Originally written/posted: May 2011
Fandom: Inception (2010)
Pairing: Eames/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 13,500 words
Warnings: Magic-Realism, Light Angst, Unreliable Narrator
Universe: Canon-Divergence, Arthur is turned into a dog.
Notes: There is a sex scene in the original version of this fic. However, I removed it for this posting as literally nothing else is lost, and I’d hate to have a 10K+ non-PWP fic be left out of this archive due to a scene that did not have to be included. I also removed a couple jokes that made me uncomfortable. Other than those edits and reformatting, I have not reread this one but it was written for that years Inception’s Reverse Bang.
‘There’s a dog on my doorstep.’
That’s Eames’ first thought when he comes home from being away for a few days at more than complicated job. He sets aside the fact that he is in fact clothed and is wearing Arthur’s clothes because that is completely and totally (not) normal. It’s just the fact that there is a dog is on his doorstep and while it’s cute, Eames already has a dog and doesn’t need another one.
And then it clicks: ’Shit, he’s wearing Arthur’s clothes!’
Eames walks up to the door, disregarding his luggage on the steps of his porch and approaches it. He doesn’t want to scare the animal into lashing out or running away. What if Arthur sent this dog as a message for Eames? What if Arthur was in trouble?
“What’s your name, pretty boy?” He asks, even though he knows he won’t get an answer and scratches behind the dog’s ears, because his dog enjoys it and it would only reason out that this dog would too.
What he doesn’t expect is for the damn thing to talk.
“Eames,” it barks, or says, or something, Eames can’t really tell and he’s in too much shock to really diagnose the tone of voice that it’s using. Eames finds himself wondering offhandedly how that’s even possible and how the dog even knows his name.
He, thank God, keeps his voice even when he talks, because the last thing he needs is for the damn thing to think that he was afraid of him, whatever it was. “Dog’s can’t talk.”
The dog shakes his body in the way that dogs just do, making Arthur’s clothes go everywhere, and fuck, he’s going to be so mad at Eames when he realizes that a talking dog just ruined his nine hundred dollar suit. “That’s a chilling observation.”
Somehow the dog sounds like Arthur, and Eames wonders if it’s possible for the dog to have swallowed him and he’s talking in his stomach. He presses his face to the puppy’s furry stomach and the thing whines. “Arthur?”
The dog wags his tail, and Eames takes that as much of a yes than anything. “How did this happen?” he calmly asks, even though inside he is a complete and total mess and Eames can’t recall ever feeling like this.
“Yusuf.”
And then Eames understands. This dog isn’t something that was left on his doorstep so he could find Arthur. This is Arthur. Eames almost can’t believe it because he has never even imagined that Yusuf’s compounds could do something like this.
Eames shouldn’t have doubted anything about the chemist, because if something was possible he’d surely accomplish it.
“Does anyone else know?”
Arthur shakes his little puppy head, and really, Eames can’t resist but squeeze his cheeks a little, because he really is an adorable puppy. Arthur, in turn, bites his hand and Eames scowls. “Now, now darling, no need to get hostile. I was just checking for injuries.”
If dogs can scowl, than Arthur is definitely doing that, and Eames, really, really finds this incredibly amusing, because Arthur is a dog and Eames never knew how much he needed to see this until it was in front of his face.
“Shut up and fix me, Eames,”
Eames smirks. Then, “And how did this happen, my dear, dear Arthur?”
Arthur was used to testing out one of Yusuf’s new compounds because Arthur was fine being a Guinea Pig; it wasn’t like there was something in his life that he was really attached too. He had nothing to lose, and everything to gain, so whenever Yusuf called him up to ask him to test out something, he usually said yes.
So when Arthur phone rang one day and he saw ‘Yusuf’ pop up on the caller I.D., he answered it. (After two rings, though, because the last thing that he wanted was to seem desperate.)
“Hello.”
Arthur could hear the other man grin, and he could already tell what this phone call was about. “Arthur, my good man,” Yusuf said, in that accent that Arthur could never really place, but he was almost sure it was something English with a hint of Indian to it.
“Yusuf,” Arthur had said, and smiled, because he’s always generally enjoyed Yusuf and liked him more than he usually would for a team member. “How are you?” Arthur asked after a beat, because even though this call was about more than small talk, he didn’t want to seem rude.
And there was also something soothing about his voice, and Arthur liked hearing it.
“I’m swell, thanks mate,” he had said, and he could hear shuffling around. “And you?”
Arthur grinned. “I’m fine, just enjoying my time off.”
“Brilliant. I have a proposition for you.” Yusuf said, and Arthur just grinned again, because he would be lying if he hadn’t admitted to liking trying out Yusuf’s compounds. They left him feeling nice and dizzy and completely at peace afterward. The compounds were the only thing that made him recover from his usual bouts of insomnia, because they knocked his ass right out, usually.
Arthur didn’t want to sound to eager, being as he had never been one to be fond of coming off desperate and then popped a piece of cheddar cheese into his mouth. “I’m intrigued,” Arthur had said, after he had swallowed. Arthur had always found people who talked with their mouths full (take Eames, for example) rude and disgusting. “Enlighten me.”
Yusuf then, was the one that had sounded eager, “Ah, my mate. I think this compound might interest you. I’m trying to formulate a compound for one of Cobb’s new jobs,”
Arthur had cut in, a little astounded, but mostly calm and passive. “Cobb?”
He imagined Yusuf had nodded before he realized that he was on phone and wasn’t in fact, talking to Arthur in person. “Yes,”
Arthur had taken a bite of another piece of cheese in thought. “I thought he retired,”
Despite what everyone thought in the business about Arthur and Cobb, they didn’t keep constant tabs on each other even though they were rather close. Arthur didn’t really have the time to, and he had always also expected that Cobb never really cared too much about anyone beyond himself, Mal (but that didn’t matter anymore, because she was long since dead and gone) and his own kids. They called each other about once every four or so months, and he visited the Cobb children about twice a year.
He was their godfather, after all (it was originally Mal’s idea. Arthur didn’t know why, but the French beauty always seemed especially fond of him).
“I thought he had too, but he called me a few days ago wondering if I’d be up for this job that he has to plan and I couldn’t resist.” Yusuf had paused for a few moments, and then continued, “He said that he needed me to tailor a compound specifically to his needs.”
Arthur had laughed, because this was beginning to be bit of déjà vu. “This reminds me of the Fischer job,”
Yusuf laughed along with him, because there was no use in denying that fact when it was true. “It does. But luckily this job isn’t that dangerous. Well, it is, but in a totally different way.”
Arthur’s eyebrows had already climbed into his hairline a few minutes into the conversation, but now they were completely gone. “This is definitely spiking my interest, Yusuf, do tell me more.”
“No, mate, I can’t. Cobb said not to tell you too much or that you’d back out. Just, know that this is a job like you’d never have handled before.”
“And I suppose you want me to test out your compounds to make sure they work?”
He imagined that Yusuf had nodded again. “Precisely.”
Arthur had always enjoyed a challenge. “I think that this can be arranged.”
He could feel Yusuf’s smile. “Brilliant.”
Sure enough, when he hung up the phone with Yusuf, there was an unread text message from Cobb:
— From Cobb — Sent 10:50 P.M. on Feb. 25th, 2011 —
Hey. I got some info abt a new job. call me when u get this for details.
Arthur had called Cobb and was on a flight out to D.C. early the next morning.
When Arthur arrived at the warehouse for the first time, he was immediately reminded of the one in Paris, where they had formulated the first official successful Inception job. It’s all harsh lines, yet somehow it felt like home. But Arthur had always been extremely adaptable, so he didn’t take that too much to heart.
The first person he saw was Cobb, and he may be a little confused as to why Cobb was doing this, because he hadn’t even had his kids back for two years, but he wasn’t one to pry, either. He hugged Cobb in a way that you would hug your brother, because sure they had their disagreements and they barely talked, but he was the best friend that Arthur had.
Arthur clapped him on the back as they pull away, and dimpled. “You look good, man,” and it was true, too. When Arthur last saw Cobb, he still looked crazy and guilty (even though when he last saw him he already had his kids back for a few months). He looked like he didn’t believe that it was reality, like he was actually there with his kids, and that his wife was really long past being dead.
But now, it was different. He was controlled and calm, he was intelligent and level-headed and he was the man that Arthur had looked up to when they were both in the military together. He had never really expected to see that Cobb back again, and hadn’t realized how much he had missed him until he had seen him standing before him now.
Cobb laughed then, low and easy in his throat, like he had never gone bonkers, like he didn’t spend a year hiding out because of his wife’s suicide — and his supposed ‘murder’. “You too,”
Arthur looked around the warehouse. “Who’s our Architect?”
“Oh, Arthur!”
Arthur snapped his head around and saw Ariadne, the small, sophisticated and eager girl that he had first met almost two years prior, and beamed. She looked different, but yet entirely the same too, and he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. They had kept in touch more than they should’ve after the Inception job because Ariadne needed consoling after her first successful dream job and Arthur had been the only one who had been willing to help.
They were close now, nothing even close to romantic because Arthur wasn’t attracted to her, but more like brothers and sisters. He truly did love her dearly, and it was nice to see her after all of that time apart.
“Is that really you Ariadne, or—” he asked, laughing, because he still couldn’t believe how much the girl had matured in the short year and a half that it had been since they saw each other.
She grinned at him. “It’s good to see you.”
He nodded in agreement, before turning back to Cobb. “So it’s the old Inception team back, then?”
Cobb made an offhand noise of agreement, being as he was talking to Yusuf at the time, and waved his hand dismissively. “We’re going to need a forger, but we need you to go to Eames’ house in a few days.”
“Why in a few days?”
“That’s when he gets off his next job, supposedly, and we want to catch him in the flesh. You know that works best with Eames.”
Arthur nodded, because he had known what the forger liked and didn’t like. Eames and Arthur had known each other as long as Cobb had. They all met in one of the special ‘camps’ provided by the army for the soldiers that were chosen to partake in the dream-sharing experiments. He had known the man for years, he practically knew every superficial thing about him — like how he took his coffee and why he didn’t drive, even down to what cookie he preferred (which was sugar) — and yet he felt like he didn’t know anything about the man at all.
He didn’t spend too much time trying to define their relationship; he had better things to do and he wasn’t going to spend his time wondering what could have been or what could be. Eames flirted with anything that was in his vicinity, so Arthur didn’t take his interest to heart.
They weren’t spiteful, or hateful, or anything of that nature. Arthur thought Eames was a brilliant man, and sure he might have had some turmoil against him on the Inception job (he had fucked up on their last job together, and Arthur hadn’t wanted to see that again) but he wasn’t going to hold that against him now.
So Arthur had nodded, and said, “Of course. I’ll do that,”
Cobb and him both knew that he was more likely to accept a job offer from Arthur out of the both of them, because of the Inception job, but mostly because it was a known fact that he liked Arthur more.
Yusuf walked up to him then, and thrust out a hand of greeting. Arthur shook him off and pulled him into a hug, because for some reason reunions like this got him sentimental. He seemed a bit rigid at first, but eventually hugged Arthur back once he realized that Arthur wasn’t going to stab or shoot him.
“Yusuf,” Arthur grinned, and then pulled away. “You said you wanted me to test out some compounds?” He didn’t even try to hide how eager he sounded, because he was excited about getting to try a new one.
Yusuf nodded, slowly grinned and then looked delighted, hopeful, and maybe a little nervous, but it wasn’t anything out of the normal so he didn’t take note.
“This way.”
Eames ponders this information for a second, realizes that he wasn’t even contacted about the job, and looks down at Arthur, completely forgetting that he was a dog for a moment. “Why wasn’t I called?”
Arthur looks like he’s about to answer, but then Eames sees his back leg scratching at a spot on his stomach and he gets that look on his face — that look that most dogs get, kind of serene and totally not there, but completely and totally adorable. Eames has never wanted to hug Arthur (or a dog) more in his life than he did at that moment.
Once Arthur is done, his little puppy eyes look confused and daze for a second, before he focuses again. “Cobb hasn’t called you yet because he wanted to make sure that you were even here in the city. I came to talk to you about the job but um, this happened.”
Eames is absolutely delighted. “So you mean, I’m the first one that’s seen you like this?”
Arthur nods, and says coldly, somehow, managing the tone when he is still a dog, “You already know the answer to that, Eames. Now fucking get me to the warehouse so Yusuf can help me.”
Eames smirks, because he always finds it mildly amusing whenever Arthur’s in distress. “You’re going to have to beg me, pups.”
Arthur growls, and it’s all animalistic and there’s no playful hint like there usually is. He jumps up and clamps onto Eames’ shirt, biting down and the dragging it down, successfully ripping holes into the fabric.
Eames swats Arthur down. “Oh bugger! This was my favourite shirt.”
Arthur gives him a look, and it would be all smug and coy if he had been human. “I know.”
When they arrive at the warehouse, Arthur’s a jittering mess of nerves on the inside, but he’s completely calm on the outside. He has been feeling a whirl of emotions that he has not been able to control since the change of being human to being a dog. He had the urge to go out and chase cats, and he wanted to piss on everything.
Whoever said that a dog’s life was wonderful has obviously never been stuck as one before.
He doesn’t want to show Eames, or anyone else for that matter, that he is a mess inside, because surely the team will wonder about his mental state. He feels human, he honestly and truly does, but there is a part of him, a faint part of him that wants to go and act like a dog, get dirty and sleep and do other dog things.
He tries to ignore it as best as he can and for now it seems to be working out okay.
What surprises him the most though, is the fact that he can still talk, because he has never heard of a talking dog before. But three hours ago, he had never heard of a compound that could turn a human male into a dog, so that is that. The tests have been completed for nearly two days now, and it surprised Arthur that it took this long for the chemicals to kick in and cause this effect. He tries not to think about it too much, but it is hard when he is an animal, a dog.
They walk through the doors. Eames is using a leash because halfway there Arthur had chased the mail-truck three blocks before Eames had finally caught up to him. When they get there, everyone is expecting to see Arthur, or maybe Arthur and Eames. They definitely did not expect to see Eames and a dog.
Ariadne seems shocked, and then she flat out coos and walks toward Arthur and starts to pet him. “Oh, you’re so cute puppy, you’re the cutest puppy I’ve ever seen, yes you are!” She says in that annoying voice that girls talk to dogs in. He wonders if a dog could successfully commit suicide because it is starting to sound more fun than doing this, being stuck as a dog.
He ruined a nine hundred dollar suit! A nine hundred dollar suit that he wouldn’t get back.
Eames chuckles then, and slaps Ariadne’s hands away playfully. “Don’t; you’ll upset him,”
Cobb snorts. “Dogs don’t have feelings, Eames,”
Arthur growls at him then, and goes to charge but Eames pulls him back. He doesn’t know why, but the dog part of him is outraged and wants to kill Cobb. Arthur doesn’t blame that part, because there have been times when he wanted to kill Cobb, too.
Yusuf walks over then, getting dragged away from his array of chemicals and compounds and looks over at Arthur, who is now looking at Cobb like he wants to eat him. “What’s all the commotion? And whose dog is that?”
Eames grins, then and pats Arthur’s head. Part of Arthur wants to bite his hand off, but the other half loves the feel of his fingers carding through his fur. “He’s mine.”
Arthur barks. “I am not!”
Everyone but Eames’ freezes. Eames looks amused, Ariadne looks completely and totally horrified, Cobb looks unimpressed, like he’s seen something cooler (Arthur swears he mutters something like ‘Saito could do it better’ under his breath) and Yusuf looks completely and totally overwhelmed.
“Did your dog just talk or was it just me?” Ariadne cries, and then looks up at Eames with a sour expression. “This is a joke, isn’t it?”
Eames shakes his head. “I wish it was, but I found this little bugger on my doorstep today,” that much was true, “And all of the sudden he starts talking to me, and I was just like holy shit, my subconscious has finally done it, I’ve gone crazy!” Eames laughs then, stroking behind Arthur’s ear, and delights when Arthur’s leg twitches. “And then, well, I realize that it’s just Arthur.”
Cobb blinks. “That’s not Arthur. Arthur’s a human.”
“Arthur has four legs.”
“Arthur isn’t that hairy.”
“Arthur would never be caught dead in that colour of yellow.”
And then finally, because somehow Yusuf has finally gotten the voice to speak, he looks at Arthur, with this look that he can’t really describe, and he knows that Yusuf knows. “Eames is right.”
Cobb squints. “That’s impossible.”
Yusuf shakes his head. “No, it’s not. Remember when I tested those compounds on Arthur a couple of days ago?” Everyone but Eames nod, Arthur notices, probably because he hadn’t known that Arthur had even done something like that. “Well, it seems as if the compound has taken a literal effect on Arthur. Instead of making his mind like that of a dog’s in the dream world we’ve created, it seems to have made him literally a dog.”
Eames blinks. “Arthur you never mentioned before that this job required us being dogs in a dream.”
He glances up at Eames and whimpers because he really wants Eames’ hand back behind his ears. “I must’ve forgotten about that.”
Yusuf looks completely dejected and maybe a bit disappointed in himself too, and Arthur can’t help but feel happy about that, because he’s the reason why he’s stuck like this. “I’m terribly sorry, Arthur. I’m going to try and reverse this. Excuse me,”
And he does feel kind of bad, but then Cobb approaches him and reaches out to pet him, and he nips at his fingers in warning. “You insulted me. I’m not going to let you touch me.”
Cobb still looks taken aback by the fact that Arthur can talk and that he is a mother fucking dog but looks up at Eames. “Since he went to your house, he obviously wants to stay with you.”
Eames shakes his head. “Why can’t you take him?”
Cobb squints again. “I live in a hotel, they won’t accept dogs.”
“And you?” Eames asks as turns to Ariadne.
“I live with Yusuf, he has like ten cats.”
Arthur’s ears perked up to attention then and he stands up straight. “Cats,” he repeats, in that doggish bark of his and he can feel himself drooling, because chasing cats around for a few hours, possibly getting in a few bites too, sounds absolutely delicious.
“My point,” Ariadne clarifies.
Eames sighs. “Fine, I’ll take him,” he says in a dejected tone, and the dog part of him feels sad and lonely, so he nuzzles his head against the palm of Eames’ hand, and looks as sad as he can manage. Eames sighs and pets behind his ears again, making Arthur’s back leg do that twitch thing again. “But what should I do with him?”
“Stay home with him at all times,” Yusuf calls from his part of the warehouse. “And tell me if anything changes. He obviously can’t be left alone by himself.”
Eames nods, and then remembers that they have a job to do, and he voices as much. “Why about the job?” he asks.
Cobb then makes a disgruntled noise. “I guess we’ll have to put it on hiatus until Arthur’s better.”
When they get home, he realizes that it’s time to lay down some ground rules so Arthur doesn’t think he has full reign of the house. So, Eames wastes no time introducing Arthur to Sophie, because the other dog was here first and it’s only fair to her and she is his spoiled little princess.
“I have another dog,”
Arthur winks at him, and Eames thinks that’s his way of trying to roll his eyes. Either way, it’s completely adorable. “I know. I have been to your house before, Eames.”
Eames just shakes his head and then unlocks the door, because they were still on the front porch.
“She doesn’t usually like other dogs.” He tells him, and he feels weird talking to a dog in the tone of voice that he is but he ignores it as best as he can.
Arthur barks then, and walks through the door before Eames can even open the door all of the way. Eames pushes forward and sees Sophie pad up to Eames’, before she stops dead in her tracks once her eyes land on Arthur. A low, animalistic growl rumbles deep in her throat, and Eames expects Arthur to back down, but he doesn’t. He holds his barring, even growling and barking on his own behalf, and Eames is impressed.
For a Yorkshire Terrier, she is pretty scary, mean, and quite vicious.
“Sophie, hush.” He commands, and she whimpers in the way that Eames supposes is a dog surrendering and then comes to stand by his side.
“Soph,” He says gently, crouching down so he could scratch behind her ears and place a kiss between her eyes. “We’ve got a new friend coming to stay with us for a couple of days,”
Arthur barks and the scurries around the house, and Eames faintly wonders if the man (dog?) has finally gone bonkers.
Suddenly, Eames remembers something and then pulls Arthur back by his collar once he’s run around toward Eames’ again. “Can you hear what she’s thinking or saying or something?” He asks, because he’s always wondering about dog communication and the fact that Arthur’s now a dog, it would make sense that he could hear it too.
Arthur growls, then, but Eames doesn’t let go. “She says you’re a horrible person and for you to stop wearing those hideous shirts.”
Eames’ eyes widen for a moment before he smirks. “That sounds terribly like you.”
Arthur bolts away from him but not before looking back at him and smirks in that way that dogs do, before they’re about to do something wrong. “Oops, must’ve got that whole doggie communication thing mixed up.”
When Eames finally follow’s Arthur back into his room no more than twenty minutes later, he sees Arthur laying on the floor. He looks downright fucking . His back legs are curled underneath his belly and his front paws are spread apart so his head is resting against the carpeted floor. He’s also asleep, and in the five years that Eames’ had known him (when he was human, of course), he had never seen Arthur sleep. His favorite thing in the world was to watch puppies nap, because they looked adorable, nice, and completely harmless.
Arthur is no different, even though he knows what Arthur is capable of, being a dog or not.
And then, Eames realizes that it absolutely reeks in the room, and is overwhelmed by the thoughts that swim in his head: ‘Where the fuck is that coming from?’ and ‘Oh bloody hell, if Arthur had killed his dog, he would have no lasting regrets about thoroughly murdering the poor bastard, and those puppy eyes would not work on him.’
Eames has an epiphany then and looks on the bed, and resists the urge to throw up, or maybe throw Arthur too. There, on his bed, like it is a Christmas present, is a soiled area (it was definitely piss, because he knew the smell of dog piss) and there is a single piece of dog shit on it. His mind reels because sure, he knows that Arthur is probably annoyed about what had happened earlier, when Eames had ruined his charade or whatever it is that he did. But he never expected that Arthur would actually go as far as to relieve himself on Eames’ mattress, on his fucking bed that he sleeps on. It makes him furious.
He looks down at Arthur, who no longer looks adorable, but instead looks very, very devious. Eames normally prided himself on being able to be in control of his emotions and how he handled something like this, but seeing shit and piss on his bed drew the final straw. Something in him finally snapped. “You bloody–”
Arthur then barks, and gives him those eyes, those puppy eyes that he always gives into, no matter what dog it is. He looks away, because Arthur is not guilting himself out of this one, because he knows that Arthur meant to do this, and it makes him furious.
“Now, now, Eamesie, no need to be upset with me. I’m a dog, and I’m probably not potty-trained, remember?”
His tone is malicious and calculated and no matter how angry he is, Eames can’t help but wonder how the hell a dog can sound like that, and now he probably has to buy a new mattress and new sheets and everything else that you need to have a proper bed. His mind is reeling through the options that he currently has, and the one that sticks out the most to him is kicking Arthur outside for the night.
But Eames had something against making dogs sleep outside, so he drags Arthur by the collar and puts him in the laundry room.
“You want to act like a fucking mutt Arthur? Fine, I’m going to treat you like one.” Eames says.
Arthur whines then, and something in Eames’ chest clenches, but he ignores this. Arthur’s not getting out of this one simply because he knows how to make Eames completely fall apart at the swipe of a paw.
“You’re a bad, bad boy,” He throws a harsh, cold glance in the general direction of where Arthur is, gives him fresh water, makes sure that this isn’t the worst place for a dog, and he doesn’t touch Arthur once..
Then, he leaves.
Arthur’s yowling and yodeling doesn’t stop, he keeps going at it, like it’s his job to make Eames loose his sanity and get no sleep. Finally, at two, or three, maybe even five in the morning –he’s not checking the time so he doesn’t know for sure –, he goes into the laundry room and drags Arthur into his guest bedroom where he was currently sleeping. His mattress currently soaking in bleach and other solvents to help get the smell and bacteria and germs off.
“Are you going to behave yourself like the good puppy you are?” He asks in that puppy voice that he uses for his charming girl, Sophie. He’s a little more than pleased when Arthur’s little muzzle snaps shut and he glares at Eames, which really shouldn’t be possible on a dog, but it’s possible on Arthur, so somehow it fits.
He barks instead of answering, and Eames takes that as a yes.
He fishes for the treats in his pocket and then gives Arthur one. He seems to struggle for a moment on if he should take it or not, but eventually he sees all of Arthur’s resolve break. He takes the treat and lays down in the corner, happily munching on it. Eames gives Sophie a few gentle, loving pets on the crown of her head before crawling into bed.
He drifts off immediately.
And he’s not even surprised when he finds Arthur curled up at his feet, still asleep when he wakes up.
It’s a few days later before Eames really starts to notice that Arthur’s starting to go completely off kilter. The first thing that sets him off is that Arthur refuses to go to the bathroom outside like a normal dog, but instead tries to use the toilet. It’s incredibly endearing because it’s obviously never going to work, but it’s also a complete pain because he’s the one who has to clean it up. And since this dog thing is still relatively new to Arthur, he often forgets that he doesn’t have hands like he normally would.
For example:
A couple of days before, when Eames and Arthur were watching TV on the couch and Arthur pawed at the remote in Eames’ hand, trying to grab it from him. Eames would’ve found it completely adorable if Arthur hadn’t sulked off into the corner afterwards, getting mad at himself for forgetting about his condition for the foreseeable future.
And then, there was the fact that Arthur had been talking less than he had on the first day. It was like the dog in him was starting to take control, and now when he tried to talk, his words would get interrupted frequently by barks and whimpers.
Eames mentions it, offhand on the phone to Yusuf today.
“Arthur’s been talking less, is that normal?”
He can practically see Yusuf roll his eyes at the phone. “Well he is a dog, Eames.”
Eames shakes his head for a moment, and then realizes that he can’t see him. “No, I mean, you know how on the first day, he could talk without a problem?”
“Yes,”
“Well, it seems as if the dog part of him is slowly starting to take reign. He’s not really forming coherent sentences anymore. The words keep getting jumbled and thrown in with whimpers and barks.”
Yusuf makes a noise of interest. “That’s interesting. It seems as if the more time that passes, the human part of him no longer has full control.”
Eames makes a humming noise, one that portrayed concern, and maybe even a little fear. “Is that bad?”
“I think so. I made a few treats today that I think might reverse the effect of Arthur’s condition. Do you mind if I drop by, say half past twelve?”
Eames nods and says, “of course I don’t mind,”
Though a part of him secretly does, because he was starting to get used to the idea of having Arthur so close to him.
“Brilliant. Just make sure he doesn’t do anything rash or run away or anything.”
Eames scrunches his brows. “He’s Arthur, he won’t run away.”
“No,” Yusuf agrees, “Arthur wouldn’t. But the dog might, so just kept him in check for a while. I don’t know, read him a book or something.”
Eames chuckles. “You’re more of a cat person, yeah?”
Yusuf clicks off and he takes that as a yes.
A FEW DAYS EARLIER
Arthur had been going crazy over the last few days, he was completely sure of this. He thought that this whole being-a-dog thing would be sort of easy, he wouldn’t have to work or be responsible for practically anything (he was starting to miss it, now), but this was starting to become his own personal hell.
First reason, was because Eames’ was treating him like an actual dog, which Arthur could kind of understand, but he wasn’t a fucking dog, at all. Eames would wake up and talk to him in that annoying voice and Arthur would nibble and bite at his fingers until he realized that Arthur was actually still Arthur.
And then there was the bathroom thing. He had forgotten that he couldn’t use the toilet anymore, and every time he tried, it was like a three-year-old getting potty trained. His feces and pee ended up all over everything, especially Eames’ shower curtains and wall. Arthur did feel a little bad about that, because you know, it sucked picking up dog shit and piss. But he absolutely refused to go outside to go to the bathroom, though now he didn’t see anything too wrong with it. He supposed that was the dog talking.
And that was the biggest problem of them all. Arthur felt more and more of him slip away as each new day passed. He still had coherent of course, but his speech was limited between the growls, barks and whines that escaped through the sentences. He found it annoying, as any other person would, and he was almost positive by the looks that Eames was giving him that he was pitying him. Normally, that would make Arthur upset, but Arthur was too busy pitying himself too, to really care about what Eames was doing.
But it was becoming easier, too. It was becoming easier to separate the dog part of him from the human part, even if they did mesh and blend together every once in a while. He was getting more and more frustrated, about the whole communication thing, because he just wanted to talk to someone about this and tell them how frustrating and annoying it was to be stuck as a four legged animal.
He wanted to talk to Eames, but he didn’t think Eames would take him seriously.
The one good thing, about living with Eames was that he didn’t make him eat dog food. Both parts of him enjoyed that, because he wasn’t so sure the dog part exactly savored dog food, either. He had tried it once as a human on a dare when he was in college and was smashed completely out of his mind, and it had been everything but pleasant. But instead he would fix something every night (Eames had always been the excellent cook of the team. Arthur, on the other hand, burnt toast and pop-tarts and it was generally a hazard to eat anything he produced), ranging from chicken parmesan to steak or every mac and cheese — Arthur especially loved that, and the dog part of him probably loved it more. And he would always make enough for the both of them, and sometimes he would make enough for Sophie to have a few bites, too.
It was absolutely delicious and Arthur did, honestly appreciate it.
The bad thing about living with Eames was that he had another dog and Arthur may have been a little (past) jealous. As a human, he doted on Sophie, she was a cute Yorkshire Terrier that was convinced she was a Doberman and packed a bite that stung like one. She was confident even though she was small, and she had loved Arthur whenever he came to visit Eames to talk to him about a job or for other business purposes. He would bring her treats and toys and would spoil her more than Eames usually did and Arthur liked having company around him that wasn’t another human. But now that he was a dog too, he couldn’t stand her. Mostly because Sophie knew that Arthur depended on Eames and would hold it in front of his face every time Eames was near the two of them.
Arthur had never been particularly jealous a human, mostly because as a human he wasn’t really sexually active and hadn’t been for years. It wasn’t that he couldn’t get any, it was that he didn’t want any. He was too busy with jobs and remodeling his house and doing other projects that he just simply didn’t have anytime for love. But now, now that he was a dog, he just wanted to hump everything. Plants, tree’s, and even Sophie, and he had tried that once. Sophie had yelped, getting Eames’ attention who was currently making dinner in the kitchen. Arthur couldn’t help humping her, and it’s not like he especially wanted too either, he wasn’t even interested in woman. He just had the urge and Sophie had ended up being available and close.
Eames had rushed in, scared that something had happened to his precious, purebred Yorkshire (he insisted that he had bought her from a breeder in England, but Arthur’s almost positive he saw Eames walk out of a D.C. pet-store with her around the time that he had said he got her). He had yelled at Arthur, telling him to not practice his ‘happy dance’ on his precious angel.
Arthur had eaten dog food that night.
Sophie got his hamburger patty.
He was not amused.
And then, there was the time that he had humped Eames’ leg. Arthur had been horny for hours at the time, and he couldn’t hold it anymore. Sophie was avoiding him since the last incident, and he really didn’t want to eat dog food again, so he avoided her as well. Eames had been siting on the couch, watching Football.
Arthur walked up to him, and snuggled in by his legs on the floor, putting his head on Eames’ lap and just started whining, trying to get Eames’ attention.
Eames had looked down at him, with a bright little smile, and his cheeks would’ve dimpled if he had any. “What’s wrong, Art?”
Arthur had mewled then, a sound that he didn’t even know that he was capable of making as a dog.
And then, Arthur was humping his leg.
Eames didn’t realize what was going on until he looked down and saw that his ‘dog’ was humping his leg, and then, instead of getting mad like Arthur thought he would, the bastard started laughing. Arthur wanted to stop, he honestly did, but the dog wouldn’t let him, thus he continued.
He eventually got kicked off by Eames and then it really hit what had just happened. If dogs could blush, Arthur would be guilty as charged, but he did whine a little.
Eames was amused as usual, not really put out by Arthur’s show of ‘affection’, but found it amusing all the same. Eames generally found everything amusing, so he didn’t really think it was resolutely because he was dry humping him.
“You’re–” bark. “Horrible.” Bark. Whimper. Bark. “I can’t believe you really just let me do that.”
Eames smirks, and then rightfully says: “You can’t believe I just did that, right.”
“Any respect for you just dissipated.” Arthur barks dryly.
“The faith you have in my integrity is astounding, darling.”
“That’s a bit animalistic to call a dog that, no?” Arthur barks again, and he hides his face in his paws in embarrassment.
“Sure,” He agrees, easy. “It’s a bit animalistic that you liked it.” Eames throws back.
Arthur would’ve blushed if he had been able too, instead he just howled and looked at Eames with the most vicious look he could manage. “The dog wants what his heart desires.”
“You liked it.”
And Arthur did, but he wasn’t going to let Eames know that.
When Yusuf arrived later that day, apparently he thought that it would be a good idea to bring the entire Inception crew along. Eames can tell by how Arthur’s back curls and the way his tail goes between his legs that he’s uncomfortable and doesn’t want them here.
He walks over to Arthur, and smiles, knowing that it probably wouldn’t do much to calm the dog’s nerves, but he tried it anyways. He crouches down next to him and kneads his fingers through Arthur’s thick and soft coat of fur. Arthur mewls then, a tiny whimper in the back of his throat and butts his head into Eames’ hand.
Eames see’s no regret or anger in the dog’s eyes, so he knows it’s not entirely the dog there.
“It’ll be okay, yeah?” He whispers and then walks over to the door to let their guests in.
Their.
It’s still a little surreal to Eames, living with Arthur, even though he isn ’t human at the moment. He had longed for it for years, had silently thirsted for it but never held the drink long enough to take a sip. He had even had dreams, where Arthur and him were domesticated and loving, and showed each other everything about themselves. Eames adored those dreams the most, because Arthur was the Arthur that he was around Yusuf, around Ariadne, and even around Cobb, but never around Eames. He was a different Arthur around Eames, and he couldn’t even begin to comprehend why.
The dreams were vivid, and bright and colorful, everything that Eames imagined that their life would be like if they had chosen to share it together. He was pining a pipe dream, because he knew that Arthur wouldn’t ever go for someone like him. He’d seen the men that Arthur had brought home before, after jobs or even during them. They were exactly like Arthur superficially, clean and slicked back hair with sharp, bright eyes and a body that was thin and wiry.
Eames was everything but what Arthur wanted.
But his dreams were positively brilliant even if it they weren’t reality. But this is — Eames has checked, again and again; his subconscious is surely fucked up enough to conjure up a situation like this — reality, and it is it in it’s purest form.
He looks back at Arthur, and the dog still looks uncomfortable and self-pitying, but this is going to make Arthur better (hopefully) and Eames knew that Arthur wanted to get better. He opens the door, and watches as the team pours in.
The girl notices him first.
Ariadne, drunk on affection and love for him, immediately runs up to him and he picks him up in her arms. And really, Eames is surprised by her strength, he had always pegged her at being all skin and bones, and no strength and like he’s often not, he was wrong. She starts making those stupid kissy faces that most girls do around dogs, and it must be annoying, which is why he paws at her arms to let him the fuck down.
She finally gets the message, or maybe it’s the way that Eames positively glares at her, but either way the tiny girl caves and lets him down.
Arthur scurries across the floor, running behind Eames’ legs and hiding behind them, and honestly, he’s not quite sure if this is entirely the dog, either. Eames let’s a hand travel down and scratch between Arthur’s ear, and Arthur’s breathing totally does not labour or do something equally embarrassing. What he does do, though, is butt his head up into Eames’ hand, because the touch feels good and Arthur want’s to feel it some more.
Ariadne makes a noise that distinctly sounds like ‘awww’ and Arthur would’ve threw up on her pretty little shoes if he had not be preoccupied by Eames’ fingers running through his fur. “He’s keen on you.”
Eames raises an eyebrow, and makes a clicking noise. “Wouldn’t you be if you were stuck being a dog?”
Ariadne shrugs her shoulders, because she knows what Eames is saying is true, and turns her attention to Yusuf. “You said you had something that would make Arthur better, right?”
Yusuf looks put-out for a few moments before nodding. “I believe this should correct your current situation almost immediately.”
Arthur’s stomach churned uncomfortably at the word ‘should’, because that meant that it very well could not happen, and that scared him. Arthur wasn’t sure what he was more scared of, it working or it being a complete fail. He’s grown accustomed to living like this, to being with Eames all of the time, and he might’ve not thought it at first, but he does like it more than he should have.
Eames takes the treats (why the fuck are they treats, Arthur faintly wonders), and kneels down next to him. There’s a gentle, inviting smile playing at the edges of his mouth, and Arthur can’t help but lick his hand when it comes close with the treats.
“Take these, and you’ll be back to normal, darling.” Eames says, and he sounds almost sad, and a little wistful, and Arthur feels that, too, because if this does work, he’s going to miss this.
Arthur barks, and then let’s something that distinctly sounds like a whine escape from somewhere deep in his throat. He takes the treats from Eames’ hand, sniffs them, decides their okay to eat and munches on them happily.
Arthur knows that it was the dog, then, because he wasn’t happy about this.
After a few minutes, everyone stares expectantly at Arthur, like he can control when he could change back, and he can’t, he really, truly can’t, though he wished he could. As much as the thought used to repulse him, he liked being a dog, he didn’t know if it was because he was just growing accustomed to being in this body, or if it was because of Eames, maybe it was because some sick, twisted part of him had actually always enjoyed this.
Arthur doesn’t know, he simply doesn’t know, and he’s not even sure if that’s a bad thing. He’s confused, and he’s tired, and he wants everyone to leave so he can think of an excuse to cuddle next to Eames. Eames is warm, and nice, and he feels good pressed against Arthur when he’s taking his daily afternoon nap, and if Arthur’s head just so happens to inch it’s way into his lap sometimes, they don’t comment on it.
This, Arthur knows, would shatter if he would be turned into a human, if somehow Yusuf could reverse what the fuck happened to him and make him go back to normal. Arthur did miss having thumbs that worked, and he did miss feeling like he had a purpose in life, but he didn’t know if he missed it enough to desert everything he had here to go back to it.
When he was a human, Eames and Arthur hated each other. And the more that Arthur thought about it, the more that he realized he wasn’t even sure why that actually was.
“I don’t see anything happening,” Cobb says, and Arthur, really could go up to him and bite him because Cobb was just annoying the fuck out of him recently.
Yusuf looks dejected for a moment, because it was obvious the treats weren’t going to do anything. “Well, fuck, man. I thought these actually had a huge chance of working.”
Eames shook his head, and Arthur swore he saw something like relief enter his eyes. “Maybe they just take a while.”
“No, I designed them specifically so they’d work right away.” Yusuf looks upset with himself, which makes Arthur’s stomach churn, slightly, because he knew that Yusuf must’ve spent hours working on this to make sure that it would work, and to know that it didn’t, probably was world-crushing.
Yusuf walked into the kitchen, then, no doubt to grab a few beers and to drink his sorrows, while the rest of the team sat around and just looked at him.
Suddenly, because Cobb was still slightly mentally deranged, and wasn’t quite capable of doing stable human communication yet, looked over in Arthur’s general direction (he completely missed by a few feet, which didn’t make sense to Arthur, because as always, he was squinting. Arthur was really going to have to constrict his time around Saito for now on). “Will Arthur be stuck like this forever?”
Yusuf shook his head. “I’m not sure, but there’s a possibility.”
Cobb squints between Arthur and Eames. “At least you will be together.”
Arthur barks, because he’s had enough of this ‘love-and-guilt’ fest that Cobb is so keen on basking in. Eames scratches behind his ears, though, because Eames always knows how to calm Arthur down.
“His fur’s very soft.” Ariadne chirps, suddenly, and then Arthur can tell that the extra hand he feels on his back isn’t just Eames’.
“Maybe he’s adapted it, maybe it’s Maybelline,” Eames says. Arthur all but yelps and butts his hand.
“No, it’s L’Oreal, that’s how my hair’s soft as a baby bird.”
And Arthur really does bite Cobb then. Hard.
Arthur’s progressively getting worse, Eames thinks somberly as he watches the pup look longingly towards the window. Eames truly does feel bad for him, because lord knows what he would be up to if he were in his position. He’s taking it like a champ, for the most part, because he still barks when Eames tries to tell him a joke to cheer him up, and that warms his heart more than it should.
He’s getting snappier as well. About little things, like Eames paying more attention to something in the house rather than him. It doesn’t even have to be Sophie that makes him go off kilter, it’s usually not even his other dog, it’s usually something inanimate that Eames uses frequently. Remotes, spoons, bowls, anything and everything that Eames normally uses were now offending Arthur, and Eames feels more than a little bad for the dog.
Every time he gets particularly upset about something, he realizes his mistake and sulks into a corner of the house, willing Eames to never find him. It kind of breaks Eames’ heart because he knows that Arthur, human Arthur, would never actually act like this, and it’s slowly killing his spirits. He likes when Arthur snuggles up close to him and lets him scratch behind his ears (mostly because he can see how much Arthur enjoys it, but it’s comforting for him, also; soft fur between his fingers) and he likes it when he actually allows himself to do it.
Arthur hasn’t done that since Yusuf and the others left, and it had been a few days. Eames isn’t able to stand it anymore, so he grabs Arthur’s leash (Sophie’s is pink, Arthur’s is pinstriped, because he knows that it’s Arthur’s favorite) and goes off around the house to find him.
When he does, Arthur’s curled up in the den, behind the left arm of the sofa he has in there, and he looks so sad that Eames feels something in his chest clench. It’s not right, he declares, silently to himself, for a dog — for Arthur – to look this sad.
“Arthur, darling,” he says in a voice that’s sweet like chocolate but hard like nails, letting the dog know that he isn’t letting him squirm his way out of this.
Arthur barely acknowledges him, only looking up at him through his brown, chocolate eyes.
“Come on,” he says, “we’re going to give you a bath.”
The dog looks a little happier, his ears perk up a bit more and there’s a light to his eyes that weren’t there before. Eames knows how fond the human stuck inside the dog is of hygiene in general, and because there’s not a lot of leeway when it comes to being clean when you’re a fucking dog, he wants to make this better for him.
“Let’s go then!” The dog barks impatiently.
He lets out a laugh that’s filled with relief, one that he hadn’t known that he was holding. If he notices, Arthur’s too kind not to say anything.
Arthur is absolutely impossible, in the absolutely best ways.
Eames knew this before to a certain degree, he knew that the man had a set in stone routine that he followed heavily when it came to his work, and that he had a planner to plan out his days (his weekends, even). He’s known for a while that Arthur doesn’t take no for an answer most of the time, that he’ll work his way around a problem too many times to count before he’ll finally admit to being wrong and that he absolutely can never not match.
He knew all of this before what’s happening right now, but somehow all of the past information doesn’t seem to explain anything anymore.
The dog is curled up on one end of the tub, lapping happily at the bath water, his tail swishing in the water in no real pattern at all. Pleased little whimpers are escaping through his panting mouth and he’s never heard anything happier. There’s light in Arthur’s eyes that he hasn’t seen since he’s actually been a dog, and it’s such a nice look on him that Eames wonders why he doesn’t do it more often.
Eames laughs, reaching behind Arthur to get the shampoo and smiles easily at him. He runs the shampoo through the dogs fur, it feels nice and natural and the fur is soft beneath his fingers. The dog doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to, he can see the happiness on his face.
It’s more than enough.
Four days pass before anything happens, and neither of them expect it.
Because Arthur is a freak about personal hygiene and staying clean, he asks Eames to bathe him everyday and because he likes Arthur, he complies.
There was nothing significant that happened in the last few days involving their relationship. They didn’t suddenly fall in love or whisper about how much they cared about each other — even though Eames felt like this – and he honestly did he knew it wasn’t the time or the place and plus Arthur had never even hinted at him like anything about him — and there wasn’t fireworks that exploded because they were suddenly getting along.
But this is all okay with Eames, because he hadn’t expected it anyways. He knows his place in Arthur’s life and while he wants it to change, he knows that it wont unless Arthur wills it to.
He’s not in any rush to change their relationship because he’s comfortable and willing to take whatever Arthur is willing to give. And even if he’s only acting close to Eames because of his current situation, then that’s okay too. It must be lonely and he doesn’t expect their relationship to be any different after this.
But he still wishes it would change everything.
(It might).
Eames is okay with all of this, even though he knows that he shouldn’t be — settling for something less than what you want is always self-destructive– but he is because Arthur in his life is better than him not being there at all.
Now, Eames is giving Arthur another bath. This seems to be the easiest time for them because Arthur is willing to let his guard down and Eames is willing to push Arthur’s limits more and more as the minutes tick by.
“Eames,” Arthur barks.
Eames turns to him, but continues to lather up his his back, stroking the fur there for longer than necessary, but by the look of pure bliss on the dog’s face, he gathers that it isnt a bad thing.
“What is it, pet?”
Arthur sneezes, and it blows bubbles across the surface of the water. It makes him chuckle. “I feel weird.”
Eames knits his eyebrows together in confusion. “I’m not sure I gather what you mean,” he says. “You’re sick?”
“Do dogs get colds?” Arthur barks, or whimpers, Eames can’t tell. He sounds wistful and pained and a little bit not there.
Eames doesn’t over think it too much.
(He really does).
“I think so,” Eames says easily, his eyes or tone hinting at nothing, even though inside he feels panicked. He doesn’t know what to do if Arthur’s getting sick when he’s stuck as a dog. “Sophie gets sick sometimes,” he adds.
This doesn’t comfort Arthur but he didn’t really expect it to. “Just relax,” he says, “I’m sure it’s nothing and that you’re just being paranoid.”
Eames lets his hand travel to Arthur’s underbelly, because he knows that dirt gathers there and it probably bothers the dog more than he lets on. Arthur let’s out a pleased whine at this and he takes that as an answer as much as any.
And this is when it happens.
Suddenly, Arthur is whining more insistently and it isn’t pleased like it was before. He sounds like he’s in pain and that does something to Eames’ heart because it’s Arthur. He’s muttering things out like ‘fuck Arthur, are you okay?’ and ‘shitshitfuckshit’ and when he tries to reach for the dog, he cowers away in pain.
There’s a faded white light that’s surrounding Arthur’s body now — this is steadily becoming way too ‘fictional fantasy novel’ for Eames, it scares him more than he’ll ever be able to say — and his face isn’t as clear as it was before. The lines that surrounded around his dog body perfectly are fuzzy, they’re shitting out, the lines are becoming more muscular – more human. There’s something that rises deep in Eames’ gut, and he can’t quite recognize it (though it feels oddly familiar).
He blinks and suddenly Arthur is a human again, there’s too much facial hair on his face because he hasn’t shaved in a while and he looks tired, and slightly crazed, but it’s him. And as much as Eames liked him as a dog, it’s lovely to see Arthur, so lovely that if he was naive enough he would be able to call it home.
“Arthur,” he says slowly, because he doesn’t know how someone will act after being recently changed from being a fucking animal and Arthur’s always been kind of guarded when it’s come to Eames.
Arthur doesn’t turn to him for a while, he’s too busy staring at his hands, probably making sure that they’re actually there and that he isn’t dreaming. Eames doesn’t know where his totem is, because it’s impolite to touch someone else’s totem without asking and he’s always been afraid of what the other man would do if he ever caught him touching it.
Arthur always had been fond of treating his totem like his cock.
“Eames,” he says, his voice small and tiny and he looks so young in this moment and vulnerable, even with the facial hair.
“Arthur,” he repeats, treading the waters carefully.
“Please get your hand off of my naval.”
Eames laughs, and does as he asks. He honestly didn’t even realize where his hand was, and by the flush steadily painting high on Arthur’s cheeks, it may of had the opposite affect of what Eames expected.
“Do you feel okay?” He asks.
Arthur nods, and doesn’t say anything else, and Eames figures that this is for the best, and he most certainly does not look down to see how hung Arthur is.
He leaves the room, because after all he does have to call Yusuf.
Just like Eames expected, nothing in their relationship significantly changes.
It’s been a few weeks since the whole ‘Arthur is a fucking dog’ incident and he’s only heard from Arthur once, and that was because he had called him to thank Eames for all that he had done for him.
Now, Eames is all alone in his house, with his dog Sophie on his lap, who’s looking up at him with light, excited eyes. She’s been like this since Arthur had left, happy to have her owner all to herself again, even if Eames isn’t happy about not having Arthur to himself anymore.
Arthur isn’t fully back to being 100-percent himself yet, but it’s not like anyone expected him to be fully human immediately. He still barks at random times — he had barked five times during Eames’ conversation last week and while he normally would’ve thought it was annoying, it was incredibly fucking adorable coming from Arthur — and he whines and for some reason he still hates toilets. He doesn’t like to eat chocolate that much anymore and he likes bugs a lot more than he ever had before, but other than this, he’s the same Arthur.
The Arthur that Eames is a little more than in love with, in which he does absolutely nothing to actually get together with.
It’s not that he’s ever denied his feelings for the man before, because he’s never been good at lying to himself when it’s come to Arthur in general. It’s not that it’s because he’s usually an asshole to him — because Eames will admit that it is mostly his fault for wanting to get a rise out of him — it’s not anything in particular.
It’s everything pile on top of each other, piling at the pit of his stomach and rising to the hollow of his heart, the pile that explodes into a million pieces whenever he’s with Arthur. It’s the feelings that he gets whenever Arthur brushes to close to him, whenever he willingly touches Eames, whenever he compliments something that he does.
He’s not thriving on false hope that Arthur will somehow take this experience as the stepping stones to a new relationship, a new relationship with him. That’s just setting himself up for heartbreak and failure, and those are the two things that he can absolutely not stand feeling.
Arthur — the man who he is so irrevocably infatuated with, the man who makes him want to settle down and just be old together with; it’s something that he’s never wanted with anyone before — scares him.
The man is scary with all of his layers peeled back, behind the false facade of being stone-faced and the unwillingness to laugh at anything that comes out of Eames’ mouth, behind his loyalty for a year-and-a-half to Cobb. He’s scary when he’s just Arthur and this is a sight that Eames has only seen once and it still rattles him to the core.
Eames only thinks like this when he’s drunk, too drunk on emotion and booze to care about letting his mind wander, too drunk to care that he’s actually letting himself feel again. As a forger, it’s hard to let yourself delve into the likes of being one-hundred-percent human because of how easily it is to get lost behind the faces, the fake lives that you pretend to lead.
He’s five drinks too late for regrets and three cigarettes too short to think about turning back, so he looks forward because while he misses Arthur incredibly too much, almost too much to handle, he’s desperate for any kind of interaction with him.
Eames is self-destructive, he’s stupid and blind when it comes to love because it’s something that he’s never let himself feel and he’s naive when it comes to men – Arthur and how he works. But Eames has always been self-depracting so he takes whatever Arthur’s willing to give him.
And right now, that’s nothing more than a mutual friendship that’s based on work-related subjects and way too many fights.
And that’s probably all it’ll ever be.
(It won’t).
A week later, he gets a call from Arthur, offering him a job in Prague. It’s nothing particularly difficult, just a simple two-level dream with an easy forgery and while he usually never takes a job this simple — he enjoys money and the materialistic nature of it, but he also likes to feel challenged when it comes to jobs and taking easy jobs that require little-to-no skill doesn’t showcase that.
But because he loves Arthur more than he should, and because he just generally likes being around him, he accepts.
Two days later he’s in Prague, a week too early and he’s high on false expectations. He’s not expecting Arthur to crumble apart at Eames’ feet and admit that he’s in love with Eames too, because he’s not. What he’s expecting is much, much more pathetic and way more likely to happen.
He’s expecting Arthur to show up at Eames’ hotel room one night after a particularly rough day with takeout and a smile on his face and while they eat away their feelings he’ll talk to Eames like he never talks to anyone — not even Cobb. They’ll laugh about their times as being mindless, reckless idiots in the army together and about the twenty-or-so jobs that they’ve been on together. Maybe they’ll go outside and share some smokes together, or sit curled up on the couch with beers in their hands, getting drunk and mourning Mal’s death.
And then, because Arthur is forgetful (he isn’t) he’ll forget his keys at home or out in his car and it’ll be too late to even think about going out to retrieve them and he’ll sleep on Eames couch — preferably with Eames curled up at his feet.
This won’t happen though, because Arthur will never offer and Eames will never will it to happen.
On the second night of being in Prague, something happens.
Eames gets shot in the back alley’s while looking around the city. After blood and killing two of the guards who were after him with his bare hands, Eames was resting back in his hotel room, nursing his arm where he was shot because it’s not like he can go to the hospital.
Two hours after the accident, Arthur knocks on his door. The tapping is furious and relentless, and when he opens the door, well – Arthur looks furious, worried.
“Arthur,” Eames says.
The other man narrows his eyes. “You’re incredibly stupid,” is the first thing that he says. And then he pushes his way past Eames, thankfully keeping mind of his arm which is in fucking pain, and Eames closes the door behind him.
“This is what, your hundredth time saying this?” Eames retorts and then sits back on the couch, not offering him anything because he knows if Arthur wants something too badly, he’ll get it himself.
Arthur shrugs. “You’re hurt,” he says, his voice is dripping in worry, and something else, that same something that he saw in his eyes when he was a dog.
It makes his stomach flutter (un)comfortably.
“Obviously,” he replies.
“Who shot you?”
Eames shrugs, offering up a self-depreciating laugh. “I guess I’ve forgotten that people in Prague aren’t very fond of me.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you didn’t forget.”
He hadn’t forgotten.
Eames says nothing.
“What are we going to do about the job now?” Arthur asks, and he sounds incredulous, but he doesn’t sound angry.
“I can still complete the job, Arthur.”
“I’m not doubting your skills of being able to complete something while under pressure,” he says. “I’m afraid that you’ll get killed if we’ll stay here.”
Eames snorts. “The only thing you care about is making sure your team is still intact.” The words slip through before Eames can catch them and he’s too high on pain medication to notice, and when he finally does it’s too late. Something like anger passes through Arthur’s eyes and his lips settle a little more firmly into a straight line.
“You’re an asshole,” he says simply.
Eames snorts, “oh, of course, I am an arsehole.”
Arthur steps closer. “Yes,” he breathes through his nose, pressing closer.
If Eames was naive with hope, he would’ve thought that he was pressing closer because he wanted too, not because he though he had too. He sinks lower into the couch, like sinking down would make this whole situation dissipate, fade away into nothing.
Arthur keeps pressing forward, stealthy as a cat and Eames wonders faintly how many other people he’s used this on. The thought irritates him more than it intrigues him so he quickly pushes it away and as soon as he does he realizes that his lap feels a lot heavier than it usually does.
He looks up, meeting Arthur’s dark, lust blown eyes.
“Arthur,” he says slowly.
“Shut up.” He repeats and then he inches closer, his mouth hovering just over Eames’, teasing and tasting the air that escapes it’s way through Eames’ closed mouth. “You’re an asshole.”
Eames wants to retort with something witty like ‘I know I’m an arsehole, love, but you know what-’ and Eames can’t think anymore because suddenly Arthur is kissing him and his lips feel wonderful against his own. They’re soft and willing, but they’re no where near shy and tentative, he kisses like he knows what he wants and for some reason, he’s realized that what he wants is him.
He allows himself to kiss back after a few seconds pass, just to make sure that he’s actually not fucking hallucinating this because it would be incredibly embarrassing to suddenly be kissing air instead of Arthur’s lovely lips.
“Arthur,” he whispers in an entirely different voice as he’s pretty sure that Arthur is now kissing him willingly.
“Shut. Up.” He mutters, punctuating each word with a sharp peck to the lips.
Eames knows desperation when he hears it, so he allows himself to actually listen to Arthur, his hands resting on the mans slender hips, pulling him in, in, in. Their hips slot together, and it’s not as good as it would be if they were naked but it’s still good, so good. A breathless little whine wills it’s way between Arthur’s lips and it makes Eames’ pulse jump.
“Are you sure you want this?” Eames whispers, because even though he’s pretty sure the other man is a few skips away from punching him in the nuts, he doesn’t want this to happen because Arthur feels like it has to.
“Yes.”
“Yeah?” He asks, just to make sure, because he’s not as much of an asshole as he likes to pretend that he is.
“Yeah,” he says, and there’s a ghost of a smile there, a slight dent of a dimple.
It flutters Eames’ heart more than he thought something like this ever could.
When Eames wakes up, Arthur’s not in the bed.
He tries not to think about what this probably implies, that Arthur probably left a note on his counter, something like:
Eames,
This was nice, and the only reason I fucked you was because of what you said to me.
It was nice to let out frustrations, though.
– A.
He tries not to think that Arthur didn’t stay because he didn’t have a reason too, he didn’t stay because he didn’t want Eames in the way that he wanted Arthur – forever, to be together.
He pushes himself out of bed fifteen minutes later, because he doesn’t want to face the truth that’s ringing through his head right now. He takes longer than usual to shower, to brush his teeth, to slide through his morning routine and he doesn’t even care that he misses a spec of dirt on his neck.
He stares at himself in the mirror and he has tons of tiny little bruises that cover his neck, love bites that travel down his chest and he’s pretty sure that there’s a fingerprint shaped bruise on his hips from where Arthur gripped there last night. They feel right on his skin, even though they don’t look right in the mirror, so he ignores this and goes to the kitchen to hunt for some food.
He doesn’t see Arthur in the kitchen and he doesn’t see a note either, it ma-
“Good morning,” someone says from behind him, and he turns around incredulously.
“Arthur?”
He laughs, and dimples. It’s such an endearing look that he has to lean forward and kiss the little dents in his cheeks. “Don’t act so surprised,” he says.
Eames blushes – actually blushes and the thought is so embarrassing that he flushes even more. “I thought – well, I thought that you had left.”
Arthur doesn’t say anything, he simply presses forward and kisses Eames’ lips chastely, a kiss that’s over as soon as it begins.
“You’re insufferable,” he says.
Eames laughs, low and easy in his throat. “You always insult me before or after you kiss me.”
“I can’t be too nice to you,” Arthur say easily, and then adds, “I can’t let your ego get to large.”
He smirks. “It’s already there, pet.”
Arthur glares at him, and swats at his arm. “That’s wrong to use, especially because I’m not completely over the whole ‘dog’ phase.”
He taps his chin in thought. “Does this mean that you’re going to be horny all the time?”
Arthur absolutely does punch him in the shoulder this time. “You’re an asshole,”
Eames ruffles his hair. “That’s a yes,” he laughs.
And by the way that Arthur pushes him onto the couch again, he knows that he’s correct.
They’re not perfect, Eames thinks, and they never will be, but they flow together in a way that no one ever has and that’s equal enough for him. And Arthur might not be used to something like this yet, but Eames is willing to sacrifice everything for him.
Because Eames is willing to take whatever Arthur is giving him, and right now Arthur seems to want for Eames to give something to him, too.
fanficition cove 
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