Author's Notes: This was a quick idea that manifested itself and something I've been fiddling with for a few months. Originally for a birthday present, but it's now turned into an early Christmas present.

For Cobb, there was one thing that could take the title of most painful experiences to witness; infidelity. Specifically, Mal's infidelity. The agony of her death was difficult enough to cope with, but having to watch her be intimate with someone else entirely – that would be intolerable. Even more painful, infidelity with someone near to him – someone he trusted. Someone he worked with.

By every definition, this was his dream – or nightmare. He had manifested this reality. It wasn't actually happening. He had told every member of his team never to lose grip with reality, never to lose the ability to decipher between the two and yet, he himself, had the hardest time doing that.

It had been and continued to be so real. Skillfully, Cobb had recreated every detail of the hotel room, every shard of shattered glass, every orchid with meaty, green stalks and flowing white petals that decorated the floor. The open window, the curtains that fluttered like spirits in the breeze. He had achieved everything... especially them.

It was different in two aspects. Mal was in a black nightgown and a matching robe, spreading her body over the lap of another. Not just anyone, his Forger. Eames had his hands out to the side, refusing on some sense of loyalty, to touch her.

"What good would resistance do you? What good will denial do you, Eames? Denial, although you thrive on it... is poisonous to the soul."

His lips were parted in a welcoming position, though the rigidity of his muscles told Mal he hadn't accepted her advances. A single finger traced up and down the wideness of his neck, pausing at the opening of his shirt. His head dropped like a weight, unable to handle the intensity of his forced lover's eyes any longer. "You do act as if you know me," he said.

For a moment, she said nothing. Her lips were pressed tightly together, considering what he had said. Her pointer and middle fingers toyed with the buttons, allowing the other three of her digits to confuse his senses. He hadn't noticed when she'd separated the top two.

"Oh," she leaned back, bracing herself on the velvety soft arms of the love seat. The breeze played with her perfectly curled hair, picking up the chocolaty brown strands. "Oh, but I do. I know you very well."

He quirked a brow, challenging her. "I know you well enough to know that when Dom first took you on as his Forger, the picture he had of me enchanted you."

A mild panic washed over his features, parted his overly pouted lips again. The idea began to slip away that this wasn't his dream – sweat beaded along the sides of his face and Eames wondered if a fantasy he had long since suppressed had finally grown in size enough to control him. "I know that all these years... you've avoided telling him how beautiful you thought I was. You didn't want to seem eager... too eager to dream about me. "

Unconsciously, his large hands drifted up the silk that shrouded her hip. She leaned forward again, pressing herself against him. "When Arthur suggested that the team help Dom to get rid of me, you were the first, Eames, weren't you?" With each word, her lips inched closer to his face. "You... so kindly offered your assistance to your friend... in any way... you... knew... how."

The world around them suspended as he considered, gravity shifted within their minds. Eames crushed his face against hers, breathing hard. Gathering her lips up with his, he bit down on the soft padding they provided. His grip tightened and Mal made no effort to stop him. No, she had no intentions of cutting their night short as she had with her lover. This is exactly what she wanted, this is exactly how she knew she could hurt him in a way that she never had before.

"This is wrong," he growled.

Mal exposed her neck, stretching it back over the curve of the cushion. "Everything in life, at some point, is wrong... Eames, everything."

His breath was hot and heavy, scaling down her neck, her collarbone, her chest, her stomach. He hadn't noticed, by Mal's skin was a few degrees cooler than his, not to point of discomfort, but not exactly the warm body he'd imagined. The pants grew tight, fabric constricting more with every second that Mal kept him within her rapture.

"Your name," she said. "Eames... it sounds so very much like the word that employs you."

"Ah... I... beg your pardon?" Consciousness was slipping from him, the euphoric sense of arousal trumping cognitive thinking and sentence construction.

"Dreams."

The coincidence was something he hadn't considered before, or maybe he had. He lifted his body upright, hands ripping apart the white shirt and throwing it off his shoulders. Mal hungrily clawed at his chest, watching, waiting. Waiting.

The wait was short, Eames was a weak man. A sultry breath exited her lungs as Eames tended to the last bit of clothing that impeded him. The gown that Mal wore allowed for easy access – it was intended for two unrestrained lovers, after all. "Darling," he said.

Mal's eyes were cruelly sexual. Like a snake constricting its prey, she wrapped her legs around his torso and squeezed. She squeezed until his hips met hers, until he had been pulled completely in. A deep, long cry echoed against the walls.

Malicious infidelity. Mal's infidelity. Neither of them knew if Mal had been attracted to Eames to begin with, but the climax, the sweet and the sticky sweet remnants of their love affair traveled into waking. Cobb woke first, gasping for breath. His hands gripped the arms of the chair hard, knuckles white. Ariadne was by Eames side, monitoring them. Arthur stood in front of Cobb, arms crossed loosely. The warehouse setting. It was Normal. Internal. Gradual. Habitual. Typical. Mollifying. Appealing. Reassuring. Expected. She was gone. Mal.

"Arthur. Eames," Ariadne's voice was tinged with worry. She snapped her head to Cobb, who had sat in an upright position. "He's not waking up. Arthur, he's not waking up. He's stuck."

Arthur's eyes widened, then narrowed. He snatched an unclaimed jacket from the back of a nearby chair, hurriedly throwing it over Eames' crotch. "That's – Cobb, what dream was this?"

His eyes blank. Sweat poured down the sides of his tanned skin. The moisture had ripped his combed hair away, strands falling forward. "Cobb. Answer me."

"You've loved me, and you'll continue to do so. Tell me, Eames."

"I will."

Mal tilted her head, eyes soft. Her hands slithered up his chest, over the soft skin. Her fingers eventually wrapped around his neck like a noose. She didn't tauten them until Eames realized what was happening. His brows furrowed, lips pouted forward. He shook his head, asking for an explanation, but accepting the fact that he wouldn't receive one. Her legs were still warm, still wet with everything they had shared. "You know why Dom is the way he is, don't you? His mind is poisoned."

"You'll share my lover's burden, Eames." She leaned forward, pinning him against the couch. Her thumbs crossed over each other, pressing hard into the lump in his throat. She felt the subtle give, and squeezed harder. "You'll understand what it is to be a lover now. Half..." Her arms shook with the force she was exerting.. "of..." Eames wrapped his arms around her back and stomach. "a..." He squeezed, attempting to crush her ribcage. The exhale from her was a whine, but not enough to stop her. She threw her weight into Eames, her hands compressing his throat with a final heave. "...whole!" Eames let go, his blue eyes faded out. The muscular neck which she had been kissing moments ago drooped backwards over the couch.

Dom threw himself up and out of the chair, heading straight for the bathroom. Eames would wake up soon, guilt-free as a forger could, not knowing whose dream it had been. It wouldn't be talked about. There'd be no discussion. Mal knew how to squeeze his heart until it burst, until the blood spurted out from every angle. If Dom were to get angry at Eames, he'd leave. If Ariadne were to find out why Dom got angry at Eames, she'd leave. If Arthur found out that Ariadne left, he'd leave. Unlike the others, Athur's departure would be the only one that was temporary, but the fact remained; his team would dissolve. It would leave with nothing, only the lingering idea of Mal and a desire to be loved again.

"Ah," Eames voice was ragged and fatigued. He brought his hand up to his throat, caressing it. The cool sensation of her hands still remained. The dream. His hands covered his face, removing the sweat that collected. "Excellent. I wondered when you wouldn't be able to resist my charm anymore, Cobb. Next time, how 'bout a bloody drink first?!"

The bathroom door slammed, echoing through the building. Eames dropped his head, raising his brows at his covered lap. "Ah. Ah, well, that's very sweet isn't, Arthur. Thank you."

Ariadne fell out of his way, avoiding him as he got up. With a hooked finger, Eames threw the coat over his shoulder and sauntered out of the place, breathing heavy. Arthur never did get an answer and the Forger didn't return for three days. Cobb refused to talk about it even then, and never admitted to remembering what the dream had been about.

Mal remembered.

And the next time that Eames fell asleep... she reminded him.