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The idea first comes to Eames one evening when he and Arthur are both at the Cobbs' house, Eames spread out on the pull-out couch in the living room, full of delicious French cooking and the wine that Arthur brought, Arthur seated on the edge of the cushions with his phone in his hand, looking up the official currency of Nepal (due to an argument with Dom during dinner — Arthur was sure they use rupees but Dom insisted it was rands).
"Ha, it's rupees," Arthur says after a couple minutes, and stands up triumphantly, self-satisfied smirk an all-too-familiar sight for Eames, especially when Dom is involved. Dom and Mal went to bed half an hour ago and Eames insisted on staying neutral during the argument so he's fucked if he knows why Arthur's acting like he's won something. It's then that he catches a glimpse of the side of Arthur's face in the decorative mirror atop the mantle over the fireplace and the seed of an idea flashes into his mind.
"Hey—" he interrupts, and Arthur flips his mobile in his hand. "Where does Cobb keep his PASIV?"
Arthur looks suspicious immediately and Eames knows there's no way he'll agree to go under with him if he knows of his plan beforehand, so he scrambles for something to say that isn't exactly a lie.
"I thought of something bloody genius just now but we need to be in a dream for me to show it to you and I promise it's worth it," he says, and Arthur's brow furrows.
"'m gonna find it so you'd better just tell me now before I wake everyone up," he adds, and Arthur rolls his eyes and drops his phone on the coffee table, stalks off into the hall and up the stairs to find Eames a PASIV while Eames barely resists rubbing his hands together in delight. He truly can't imagine how he hasn't thought of this particular bit of brilliance before. It's frankly a travesty.
When Arthur gets back, he makes it clear that he does not approve of this at all and that if anything fucked up happens, it's completely Eames's fault. His curiosity about these things always wins out though, and Eames has known him long enough to know exactly how to exploit that fact and does so frequently.
Eames pats a pillow on one side of the pull-out couch for Arthur, and they hook themselves up after prepping the area. Arthur gives Eames one more suspicious glare then presses the center button and Eames watches his head loll to the side.
##
Eames is in a car in Paris, stuck in the pedestrian traffic on a side street, when he spots Arthur coming out of an antique furniture store with a stack of papers. He rolls down his window and wolf-whistles, and Arthur glowers at him briefly when several projections turn to stare, but quickly crosses the street and climbs into the passenger side.
"Get on with it," he says immediately, and Eames has to smile. "Apparently I just bought a set of Victorian dining chairs." Eames honks at some guy on a bicycle then passes and gets out onto a main street finally and heads toward Arthur's favourite Parisian hotel.
"So what exactly is this amazing thing you had to show me so desperately?" Arthur says, bored, fingers fidgeting with the air vents on the dashboard. Eames doesn't answer but it most likely becomes apparent to Arthur when they pull up at Citea Paris Tour Eiffel. Arthur groans and Eames is positive he's rolling his eyes out the window. "Eames, are you serious, you brought me under just to get laid?"
Eames shushes him and Arthur begrudgingly follows him upstairs once they're inside, to a room Eames instinctively knows is his despite never staying in it before in real life, as is often the case in dreams.
Not two minutes after they get into the room and Arthur turns to Eames with his arms crossed, looking askance, when there's a knock on the door, and Eames smiles broadly when he opens it and in strides a second Arthur, dressed like a very formal Arthur would dress at some corporate function, in black suit pants, a white striped button-up with a patterned black tie and a jacket over top. He frowns at Eames but stalks into the room and the real Arthur looks like he's going to punch someone in the face.
"Eames, the fuck is this," he says. Eames's projection is a stark contrast to Real Arthur despite looking the same physically — Real Arthur has on similar suit pants but he's just in a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, top couple buttons undone: the most casual Arthur would ever dare to be in a work situation.
"Arthur, meet Arthur," Eames says with a grin, but neither Arthur looks impressed. "Alright, here's the deal — you guys make out while I sit over here," he tries, and flops over onto the hotel bed. Real Arthur looks horrified, and Projection Arthur casts a sidelong look at him.
"Be serious," Real Arthur spits out, arms crossed even tighter across his chest now, defensive and edging away from both of them, towards the doors to the balcony. Eames leers brazenly.
"Who's joking?" he asks, and Real Arthur turns to glare at Projection Arthur, who's smirking just barely, one hand in a pocket and the other fiddling with a business card from the nearby desk.
Real Arthur looks around the room for some kind of weapon but Eames was prepared for this and made sure there was nothing. Projection Arthur sits on the edge of the bed carefully and loosens his tie but Real Arthur scoffs at him then turns on Eames.
"Did you seriously think I would just come in here with you and do whatever you wanted?" he asks, and Eames dons his best Hurt Face. He and Arthur have been fucking surreptitiously for several months now, usually in hotel rooms exactly like this — it's not exactly a huge surprise, Eames thinks.
"Arthur, come here," Eames says, addressing the projection, and Fake Arthur turns, gets on his hands and knees and starts crawling across the bed. Real Arthur almost chokes.
"Is this honestly how you're projecting me?" he mumbles, but his eyes are fixed on Fake Arthur and the way his suit pants pull taut against his thighs when he's on his knees.
"If you won't make out with yourself, I'll have to do it for you," Eames says, falsely haughty, eyes on Real Arthur's annoyed pout as Fake Arthur makes his way to him and sits back on his knees, undoes the top button on his shirt and completely ignores Real Arthur standing nearby.
"Do you do this often, you sick fuck?" Arthur asks, but there's no heat in his words anymore, just the usual dose of disdain and pretension, and now something else, almost like the dangerous curiosity that Eames used to get him down here in the first place. Fake Arthur loosens his tie further until he can pull it off, and drops it on the floor beside the bed. Real Arthur cringes momentarily, but before Fake Arthur can go any further, Real Arthur cuts in with "Stop, stop, what the fuck. Stop it." and scrubs his hands across his face with a sigh.
"I'll do it, but only for a minute then I'm throwing you and your creepy toy off the balcony and never going under with you again," he says, and Eames's smile is slow but deliberate.
Finally… He can't wait to watch his Arthur make out with himself, then he'll get them both to make out with him, and from there it's anything he can dream of. This is the best plan he's ever had. Real Arthur refuses to get naked or even take anything off, because he insists all he's doing is kissing for a while then killing everyone. He climbs onto the bed by Eames's feet and sits on his knees like Fake Arthur is doing, then leans forward and Fake Arthur doesn't hesitate.
At first it's just dry kissing, lips on lips like awkward teenagers who have never done it before, but it's already so fantastic. Eames has been semi-hard since the moment he thought of this up above, killed a little by Real Arthur's complaining, but now it's back, excited for what's to come, especially when Fake Arthur starts getting more aggressive, puts his hand on the back of Real Arthur's neck and leans into him. Real Arthur isn't about to be pushed around, though — he leans right back into it and sucks Fake Arthur's bottom lip into his mouth after a moment, knees spreading so he can get closer and gain the upper hand.
This is better than Eames had hoped. He truthfully expected his Arthur to either flat-out refuse or do something lame like come prepared with a set of guns hidden in every closet and never let it even begin. But this… Eames moves his leg before Fake Arthur stabs his knee into it, already pulling at Real Arthur's shirt, sliding long familiar fingers up his arms and clacking teeth together as they both fight to overpower each other.
Eames should have known, really. Arthur's personality pitted against a copy of Arthur's personality with a bit of Eames's flirtation thrown in is a volatile combination. He has to unbutton his pants because it's getting hot and stuffy in the hotel room already, or he thinks so, leaning against the headboard with his knees bent, legs open, watching the two Arthurs get it on.
He tries to offer a few helpful suggestions, like "take his shirt off, Arthur," and "mm Arthur, turn this way just a bit" but Fake Arthur turns and glares at him dangerously as Real Arthur bites a bright red mark into his neck, so Eames shuts up and lets his hand fall down to his crotch, just resting, maybe shifting a little when Fake Arthur slides a knee between Real Arthur's legs and Real Arthur makes a noise Eames has heard so many times before.
It's hot. There's absolutely no doubt about that… But Eames's ultimate goal was to start Real Arthur off slowly and eventually end up with two Arthurs both trying to suck his dick at the same time, or one Arthur straddling him, jerking off on his chest while the other Arthur rides him and kisses the first Arthur's neck. Something like that. Something that involves Eames at the very least. Currently neither Arthur is interested in what Eames is doing in the least, instead starting to push at each other even while they kiss-bite everywhere they can reach, and Real Arthur eventually grabs fistfuls of Fake Arthur's button-up and pulls him over on top of him by the edge of the bed, eyes dark and full of fire but trained entirely in the wrong direction as far as Eames is concerned.
Fake Arthur's thigh slides down between Real Arthur's legs, wool suit pants rubbing against cashmere, and a loose strand of Real Arthur's hair hangs down across his forehead. When Fake Arthur pushes it out of the way with his thumb then holds Real Arthur's face and sticks his tongue in his mouth, Eames clears his throat but to no avail. Fake Arthur tries to roll, to get underneath Real Arthur, but Real Arthur fights it, clawing at Fake Arthur's jacket until it eventually slips off and brushes against Eames's leg as it falls to the floor beside the bed.
Both Arthurs are whispering at each other, like Real Arthur does to Eames up above, whispering dirty things and swear words and promises forged from uncontrollable desire and desperation. Eames normally hums and groans and encourages it while he's buried in Arthur, but now Fake Arthur is doing the same back at Real Arthur, both of them whispering things Eames can't hear in the other's ear while they wrestle to be on the bottom while maintaining an upper hand, and Eames feels confused for the first time since this idea spawned.
He's had a flash of insight and isn't sure whether he should be turned on by this or if he should feel awkward that he's most likely about to watch his Arthur fuck another man — even if it is himself. He frowns but his dick is insistent in his briefs, pushing against the hand still on his thigh, so he takes it out and decides to make the best of this.
He clears his throat again. "Arthur—" he says, and Real Arthur glances over briefly, but only sees Eames flushed with his dick in his hand and rolls his eyes at him before turning back to Fake Arthur and yanking the back of his button-up out from where it's tucked into his pants.
Fake Arthur finally manages to prevail and get underneath Real Arthur, but his victorious dimpled smirk is short-lived when Real Arthur sticks a hand down his open suit pants and grinds down against his thigh.
"Fuck—" Fake Arthur whimpers, and it's uncanny how exactly alike they are, Eames thinks, even though Fake Arthur is a product of Eames's imagination.
Eames tries to jerk off but he's too disappointed about being left out of this unexpectedly explosive makeout session, and he ends up slumping down against the headboard, dejected, watching the two Arthurs with barely any interest anymore. He wonders if he should just leave, and if anyone would notice.
He almost regrets doing this, to be honest. Almost — not quite — it's still potentially the sexiest thing he's ever laid eyes on, two Arthurs sweaty and pink, still dressed but rumpled, squirming around on a hotel bed while they fuck each other's mouths with their tongues and push each other around.
Eames wonders if his Arthur will go all the way, or let Fake Arthur fuck him, and he wonders how he really feels about that, now that he's thought it through. Hot? Awkward? He'd never stand for watching Arthur fuck another guy in real life — or in a dream. Is this different?
This is turning into a nightmare… What if his Arthur fucks his projection, really? Now that it's in his mind, Eames regrets not leaving any weapons around the room. He wants out of this now, but he can't just leave the Arthurs here — he'd die painfully inside if they did it while he was gone, both because he's starting to feel intense rage at the idea of it and also because he wants to watch.
He frowns at himself again and tucks himself away, stands up off the bed and paces around while Fake Arthur pants heavily across Real Arthur's neck at Real Arthur's hand moving in his pants. Fake Arthur is distracted enough for Real Arthur to roll him again, and now Fake Arthur can undo Real Arthur's trousers and yank them down over his ass, briefs bulging at the front, dark hair leading up to his bellybutton stark against his pale skin.
Eames growls from beside the desk but can't bring himself to look away, infuriated at his projection and by extension himself, angry at Real Arthur for getting caught up in his personal dominance struggle with himself, and thoroughly convinced that this is the most terrible idea he's ever had.
Just when Eames has started telling himself it would be a good idea to grab both Arthurs and hurl them off the balcony like his Arthur originally suggested, Real Arthur squirms out of Fake Arthur's grip, tumbles to the floor, reaches under the bed, and shoots Fake Arthur directly between the eyes. Prepared after all. Eames yelps at the surprise and noise and his heart is slamming against his chest, beating a thousand miles a minute, staring at the rapidly expanding pool of subconscious blood seeping out across the white hotel sheets.
Real Arthur is still panting but calmly lowers his gun and stares at the body of Fake Arthur for a long time, watching himself bleed out with a strange look on his face. Finally he stands and turns to Eames, pulls up his pants and buttons them, straightens and re-buttons his shirt, and pushes his hair back. Eames swallows a huge lump in his throat and feels vaguely terrified.
"Are you fucking satisfied?" Arthur asks, but before Eames has a chance to say anything disparaging, Arthur raises his sidearm and shoots Eames then, presumably, himself.
##
Eames wakes up with his sweatpants and undershirt stuck to his body by a cold sweat. His legs and arms are tense and his heart is still beating faster than normal, like back before the days of dream-sharing when he'd have a natural dream about being chased or falling off a cliff. He's also painfully hard, which is inconvenient. Arthur opens his eyes beside him not twenty seconds later, and as usual is perfectly collected as he unhooks himself, sterilizes the PASIV and packs everything away. Eames can't help but notice the crotch of his casual trousers, tented but ignored as Arthur slips out of the room with the metal suitcase and sneaks upstairs to put it away.
Arthur reappears a few minutes later and, much to Eames's surprise and conflicted delight/annoyance, crawls onto the pull-out couch and lies down beside Eames again, dim light from outside glancing off his brow and jawbone.
"That was—" he starts, but Eames interrupts with "— the most ballsed up thing I've ever thought of, thanks, I'm so painfully aware."
Arthur smirks in the darkness and leans forward to kiss Eames's nose then cheek. Eames feels his irritation floating away.
"Never listen to my ideas ever again, yeah?"
Arthur puffs out a laugh and says okay.