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"What were you dreaming about when they were testing the Kicks?" Ariadne asks, leaning back from level two.
Arthur frowns for the briefest of moments and trails a hand over the hotel labyrinth, straightening a sloping wall.
"Sorry," Ariadne says quietly, and he can feel her eyes fixed on the side of his head. "Is that something I'm not meant to ask?"
"You can ask," Arthur says with part of a shrug, tracing a bend in the cardboard with a slow finger. "People might not always answer."
"Are you going to answer?" she asks, ducking her head into his field of vision.
The brief frown slides across Arthur's lips again.
--
He blames Eames, of course, he always does. And Cobb for bringing Eames onto the job. It doesn't matter that Eames is the best. In fact – it's because Eames is the best.
He watches and he listens and he niggles away at everything until he understands a person, whether he's being paid to or not, and Arthur hates how well Eames knows him, hates that Eames knows which buttons to push and when.
They're dancing. It's something smooth and sly, like Eames – Arthur's always been at his best with music. Eames' hand sits comfortably on Arthur's waist, the other entangles their fingers, and he nuzzles against Arthur's neck, breathing him in.
"It's the scent, I think, that keeps bringing me back," Eames mutters, warm breath on Arthur's skin making shivers skip down his back. "It's almost as good as a totem."
Arthur wonders, not for the first time, what Eames' totem is.
Then the world tips and there's Eames' echoing laughter.
--
"I think you'll find he only ever dreams of one thing," Eames' voice rolls out from the doorway and Arthur sees Ariadne turn her head toward him.
Arthur doesn't turn his head, won't rise to the bait, he's too tired.
"How would you know?" Ariadne asks, but there's laughter edging her voice. Arthur wonders if there's even one person that doesn't find Eames amusing. One person other than him.
"There's a lot I know about Arthur that he wishes I didn't know," Eames says, and Arthur can see the sly curve of his lip without looking. "He's not as mysterious as he wants you to think."
"I don't think he's that mysterious," Ariadne says, letting out the small laugh she's been holding onto. "Just interesting."
"Interesting is certainly one way of putting it," Eames' voice crosses the room, towards the mock-up of level three.
Arthur still doesn't turn his head.
--
Eames likes to tease and Arthur can't – has never been able to deal with it. He knows that Eames rarely means his teasing – but it's something Arthur has to remind himself of.
He never has to remind himself about the flirting. He can never forget the flirting.
(If Arthur had longer hair he knows for a fact that Eames would pull on it – but never hard enough to hurt.)
It's dinner: Eames orders the wine, but lets Arthur order his own food, and begrudgingly Arthur admits it's a good choice.
Eames' foot taps against Arthur's under the table – never so obvious as to run it up Arthur's leg – for all his posturing, Eames knows how to be subtle when he wants to.
Eames offers slight smiles that suggest shared secrets and pours Arthur's wine before he wants more. It's so easy, Arthur thinks, he makes everything seem so easy. But life is never like that.
"We could make this easy," Eames says, gesturing between them, smiling that smile. "Not everything has to be hard, love."
Eames only calls Arthur that in his –
- the world tilts sharply and, again, Eames' laughter sounds in his ears.
--
"What is it with you two, anyway?" Ariadne asks. "Why're you always teasing him?"
Obviously she's not talking to Arthur. He hears Eames huff out a laugh.
"If you think that's what it is, pet, then you've still a lot to learn about the world," Eames says quietly. Arthur suspects he's shaking his head, smiling half a smile. He feels his lips twitch.
"Right," Ariadne says slowly. Arthur has a feeling she's building up to an impassioned speech when another set of footsteps appear within the doorway. He feels her focus shift instantly.
Cobb.
"Can I have a minute, Ariadne?" Cobb asks. Arthur thinks that she's out of her chair before Cobb has even finished talking.
"Something's happening there," Eames says quietly enough that only Arthur can hear as Cobb and Ariadne disappear. "Buggered if I know what, though."
Arthur doesn't suppress the snort of laughter in time.
--
The embarrassing thing for Arthur, in the end, is that he knows how much he likes having Eames around. Likes the jokes and the teasing and the flirting. Hell, he even misses it when Eames isn't around.
They go way back, Eames and Arthur and Cobb, far enough back that Arthur knows any contempt he expresses for Eames is only for show, now.
He'd have to be fairly broken inside to deny what's really going on. Even if they do play the same game every time they collide with each other.
Eames' mouth at the base of his neck and Eames' hands sliding under his shirt, undoing all the preciseness Arthur armours himself with. A stifled breath escapes from Arthur's mouth, displacing Eames' already disordered hair.
There's the sensation of Eames' smile against his throat and then their hips are grinding together, Arthur's body lighting up at the friction. It's time to fight back.
Eames' back slams against a wall that wasn't there before as Arthur pushes at him, tugging his shirt from his pants and exposing pale flesh. Eames' laughter is fresh in his ears, fresh and familiar, and Arthur allows himself a grin.
They tip into freefall as Arthur drags a hand up the hard line of Eames' cock, visible through his pants.
This time Arthur sighs as the Kick snaps him back.
--
"You know I –" Eames hesitates, his steps echoing a little as he crosses the room. "I wouldn't actually tell anyone what I know."
Arthur clears his throat.
"I know," he says softly, staring down at the paradoxical stairway Ariadne is building just for him.
"Good, that's good," Eames hand rests on Arthur's shoulder as he leans down to look at level two. His thumb strokes idly up and down Arthur's neck and Arthur lets his eyes fall shut.
"She's some Architect, that girl," Eames says, leaning back. "This is better than most work I've seen."
"She's got talent," Arthur acknowledges, opening his eyes again.
"If I told anyone," Eames' skips back in their conversation, fingers digging in briefly as he squeezes Arthur's shoulder, "- that would be an ending. Not all that fond of endings."
Eames' fingers skate over the fabric of Arthur's shirt as he pulls away. Arthur's fast, though, and he catches Eames' hand before he can back away.
"Stay," he says, still not looking up. Eames' fingers flex within his own.
"Of course, darling," Eames says and Arthur can see his smile before Eames turns him. He tastes it moments later, tastes the golden sunlight of the wider world, and lets Eames steal a smile of his own.
Eames presses his forehead against Arthur's, bumps their noses together, and laughs quietly.
"It's only ever a matter of time, isn't it Arthur?" he asks.
"Shut up, Eames," Arthur says, reaching up to pull Eames down for another kiss. He brushes his hand over the loaded die, hidden safely in his pocket, and isn't surprised when Eames' hand closes over his.
"You're not dreaming now," Eames mutters against his lips, breaking the kiss for only as long as it takes to speak.
Arthur knows he's not dreaming. His projection of Eames is never as good as the real thing.