somewhatclear | A love affair that glides on the offshore tides

Rating: SAFE
Fandom: Inception
Relationship: Arthur/Eames
Tags: Cheating, Arthur is married to a OMC, pining, canon typical violence.
Wordcount: 689
Notes: Questa storia partecipa alla Nona Edizione del COWT di LandeDiFandom per la M2 della quarta settimana, con il seguente prompt: Tradire il proprio partner.

Summary:
Arthur gets married to someone who isn't in the industry. He thinks he's gonna be happy, but he didn't consider how much he would miss dreaming. He asks Eames for help, and then it becomes something else.

Excerpt:

PASIV compounds aren’t addictive; dreaming is. Arthur shakes through the whole thing, stuttering and apologizing, as Eames hook them both to the machine, speaking reassuring, soft words like to a spooked horse. Five minutes, and then five more, and then fifteen; Eames watches Arthur build and destroy and rebuild and manipulate the reality of the dream, laughing like a kid.

{ read on AO3 | read here }

The red die clinks against the poker chip in his pocket like ice cubes in a whiskey tumbler; every time his fingers brush against it, Eames' breath stutters. It is more intimate than a kiss, more intimate than mapping Arthur's body with his mouth. That’s the weight of Arthur’s sanity.

II.

Half a day on a plane, checking each other’s safety belts. Seventy-two hours on a job, bantering back and forth to relieve boredom. A hour and a half waiting for a mark. Three minutes standing together in the rain, waiting for the bus. Thirty-five minutes on the tube, back to back like strangers. Five minutes standing on the doormat, staring at each other without speaking. Three hundred and twelve days in a relationship that Arthur couldn’t just shake off.

III.

Arthur retires from the business with a smile on his face and a ring on his finger; he was full of love, hopeful for the future, excited for a boring desk job—looking forward to a normal life in the real world. Eames has never met the husband, but Arthur speaks of him like he hang the moon in the sky, and that is enough. They exchange promises to stay in touch over coffee—white lies, like they do in the real world. Arthur has no plan to see him again; Eames loves him even more for that—because nobody deserves happiness more than Arthur.

IV.

A stranger knocks at Eames’ door: he has soft hair, an ugly sweater, jeans and tennis shoes, a bag slung over his shoulder. Eames almost swallows his tongue when he recognises Arthur through the forge, his hand closing spasmodically around the poker chip in his pocket. It’s real.

PASIV compounds aren’t addictive; dreaming is. Arthur shakes through the whole thing, stuttering and apologizing, as Eames hook them both to the machine, speaking reassuring, soft words like to a spooked horse. Five minutes, and then five more, and then fifteen; Eames watches Arthur build and destroy and rebuild and manipulate the reality of the dream, laughing like a kid.

Then he puts his clothes back on, and he goes out of the door, a stranger once again.

Arthur is himself in the dream: slicked back hair, expensive suits, a soldier body and too many guns under his clothes; sharp wits, the darkest sense of humour and a preference for artsy, pretentious settings. Eames takes him on dates in museums, restaurants and fantastical cities that were uglier mashups of their real world counterparts, and enjoys poking fun at him until he can’t keep that pretense of a frown going anymore and burst into that shy laughter of his.

They kiss almost by mistake, they fuck almost on purpose. Pleasure is in the mind, it’s limitless; they take each other apart in more sense than one.

Arthur’s brain is all over the carpet by the end of the night.

VI.

Nothing is worse than hearing unapologetic Arthur trying to justify it; his husband doesn’t know anything about the dreamscape; he doesn’t understand; they love each other but they’re so different. He starts talking about inception, Eames shuts him down every time, Arthur apologizes.

It’s just so wrong. He’s unrecognizable when he talks like that. A poor forgery wearing Arthur’s skin, mimicking his mannerisms to the smallest detail but getting the pitch of his voice wrong.

It scares him. Eames grips the chip in his palm until the words leave marks in his skin. Arthur’s skin is so soft in the dream, his body so warm, and his laughter so rich. Eames touches him and he tells him that he loves him. He’s loved him for a long time, now.

Arthur rolls over, stares at him as if he can’t recognize him. Then he raises the gun.

VII.

Eames touches his ribs counting them under his fingers, counting the pounds he’s been dropping in the past months, taking advantage of the fact that Arthur always takes a long time recovering from the afterglow, before the shame and the guilt kick in. Before he runs.

He palms the poker chip resting under the pillow, and throws it away.