A/N- This is probably a little late in the game to mention but: I don't own anything Incpetion wise. I also appologize for the long chapters to come as I have to fit a lot in for our two characters before sunrise! As always: please review :) Thanks much!

4 am

"There is no way in God's green earth I am wearing this!" Arthur's shouted words were slightly slurred and he looked tired as all hell but still absolutely gorgeous piping mad.

Eames crossed his arms, suppressing a yawn, raised his eyebrows instead and gave a little shrug as if to say: "Well if you want to just give up…"

Hands on narrow hips, his dark eyes bored into his. "Why do you even own this? Wait, you know what. I don't even want to know," he made an exasperated gesture, exhaling angrily and was moving past Eames to presumably throw the garment bag on the bed. Eames knew he would be angrier if he wasn't so drunk or tired.

"It'll look good on you."

Arthur threw it on the bed, pretending not to hear him but paused there, back to him and Eames knew he was probably going to start cleaning to work out his anger per usual. As if on cue he began picking up Eames' discarded articles of clothing around the room, stumbling and cursing as he did it.

"I don't know what kind of sick fantasy that's about but…"

"One where we're a high society couple and I'm squiring you about town, showing you off to everyone, getting everyone's attention maybe first with a gasp but then with a sigh as they take us in and want to be us."

He had come right up behind him in mid crouch as he was picking up Eames' pants. He sensed Arthur's pause and hesitation. Step three in turning Arthur on: Old, classic, vintage movies and that whole '40's and '50's vibe and charisma. He loved Fred Astaire, Ginger Rodgers, Rita Hayworth, all the timeless, classic actors. Sometimes Eames thought that maybe in a past life he lived among them.

Congruently step four in getting Arthur incredibly horny was to make him think he was in control, that it was his idea. He loved being in control.

Arthur turned around and faced him slowly, clutching Eames' clothes to his chest looking a little curious but puzzled.

"You still didn't answer me as to why you own a dress and an expensive one at that."

Eames took a step closer to him.

"You said you didn't want to know."

"I changed my mind."

"Past forging job," Eames blurted out much too quickly but he wanted to be purposely vague. He didn't want Arthur ruining their fun with his insistent questions. Arthur cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Will you wear it for me, just for a little while?" His voice was almost a whisper and he had closed the gap between them completely now, resting his blazing hot hands on his thin shoulders. Arthur looked fidgety and twisted Eames' shirt in his hands, chewing on his lip. Eames knew by that look that he was thinking about it, considering it

Arthur released a string of curses, mostly about him and pinched at his eyes, mumbling something else about being too tired and old for this shit.

He walked into the bathroom, he saw him deposit his clothes into the clothes hamper, shaking his head. He walked back into the bedroom, keeping his eyes focused on the bed, continuing to shake his head.

He pointed to the door as he was unzipping the garment bag the rest of the way.

"Out."

Eames wanted to crush him into a bear hug, it turning into something more of course. The night was dwindling and he realized he hadn't gotten him to the level he was supposed to be at yet. He only had a couple more hours till dawn. He felt like Cinderella or "Cinderfella", he definitely embodied Jerry Lewis at times.

Eames did an about face and left quickly, glancing over his shoulder, trying to get a peek of him undressing. He was unbuttoning his waistcoat. Of course Arthur knew what he was doing, he felt his eyes on him, he always did, and he shot a look over his own shoulder meeting his gaze, burning flames of anger in his eyes. Eames snapped his head around, closing the door behind him for good measure.

He heard Arthur muttering about something again through the closed door. He decided it was his turn to wait in the living room. He thought of making a drink but decided against it. He went to the small desk they kept in the corner instead, the one Arthur used to pay bills or mess around on his laptop. He went through his allowed "junk" drawer for his fags. He looked through the pack trying to identify if any were missing but he really had no idea so he didn't try bothering to analyze it too much. Fag dangling from his mouth and lighter in tow he followed his feet to the patio. Cold air blasted at him immediately as he struggled with opening the sliding glass door. He was instantly shivering as the cold waves of air battered his poorly protected body.

Getting it to light was difficult but not impossible. He had been to Russia in wintertime-now that was difficult getting a fag lit.

Through trembling lips he tried to enjoy his cigarette as the nicotine hit his lungs, he imagined it darkening them, staining them, streams of billowing smoke filling up all his soft organs. He also tried to take in and enjoy the beautiful silence and serene landscape. Snow was still falling lazily, white diamonds winking down to the all ready blanketed world. Stars were out but since they were in the city it was hard to see them but he knew they were there. Kind of like Arthur, he didn't always show it but he knew he was with him. The white, powdery stuff was heavy and full and stuck to everything-it was a world of white. A "whiteout"-the news castors had called it. It was one of the worst blizzards they had in a decade but it was dying down now. Eames guessed they would only be cooped up in their flat for maybe another 24 hours until they were plowed out.

He peered over the iron railing and looked straight down. No one was walking about in the dead silence of the frozen night. He felt he was incased in time, in a snow globe, everything had stopped and stood still. He was beginning to lose the feeling in his trembling fingers, his breath catching in his throat and his nostril hairs bristling. Everything was so damn cold.

He wanted a warm bath or a heated water bottle on his head like when he was little-the nuns placing it on his forehead when he had a fever.

He tried to finish quickly because of the freezing air-watching the smoke swirl upwards to the utter blackness but he liked the stillness and tranquility all the same. It was the closest to godliness that he could imagine, overlooking the dark, silent, unmoving, frozen world, feeling incredibly alone but powerful at the same time. He felt hands around his waist then, startling him out of his daydream and he nearly lost his fag over the railing.

He felt Arthur's warmth (that was a change) on his back and he smiled. It was extremely comforting on a dark, lost and snowy evening and he felt a tug of sleepiness. He took his last drag and flicked it over the balcony ceremoniously, taking Arthur's warm hand in his freezing one, zapping out his heat and he could feel Arthur wince at his cold touch.

"Come back inside, you're going to freeze to death out here."

"And you would know because you were out here recently, I see your footprints," it was true, he had saw them earlier and they looked fresh, he definitely was smoking out here, trying to hide just like him.

Arthur squeezed against him tighter. "I was and yes I did steal one of your cigarettes," he sounded remorseful and little sheepish, a young boy caught with his father's stash of porn.

Eames again wasn't mad that he lied and stole. Eames resisted turning around quickly and catching him off guard. He didn't care about the dress he hoped he was wearing, the snow, how late it was, how tired he felt, and the ridiculous deals they made. He just wanted him close and to taste that nicotine breath again, now fading, to share a cigarette together silently like intimate lovers, to make love to him in front of the fireplace, bare and open- escaping into warmth and falling asleep next to him finally, maybe in their bed but maybe not. Arthur was tired too-maybe they could put this silliness aside; he didn't think Arthur would protest.

He would have done all this but he really wanted to see if he was wearing it. He was a glutton for punishment.

Arthur was muttering "Sorrys" into his jacket; well rather it was his jacket, burying his face into his shoulder.

Eames turned around slowly and he felt his eyes widen-he was sight. He was glad he decided not to care and continue with the deal. His heart skipped a beat; almost making him hurt as he took him in. His mouth went dry.

There was snow sticking to the glittery, long black dress-mirroring perfectly how the night sky looked. It fit Arthur like a glove, hugging his small hips, flowing out towards the bottom and touching the ground, the plunging, deep V neckline showing alabaster white, porcelain, bony skin. He liked the way it showcased his long, thin, muscular arms and long fingers. He never got to see him wear anything short sleeved or sleeveless. It was either suits, long sleeve something or other or nothing at all. He held one of his arms to his side and gave a little embarrassed smile as he felt Eames' eyes on him.

"It is a beautiful dress," he touched the bottom portion, keeping his eyes lowered.

Eames felt a new heat surging through his system and he knew he probably had a queer expression on his face, somewhere between shock, awe and completely dumbfounded but he didn't care. He didn't want to move, he wanted to stand there on the freezing cold balcony with him in that gorgeous dress, him stuffed into his suit, both looking like elegant strangers but at the same time not, him looking embarrassed and him eager. He could do it the rest of the night, he loved trying to be someone else in a chaotic moment, it was what he lived and worked for but his hands were still were tingling, almost hurting now, reminding him of his lack of heat and circulation.

Arthur met his eyes then and they shared a knowing look. Arthur knew Eames liked it, maybe too much and Eames was begging him with his eyes to just play along with it a bit more. Arthur seemed to shrug with his irises as if to say: "Might as well, we've done every other effing crazy thing."

A warm smile played on his smooth lips and he was shivering slightly now, adding to the feminine look.

Arthur took his hand, turning around, leading him back inside.

He felt the warmth of their flat hit him immediately and he almost shook from the pure joy of being out of the numbing cold. His body seemed to melt and de-thaw.

Arthur broke away from their handhold, treading carefully in the long dress, trailing snow, reaching for his wineglass on the coffee table.

Eames watched and marveled at what had become his beautiful, feminine creature of a partner. He tucked some hair that had gotten lose that was dusted with melting snowflakes behind his ear, long porcelain fingers in deep dark. He wanted to dirty this beautiful creature.

"What? You're staring," Arthur looked smug as he hid his smile behind his wineglass taking a drink; he knew he pulled it off and looked damn good. Eames would never be able to pull off a dress like that.

Eames felt he was moving through a dream, it couldn't be real though he knew it was just the tiredness and the surealness of him in something other than a suit. He patted for the totem he knew wasn't there and went up to their complicated stereo system and the Ipod that was connected to it turning his back to Arthur; he didn't want him to see. He scrolled through Arthur's massive amounts of eclectic music trying to find what he was looking for.

He sensed Arthur's confusion; Eames thought he probably expected him to pounce on him. He suppressed a grin; he could still catch him off guard after all these months.

He finally found it, one of Arthur's favorites: "Where do you go to my lovely" by Peter Sarstedt.

Though he had to admit that he liked it too, it held a certain fanciful, timeless, whimsical charm. He wasn't much for '60's music but he did like some. He remembered when Arthur first played this, IPod on shuffle through the stereo, the simple melody and the singer's strange accented voice filling up their flat as he cleaned the kitchen. Eames was seated on the couch reading the paper and when the song came on, Eames noticed from the corner of his eye that Arthur got a faraway look in his own eye, like nostalgia gripping him as he recognized the song and stopped wiping the counter at once. He just stood there for a good thirty seconds not moving. Eames abandoned his paper and watched him intently, was going to say something to him, feeling concerned but Arthur must have sensed his worry because he blinked a few times and started wiping the counter again furiously like nothing had happened. Eames loved seeing the song affect him that much, a peek into his past life. He wanted it to happen to him again.

After he let the music filter in through the dim room for a few seconds, enjoying the European waltz music in the beginning he turned around to greet his new womanly man.

Arthur was tapping to the beet with his finger on his wineglass, a faint smile playing on his lips, that nostalgic look in his eyes, shadows deepening his face.

He met Eames' eyes.

"No." The short word echoed through the room, filling it up. Apparently he knew what was coming next.

Arthur did not dance on principle, he always told him. He would rather lick freezer burned meat.

"I figured I would only be able to dance with you on our wedding-the first dance as a couple and so forth but, would you do me the honor now? Humor an old man? We are dressed for it."

At the mention of "wedding" Arthur's mouth went slack and his eyes grew three sizes as he knew they would.

Eames knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him; he couldn't imagine any other but never knew Arthur's feelings on it but was strangely ok with it at the same time. He didn't want to push it and they only had been together for seven months. He was more worried about him growing bored than leaving him which he knew was crazy.

The singer's strangely mixed accented voice filled the room and he could almost see the gears turning in Arthur's head, absorbing his words.

Arthur blinked rapidly, placing a hand on his forehead and his mouth gaped open like a fish, he was clearly at a loss for words.

"I...ummm," he looked dangerously close to dropping his wineglass. Eames took the two strides to him and took it from his hand.

In a smooth, fluid movement, he reached behind him to place the wineglass on the table and then put his hands around his waist; Arthur still looked lost- a spacey look playing on his face.

"Don't worry about it now, just dance with me," he whispered, he placed one of Arthur's hands on his shoulder, his other around his waist. He then replaced his hands around the other man's small waist, liking the feeling of the luxurious dark fabric, so Arthur.

He nuzzled his face next to his, placing his cheek to his so they were dancing cheek to cheek as he always imagined and dreamed. Eames led them in a small, slow dance and let the words of the song fill him up as it had the room and the feel of his lover in a dress against his body flood his system.

He was in heaven or as close as he was going to get.

Arthur was stiff as a board and barely moving but he was complacent enough. They had never danced together before.

The song ended but Eames had it on repeat. Arthur must have sensed that the song was starting over again, the same familiar European waltz beginning, and it snapped him out of his apparent trance like a kick.

"Don't worry about it? Did you say wedding as in marriage?" Arthur's voice was a little too high pitched and his words were hedged with disbelief and alarm. Arthur was searching his eyes, looking fearful and demanding answers. He also looked at him with an expression of love-so many emotions packed into those two little questions, it was almost overwhelming. Eames could pick it apart for days but didn't want to, he didn't have much time left.

Eames smiled, leading the smaller man in a turn, able to lead him better since he was coherent and talking now, more responsive.

"Yes," he simply stated, brining him closer to his body. Why did he have to ruin everything with so many questions? He needed to learn to just take things as they came.

Arthur seemed stunned once more and he felt him stiffen again, Eames repressed a groan.

"I'm not proposing to you if that's what you're worried about."

Arthur stopped abruptly, mid turn, bringing Eames up short, tripping over his own feet.

"You've never said anything like that to me before. Why now? This isn't about playing out your fantasies is it? It's something more; I can tell it is now."

He was searching his eyes again. Eames shifted his weight from one foot to another, rolling around the idea in his mind if he should fess up and tell the truth.

"No, it's not. Let's play scrabble. I love that game," Eames took a couple steps to move around him to fetch the game.

Arthur took a couple steps towards him to block him. "Dan, you need to tell me. No more games. What's going on?"

Eames was shocked; a little miffed but mostly pleased. Using his first name was always a sure tell sign that Arthur was horny or trying to get his attention or both in this case. It was infrequently used but when he said it he absolutely loved it. It was always the simple things that got him when it came to Arthur. He also was miffed that Arthur was yet again trying to decipher the puzzle that was him.

Eames stuck his much too big hands in the small pockets of the tight pants, wincing at the pain of his circulation getting cut off. He looked down at the carpet, toeing it, feeling tired again, listening to the lyrics of the Peter Sarstedt song.

"All right. Third deal. If you beat me at scrabble then I'll tell you whatever else you want to know…"

"Daniel," he interrupted loudly, putting a hand up to stop him. "You told me as part of the first deal that you would tell me anyway. Just tell me now or else I'm going to bed."

Oh, his full first name now, that was good, he really meant business.

Eames stole a drink from Arthur's wineglass to buy him some time, wincing at the bitter flavor; he never could understand how Arthur could stand the taste. Arthur was glaring at him, arms crossed.

Eames felt the sleep train pulling in. He was getting to the point where he was getting exhausted; standing was taking all his energy. He deposited himself on the couch, limbs feeling much too heavy. Arthur moved so he was right in front of him.

"You're bored of me right?"

He let that settle in Arthur's mind and Eames rested his eyes listening to the song, feeling he was inside a dream hearing the familiar Édith Piaf: "Non, je ne regrette rien" song. Maybe their Peter Sarstedt song was the signal to go to sleep instead of waking up. He could get used to that.

He felt Arthur sit next to him and felt his smooth hand in his a second later, his was cold once again, and he blamed the dress as it was sleeveless. He almost laughed at the absurd thought. Arthur being even colder because he was in a dress? How did that become a real statement?

He didn't want to open his eyes, to do so would be to admit defeat-admitting what the night had been for the entire time-killing his fun. He liked it better when Arthur was just thinking it was about his fantasies which partially it was.

Arthur squeezed his hand. "Why would you think I'm bored of you?"

Eames had to open his eyes regrettably at that though.

He lolled his head over to Arthur's side of the couch, him still in the stunning dress, he looked concerned and sad.

"Irrational fear, really."

Arthur scooted closer to him, searching his eyes deeply again.

He reached out and brushed his hair to the side, a faint smile on his lips.

"You're anything but boring."

"I know I'm not but you're getting bored of me, tired of me," it came out a little too harsh and he saw Arthur wince.

Arthur looked down at his lap and exhaled deeply.

"I should have been straight up honest with you about a couple things. I have something I need to tell you."

Eames didn't like his tone one bit.