- paperback in one hand, cup of coffee in the other.
Eames just sits on the couch, still bleary eyed and half asleep, and watches him and it's the first time he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's falling in love with him. He remembers that clearly.
Arthur eventually closes his book and places his empty cup on the edge of the kitchen counter and makes his way back out to the living room where he proceeds to curl up on the couch and nuzzle his way right into Eames' arms.
It's the rings that are different.
They're identical gold bands- simple and plain and understated- and they sit in identical places, nestled comfortably on the fourth finger of each of their left hands. They glint and glimmer in the light as Eames' hand comes up to cradle the back of Arthurs head and as Arthur's fingers splay out across Eames' abdomen when he slides an arm around his waist.
Eames' notices them first and he struggles to not draw attention to them and tries to make them disappear but as Arthur's eyes widen just slightly as he continues to stare at their projections, he knows he's been made.
He offers Arthur a sheepish grin and a simple shrug of his shoulders but before he can really say anything, Arthur pulls his gun out and shoots him in the head.
And judging from the way that Arthur more or less yanks the PASIV needle out of his arm and immediately departs to bed, stony faced and silent, Eames assumes his answer is no.
III.
Eames finds Arthur in a bar. It's fairly dingy and out of the way and it's probably the last place that anyone would look in to find him unless they were familiar with all of Arthur's habits.
It's been three years since Mal's death and it's the fourth time Eames has found him here- wasted and disheveled and utterly miserable.
The first year had been the worst. Eames didn't think he'd ever seen someone, let alone Arthur, in worse shape. He'd literally had to drag him out of there and yeah, he might have ended up with vomit all over his shoes and he might have had to suffer through one gut wrenching night of having to listen to Arthur sob for hours on end but that had also been the night the two of them had shared their very first kiss.
Arthur doesn't remember it of course, swears that Eames was dreaming, but Eames doesn't need him to because he remembers it vividly and that one clumsy bump of the lips was one of the best moments of his life.
He's always looked upon this day fondly, sad as it is, and when he strolls in and hooks one of Arthur's arms around his shoulder to help him stand up, a little smile spreads across his face because this is exactly what started their whole relationship. It's routine and familiar and though it may not be pleasant, it's somehow special.
Arthur utters a ridiculous little noise that's a cross between a whimper and a whine and a groan and his head lolls onto Eames shoulder as he shifts him a little so he can dig into his pocket and pull out a wad of cash, tossing it haphazardly on the surface of the bar.
"Keep the change," Eames grunts as he shifts Arthur again, supporting the majority of his weight as they stumble towards the door.
They're about halfway back to their apartment when Arthur begins to sniffle and the shoulder of Eames' shirt begins to feel damp so he sighs and picks up the pace the best that he can. "Almost home, love," he whispers as his lips brush across the crown of Arthur's head.
Arthur bolts like a rocket the moment they step foot inside the front door, stumbling clumsily towards the bedroom. He collapses face first on the bed and that's when the crying really starts- full on body racking sobs that just break Eames' heart.
He likes the moments when Arthur lets his guard down and just lets himself be open. He just can't stand these kinds of moments because he's never really been good at dealing with people's emotions and to see someone he loves so much in so much obvious pain is almost too difficult to bear.
So he gives Arthur a minute or two and he ensures that he'll be able to stay composed enough to get through this before he slowly enters the bedroom and sinks down onto the edge of the bed.
Eames places a hand on the small of Arthurs back and gently begins to rub it in hopes that it'll help him calm down. "Shh, pet," he soothes. "I know you miss her."
Arthur's head snaps up and he quickly shakes his head, flinging his hair about in every which way. "I don't… well, I do… but this isn't… she's not…" He lets out a frustrated groan as he tries to quell his crying long enough to produce a coherent thought. "I-It's not about Mal," he finally chokes out.
And before Eames can question him, he suddenly winds up with an armful of Arthur who's clawing at the back of his shirt as he tugs Eames closer and crushes their lips together. "It's about you," he says in-between hot kisses that are placed on every available inch of skin he can reach- Eames's lips and the tip of his nose and his cheeks and the sensitive little spot behind his ear.
Eames groans as he tumbles back against the mattress, securely locking his arms around Arthur's waist to hold him in place. "Me?" he breathes, tilting his head to the side just slightly to grant Arthur better access to the skin along his jaw line.
He knows he shouldn't be even remotely turned on by any of this because Arthur is a mess and Arthur is still crying and he can taste the salt of his tears on his tongue but fuck, Arthur can do amazing things with his mouth. And his hands.
"You," Arthur repeats as he more or less tears Eames' shirt open, ducking his head to trail his lips down along his collarbone. "I can't… I couldn't be without you like that. I just… I couldn't, Daniel."
Eames's hooded lids snap back open and his heart stops for a second before it just melts because now everything finally makes sense. All of Arthur's hesitance and resistance- it all stems from fear and he doesn't understand how he could have missed that.
"Oh darling." He lifts Arthur's chin up with his index finger and presses a very light, almost non existent kiss to his lips. "C'mere," he breaths as he cradles Arthur to his chest- the urgency and the fervor now quickly fading away.
"We wouldn't end up like that," he tells him. "I promise."
But judging from the way that Arthur sleeps on the opposite end of the bed that night, Eames assumes the answer is no.
IV.
Arthur is shot. It's a shoulder hit, a through and through, but that doesn't keep Eames from worrying because the white of Arthur's shirt is now crimson and the palms of his own hands are covered in blood.
Arthur is shuddering- his expression screwed up in a mask of pain. Eames adds a little more pressure to the wound to reduce the blood loss and Arthur groans. "Fuck," he hisses as he writhes on the stone floor, drawing his bottom lip in between his teeth.
"Easy darling," Eames chides as he holds him down so that he doesn't make anything worse. "It's just a flesh wound. I think you're going to live." He tries to make the joke sound flippant but he fails because even though he knows that Arthur has a pretty good chance, this whole situation is still fairly concerning.
"Fuck you," Arthur pants, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Now, now. There'll be plenty of time for that when you heal, yeah?" Eames manages to smile just slightly as he reaches down to brush a few stray strands of hair off of Arthur's sweaty forehead.
Arthur tries to chuckle but the sound ends up coming out more like a wheeze and Eames just frowns and tells him to shut up. He glances towards the door of the warehouse, impatiently scanning the horizon for any signs of the paramedics. Cobb is pacing relentlessly by the door and the two of them share a small, nervous smile before Eames turns his attention back to Arthur.
"You're going to have to go by yourself, you know," he states matter-of-factly. "Only immediate family is allowed in the ambulance."
Arthur opens one eye and cracks a smile. "I guess it's a shame we're not married then."
"But not for a lack of trying."
Arthur closes his eye again but the smile is still there. "This still isn't funny, Mr. Eames."
"Did mean it to be, darling," he counters tenderly.
Judging by the way that Arthur does insist on riding alone and refuses to acknowledge their conversation later on, Eames assumes the answer is still no.
V.
"Marry me."
Arthur's statement is so abrupt and sudden that Eames, startled, nearly tumbles off the bed in his haste to turn himself in Arthur's direction. He flops, rather ungracefully, onto his stomach and props himself up on his elbows, staring intently down at Arthur. Arthur who looks totally relaxed and at ease as he stares up at the ceiling with a smile.
"You're joking."
Arthur looks over at him and arches an eyebrow. "I thought people didn't joke about something like that."
"But," Eames sputters and for once, he's at a complete loss for words. "You're really being serious."
"I am," he says as he turns onto his side, propping himself up with his elbow as well.
Arthur is silent for a moment before speaking again. "I'm not… very good at this sort of thing."
Eames interrupts him with a pointed snort. "Understatement."
Arthur shoots him a glare but continues. "I just…" He pauses and swallows thickly and the tips of his ears turn the faintest shade of pink as he struggles to find his words. "You're just it for me, okay? I don't want to waste time fighting that anymore. Eames, Daniel, I love you and no matter the risk, I uh, would like to keep on doing that."
Eames holds a hand up to silence him before he can say anything more. "Let me make one thing clear. Just because you chose to go about this in your own way after denying my own proposals, I am not, nor will I ever be, the woman."
Arthur blinks and then he laughs and Eames is certain his heart is going to bust right out of his chest with excitement and joy and fuck Arthur for turning him into such a sap.
"So is that a yes?" Arthur asks, still smiling- an actual smile that shows his teeth and his dimples and everything.
Eames just closes the distance between them and judging by the kiss he plants on him, Arthur assumes the answer is yes.