Steel- blue eyes gazed serenely at him, their color deepening as the sun set behind. The days' last rays peeked through the dirty blond hair, casting a golden lining around the man's silhouette. Just as the sun fell below the ocean's horizon, he saw full lips spread across crooked teeth in a wide smile.
Arthur's eyes snapped open, staring tense into the darkness of his cold bedroom. He noticed the moonlight streaming in through the open blinds, bright beams of light casting random blue streaks into the room, making the shadows look even darker. He slowly sat up and saw that his pillows and duvet had somehow ended up on the floor, his naked body tangled in the white top sheet. He was also sitting in a puddle of his own cold sweat.
Glancing out his window, the moon was full again. It seemed like every time he saw it, the lunar orb was full, just like that night. Its intensity following him everywhere he went.
He ran a hand through his damp hair and felt his anxiety rise up in him as the stillness of the room pressed against him. The silence made his heart beat harder; silence was louder than any other earthly sound in creation. He fought the instinct to panic.
He rubbed his face hard and slapped it a few times, willing the images to leave him, to give him space, to let him rest. He couldn't take this happening almost every night.
It was late afternoon as Arthur walked down the streets of New York. He passed the shops, the businesses, not particularly seeing everything attentively. His head turned towards the sound of cars honking, a group of girls laughing at a table outside a café, a plane passing by overhead. He breathed in but coughed each time he inhaled the polluted air of the city.
As he glanced around at the different shops that he passed, he stopped in front of a men's clothing store. On display in the window were mannequins in gaudy, bright button down shirts and plain slacks. Even the socks had stark patterns on them. He frowned but then quirked an eyebrow, seeing one particular ensemble that would perfectly suit a certain someone.
His throat tightened up as his eyes moved across the reflection of an excruciatingly familiar face in the glass and he whirled around so fast his vision danced. He shook his head to clear it and looked around desperately but he saw nothing; nothing but the traffic and the streets and the shops and the pedestrians. He swallowed hard and tried to slow his breathing.
And then he forgot why he was even out and about in the first place.
It seemed as though Arthur kept seeing memories of Eames, memories he never made, memories he was never a part of. Actually, it was more like different scenes from one memory.
He saw Eames on a beach, a very plain, empty beach. Simple beige sand, sparkling deep cerulean ocean, waves that spilled white as they crashed towards land. Sometimes it was evening, sometimes it was afternoon. Sometimes it was bright as could be, probably in the middle of the day with fluffy cumulous clouds sailing along a pale blue sky.
Eames always looked the same each time. It was as if he was several years younger, smoother skin and not as tan or weathered. No scars or stubble, no facial hair at all. His hair was shorter, buzzed on the sides with the light blond locks falling over his forehead. He was also slimmer and seemed to stand a little straighter, his demeanor fresh and energetic.
Eames was beautiful in his youth.
Arthur tapped his fingers on the chilly window of his living room, blinds open to look out over the city, watching as the lights glittered against the night sky. Something flashed at the top of his vision and he glanced up.
That damn moon, stupid and full, as usual.
He felt like it was looking at him.
The Point Man sighed deeply and closed his eyes.
He had no idea why he was so torn up over Eames' death.
Okay maybe that sounded a bit heartless.
He didn't feel as close to the Forger to react this way to seeing him die.
But maybe he didn't have to be. He had seen plenty of people die in dreams, team mates and bad guys alike.
He had never witnessed a colleague die in reality.
He had been on different teams during his time in dream sharing but he had spent most of those years with Cobb, at first, as his Architect and then later, his Extractor. Dom had worked with Eames on a few past jobs and eventually brought him on for a job they took that required a Forger. At first he was amused and at ease but soon enough it turned into annoyance and exasperation. The teasing, the sarcasm, their banter and the mild flirting definitely added to the dynamic of their partnership and made each job that much more interesting. The man was a case, to say the least.
Arthur was not a man who trusted easily. He was thorough and meticulous in all aspects of his life, including who he chose to share his company, on and off the job. And even though he sometimes grated on his nerves to the point of breakage, Eames was someone he did end up growing to trust.
Sometimes he wasn't sure of the man personally but professionally, he had nothing if not the utmost respect for the Brit. He had proved his talent time and time again with every assignment and Arthur had no qualms about admitting he was the best in the industry. And he heard that apparently Eames felt the same about him as Point Man, in kind. That sentiment always made him swell slightly with pride.
He knew after Inception that he had found their dream team. Together they had achieved the impossible under impossible circumstances. And although they had unexpected obstacles in the process, each person was able to not only play their part but helped each other to get the job done and get out safely.
But respect isn't everything. You never know the kind of turns a job can take, for good or ill. Or messy. Or dire.
One time in a dream, the job wasn't going according to schedule and the projections were turning violent. They were so close to getting the information they needed but they were also running out of time. Dom had the Mark and was working him while Arthur was running point. He was able to handle the projections but the fact remained that they needed more time or they were fucked.
Arthur had taken care of most of the projections but the last one had him on the run. He had lost his Glock in the struggle and had no choice but to book it and get away.
Unfortunately he ended up in the dead end of a stone alley with the hot sun beating down on him, no shadows to hide him. He had only a nook at the bottom of a small loft above him to mold himself into but it would be useless when the projection caught up with him.
He could hear the footsteps about to round the corner and for a frightening moment the Point Man had no idea what to do.
Suddenly from overhead, Eames leapt from a window and landed right in front of him and shoved a sheathed blade against his chest; Arthur's hand automatically coming up to grasp it. Wide grey eyes bore into his.
"Don't worry, I've got it."
A deafening shot rang out and the blood from Eames' head wound sprayed him in the face as the Forger fell to the ground in a gory heap just before he faded from the dream. And then the projection was right in his face but before he could raise the gun Arthur flipped the blade open and slashed his throat, more blood splashing across his suit.
Once above, Eames had been able to reset the timer on the PASIV and prepare for their immediate escape once they surfaced.
The job was a success.
Another time in reality, their first job after Inception turned critical.
Their Extractor, since Dom was unofficially retired after his return to the States, turned out to be slippery and shady, effectively concealed even beyond what Arthur's research had turned up. That left Arthur and Eames up above with four gunmen on their heels as they ran for their lives through a dark, abandoned old warehouse.
The Point Man had been able to take out one after he managed to get the man's gun in a scuffle and another as he snuck up behind him, metal to his skull.
Arthur kept on and burst through a doorway just in time to see Eames toss the third thug against a wall and lay a few bullets into him. Eames grabbed him as they heard echoing footsteps clamoring up a stairwell across the concrete room.
"Split up!" he growled as the pushed Arthur towards a window. Arthur looked at him confused.
"The scaffold," he explained and pointed, rushing through the door of the other stairwell nearby and descended, taking two at a time.
The glass was already broken so he kicked a few more panes out and climbed out onto the top of the metal scaffold that Eames had somehow known was there. He carefully started to make his way down to level below but slipped, and the rickety thing gave way and the panel below him broke apart at one end, sending him sliding forward faster than he could react.
Just as his hips fell over the ledge, hands suddenly grabbed onto his arm at the elbow and he was knocked painfully into the side of the building but he looked up and saw Eames leaning out of a window, holding onto him tightly.
"Don't worry, I've got you," he whispered and Arthur reached up and held on as he was pulled to safety.
It was only after he confirmed to Eames that he was alright did he peek out and down at the street below.
They were five stories up. Eames had just saved his life. In reality.
You can tell a lot about a person when they save your ass. Twice.
It was cold, freezing cold.
Snow, night, stars.
The middle of the night.
They were running. Eames yelling at him from behind.
"Faster Arthur, hurry!"
Their steps heavy on the slick street. Men somewhere far behind them shouting in a foreign language.
Turning right, running across a bridge over the river.
The river.
More men on the other side, in front of them, the others behind them, catching up.
Trapped.
Strong, thick fingers entwine tightly with his.
A whisper. "I've got you,"
They jump.
Water so cold it hurts more than anything he can remember.
Gunshots hitting the water, missing them.
The current carries them away.
Suddenly, they can't fight against it.
And it's getting faster and faster.
Then he sees it. Another bridge. With a metal ladder leading down into the water from the street.
Eames in front of him, flailing, trying to stay afloat.
"Eames! The ladder!"
Arthur manages to run himself into it just as Eames grabs the last step. Barely.
He gets an elbow over the next step and reaches down to grab Eames' hand. The Forger's other hand is slipping. He grips as hard as he can but his extremities are numb. He can't feel anything.
Dark blue eyes stare up at him blearily, matching blue lips trembling.
"I've got you!" Arthur cries.
But Eames' gaze suddenly softens, eyes looking lovingly into his. Those trembling lips smile and begin to form words that seem to echo straight into his mind.
"Don't worry."
It doesn't feel like they're talking about the same thing.
And with a rushing wave, Eames is completely swept from the ladder and from his grasp, disappearing into the dark water.
"No!"
He screams and screams and screams his name into the night, but his friend never resurfaces, the unforgiving river gleaming in the full moon's light.
It's funny how you don't realize you love someone until their life is ripped from your hand.
There was a wet tongue firmly licking the area where the inside of his thigh met his pelvis, the sensation shooting straight through his cock. Big, strong hands were tucked under his ass, his legs hooked over broad shoulders. Warm breath ghosted over him and as Eames looked up at him through his sweat-soaked bangs, eyes blackened with lust, Arthur was almost afraid.
The next thing he knew, any momentary fear he may have had disappeared into Eames' hot mouth along with his dick and the rest of his sanity.
Lips, tongue, cheeks and gentle teeth worked him agonizingly slow and thorough. It was everything he could do to grip the sheets, dig his heels into Eames' back and hang on for dear fucking life.
He dared to glance down and those darkened eyes had never left him, his gaze intense, stuck to his, unblinking as his mouth slurped and suckled him hard. Arthur lost all sense of hearing, his heart pounding with each bob of Eames' head.
And as that lustful stare continued to hold him spellbound, he felt a single finger slide into him. With one swipe at his sweet spot –
Arthur shot up awake in bed from where he was grinding desperately into his mattress and came, harder than he ever had in his life, crying out Eames' name.
It seemed like he was only awake at night. He wished he could escape the moon, the stars but he couldn't. It's like his mind was hiding from the day. He longed for the warm sun to chase away the cold of night that reminded him of that frozen night in the water.
He hasn't worked, hasn't taken a job, hasn't gone anywhere near his PASIV, which he has hidden under the bed. Truth be told, he's frightened of what he might encounter down there. But he's close to thinking about it. It's time for a distraction. He couldn't stay in this state of grief forever. Even though he didn't want to forget that night, like the more he dwelled, the greater the chance of maybe getting to change it, he knew it was futile. Death was death, a right son of a bitch that represented such finality and fragility. You don't get to escape him. He's always ready, always waiting. And when you're called, when Fate sends the reaper and you feel his hand wrap around yours and begin to lead you away, you better make peace with yourself and the life you've led.
The only merciful thing about Death is that he always allows you to say goodbye, in some way or another, even if it doesn't seem like a goodbye at the time. It could be as simple as a pleasant phone call three days before the fact, a night of frivolity among friends before everything changes in the morning. Two words uttered in the frozen night before a grip slacks and slips away…
Arthur didn't feel like he really got to say goodbye.
He didn't feel like he got the chance to say anything that he should have.
Thick fingers caressed his lips and Arthur's tongue darted out to taste the rough digits. The tip of a middle finger snuck into his mouth and he wrapped his lips around it and suckled, drawing a breath from the man above him. Arthur's mouth fell slack and the wet tip trailed slowly down his neck, his collarbone and once it reached his navel, the hand splayed flat on his belly and brushed over his skin, fingers tracing the indentions from his ribs and a thumb softly flicking over a dusty nipple. The thumb was replaced by the barely-there swipe of a tongue and Arthur sighed heavily.
"Eames,"
The Forger replied with his own sigh, coming up to gently place his lips over Arthur's in a chaste but intimate kiss. As opposite as they were, in job, in color, in build – they fit together perfectly, as did their lips; full and red, pale and curved. The way they melded together was like a dance.
Eames pulled back only slightly to look into Arthur's eyes; the dark brown orbs glittered in the candlelight. Arthur smiled lazily up at him and placed a kiss on his chin before sliding downward beneath him. The next thing he knew Eames was leaning on his hands with Arthur between his thighs, underneath him, slipping the head of his cock past those damn lips. He hung his head and watched Arthur, the scene so explicitly hot from this angle, he felt tiny electric shocks zip through his bones as Arthur slowly took the rest of Eames into the heated cavern of his mouth. The angle and the sensation had his pelvis and lower spine tingling and he whimpered, eyes falling closed.
The next thing he knew, Arthur was kneeling behind Eames, two fingers working him open gently. When he heard him make a small, pleasured noise, he removed his fingers, leaning down to take the tip of his tongue over Eames' hole before pulling back and returning with three fingers making him ready. Eames arched his lower back and lowered his entire torso on the bed, arms stretching out in front of him, hands gripping the sheets as he rocked back against Arthur's fingers, positively pliant under his ministrations.
Arthur removed his fingers and leaned down again, placing his mouth over the aching hole kissing and tonguing, filling him with his own saliva for lubrication. A near high-pitched whine was pulled from Eames' lips at the action and then suddenly Arthur was pushing himself all the way to the hilt inside of his lover's body. Both men groaned, feeling both of their bodies pulsing together at the same time. They pushed against each other, reaching down to card his fingers through Eames' hair as the Forger let his head fall forward. Arthur rolled his hips slowly against Eames' ass, his cock moving sensually though the other man's body, drawing lovely little sounds from him that he kept under his breath.
They moved together slowly, bodies completely molded like two fated puzzle pieces. The only sound aside from their breathing and whimpers was the soft glide of sweat-slicked skin against skin. Arthur bent his head down and spoke against Eames' cheek, coating his face with words that were only meant for his ears.
With a final push and pull, they both cried out and spilled their ecstasy in sync with each other; bodies falling and limbs tangling as they basked in the aftermath. They breathed more words into the night, words that were trapped within dreams…
Arthur burst awake, coming so hard all over himself, it was damn near painful and he was crying out, almost yelling, and it didn't stop. White ropes of hot come still spurting from his cock, spilling all over the sheets and his stomach and hips and dribbling down his sides. He thrashed around on the bed, skin burning, still feeling the ghost of Eames all over him. He started to hyperventilate. He tried to move, fighting through his orgasm that was still ripping through him. He grappled and clawed and ended up tossing himself off the bed onto the hardwood floor, landing with a grunt.
His body shook as he was finally released from the most intense sexual experience of his life. It was so real, even though it wasn't. It was almost spiritual.
He lay there for what seemed like hours before he caught his breath. He was completely soiled and exhausted and pathetic and he couldn't give a damn. He turned and rested his cheek against the floor. He blinked his eyes open groggily and something caught his eye under the bed. His vision began to clear and his heart paused when he recognized his PASIV, dusty and unused under the bed.
He stared at it for a while and then swallowed hard, making a decision.
Fuck it.
He called around, sniffed out a job and took it without preamble.
He should have never taken that fucking job.
He was careless and quick to accept and had done very little research, shameful for a Point Man. He would be quick to regret it.
He did his part and had done it well, as always. The team he had joined for this job was pretty average, your run of the mill Extractor, Architect and Chemist. The job was simple; the Mark's wife, the CEO of her own business, wanted to know if and how much money her husband was squandering from their joint accounts. Arthur was unimpressed but thankful for the distraction and threw himself into the process, thus making the job that much smoother for the whole team. They seemed satisfied with his work. Perhaps a little too satisfied.
Once they were out of the dream, they quickly packed their things and disconnected the Mark from the PASIV. They were going to leave him here, since this warehouse was just down the street from his bank, conveniently.
With his bag on his shoulder and his coat in his arm, he turned to Darren, their Extractor. "Payments will be wired in the next 48 hours?"
"Yup, sure will," the man nodded and fixed Arthur with a steady but uncomfortable stare, bright eyes studying him intently. Arthur shifted and noted that the other two were looking at him the same way. Something inside of him shivered. Swallowing, he nodded his farewells and made his way through the exit door of the back of the warehouse, trying to ignore the fact that his stomach felt a little sick and the grogginess from the compound that their Chemist used hadn't subsided at all.
In all his preparation for the job, he probably should've researched the team.
Wake up
Arthur blinked his eyes open. He was actually sleeping well for the first time in a long while and he was still extremely groggy from whatever chemicals that were used in the somnacin from the job earlier. His stomach was also still hurting. He shut his eyes tight, willing himself to fall back into sleep.
Get up, darling
Eyes flying open, his whole body froze.
He knew that voice. He'd know it anywhere. It was as clear as day in his head, loud enough as though someone had said it right in his ear, urgently. But he knew Eames wasn't –
A creak of a floorboard and Arthur's instinct flipped on like a switch. He sat up and slid slowly and quietly off the bed and under it, pressing his belly flat against the floor. He reached up and grabbed the gun with the silencer he kept in the bed frame just in case. The bedroom door was open and he peered out into the living room and sure enough, he saw movement in the darkness, a pair of legs moving slowly towards his room.
He listened and watched but it seemed like only one intruder, for now at least.
The person stepped gingerly into the bedroom, pausing, probably looking to see as to why there was no one in the bed. Arthur waited, holding his weapon poised, ready. Sure enough, the person crouched to their knees, gloved hands coming down to rest upon the floor and slowly…
Arthur pulled the trigger as soon as the ski mask came into view and his bullet's path was true; right between the eyes, the shot only a whisper. He scrambled out from under the bed and swayed on his feet as he stood up, seeing stars and the pain in his stomach tightening. He shook his head to try and clear the still present grogginess.
Kneeling down, he ripped the mask off the intruder's face and cursed to himself.
Tyler, the Architect.
He tried to focus, holding his gun at the ready and began to tiptoe out into his apartment, appreciating the fact that his black pajama pants and black tank top helped him blend in with the darkness. He couldn't detect any other presence in his home but he noticed the front door was left open a crack and slowly crept towards it. The closer he got, the pain in his gut turned into different kind of sensation.
He had the distinct feeling he was fucked.
Step after step he eased closer, holding his breath. At first he heard nothing, the outside hallway as silent as the grave. And then…
BAM!
The front door flew open and before Arthur could react he was tackled to the ground, his hand hitting the floor hard and sending his weapon skirting away from him into the darkness of the apartment.
He brought his knee up into the groin of his attacker that had him straddled and Arthur slid out from under him, got to his feet and dashed into the hall and ran as fast as he could to the stairs.
He had no idea why he was running away instead of taking care of his momentarily stunned attacker and taking advantage, but he felt like he was being lead, his flight instincts taking complete control. He supposed flight was dominating over fight.
He made it to the roof and halfway to the edge of the building and froze, realizing he had trapped himself.
This is it, he thinks, there's no way…
His attention snatched upwards by the amazing bright of the full moon above him, above the sleeping city. That damn moon. He felt everything around him fading away, his hearing disappearing and all he could sense was the tingling of his body and the calming beat of his heart. He watched, utterly hypnotized, as the light became brighter and brighter. He barely felt the kick to his lower back and the sensation of tipping and then falling very slowly, or so fast it seemed slow, but the he felt a pull in his belly and he definitely fell faster, and the street below him opened up and he fell into an even greater source of light that surrounded him and cocooned him in warmth. He felt like something was cradling him and then laying him down and that's when the light began to disappear and he fell smoothly into a deep, dark slumber and he knew no more.
The smell of salt water slipped into his nostrils and immediately he heard the sound of waves and he was lying in water, warm water. Arthur's eyes fluttered open, blinking up at the soft blue sky above him. He lay for a moment, trying to generate a semi-conscious thought but he found it difficult. He felt sand beneath his fingers and he buried his fingers into the soft, wet grains and pushed himself into a sitting position.
It seemed to be sunset on this beautiful beach that he did not recognize, the sky an array of blue, pink and greyish orange pastels painted above him for as far as the eye could see. The streaks of clouds moved slowly, passing over him as the gentle breeze seemed to move them along as well as though the thin cotton of his shirt.
He looked down; his shirt was white and semi-fitted and sleeves that stopped at his forearms. He was barefoot and noticed he was also clothed in dark and just as thin khaki pants. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair and it was product-free and very soft and clean feeling; and shorter than he's typically kept it. He felt his face and his skin was smooth and clean and not a trance of roughness or stubble and he realized he felt relaxed and younger; like an enormous weight had been lifted off and out of him.
He felt perfectly amazing.
He turned and saw the sun slowly setting below the horizon and it was the most ethereal sunset he'd ever witnessed. He felt such peace settling inside him and he couldn't help but smile most contentedly and watched as the waves crashed against the shore as the tide seemed to come in.
He turned to walk through the surf when he came face to face with someone he'd never thought he would see again. The wind swelled and blew through Eames' short, light hair and made his loose fitting long sleeved grey shirt and dark navy blue pants billow in the breeze. He looked younger as well, thinner and face clear and bright. His eyes were shining and mouth parted in slight but happy surprise and Arthur was transfixed.
Those remarkable, full lips spread into a sweet, serene smile and he began to step towards him, his own bare feet wading through the rising surf.
Arthur moved towards him and met him close, only two feet between them. He stared hard into those steel blue eyes and he knew in his heart that this truly was Eames; his friend. The man he never got to love in life.
He slid his hand into his pocket, fumbling for something that he knew wasn't there.
Eames' soft voice filled his ears. "Not a dream, Arthur."
Arthur let his hand fall slack at his side again. He glanced around them.
"This is…" he whispered.
"…home." Eames finished for him.
Arthur looked back at him and felt the disbelief and hope burst forth from him.
The expression on Eames' face was so open and sure and told a thousand tales as he gazed at him.
"And we are…"
"Here, together." Eames said firm and full of something Arthur could not comprehend. He stepped forward and reached his hands out and gently placed them on Arthur's shoulders and at the touch, Arthur slowly fell right into him, arms immediately wrapping around the Forger and bringing their bodies close and hugging tightly.
They breathed each other in deeply as they stood there in the surf that was now up to their calves. This reunion proved so many things and Arthur was eternally grateful that he got a second chance; that he this was possibly a life after life. And that he could be…
"You and I, we're…" he said into Eames' neck.
Eames pulled back only just enough to look into his eyes, nose to nose and the Point Man breathed in their breath as he spoke.
"Together."
"Together?"
Eames smiled. "I told you not to worry, darling."
And then the memory of Eames' hand slipping from his and seeing him disappear into the river flooded his vision momentarily and he knew. He finally knew what Eames had meant in their last moment together.
Arthur let out a rushed breath and leaned his forehead against his and they nuzzled faces, holding each other close, finally; the embrace that took them a lifetime to surrender to.
"Eames, I…"
Lips brushed against his.
"I know love, I know."