Chapter Text
“Can’t you give them each one present, from both you?” Cobb says over the phone. Arthur has this conversation every year, ever since Uncle Arthur became Uncles Arthur and Eames.
“Arthur and I have very different opinions on what counts as an appropriate gift for children.” Eames chimes in the fuck out of nowhere.
“A cotton candy machine is a really fucking awesome Christmas present,” Arthur says while Cobb squawks indignantly in the background. “And you’re supposed to be in the bathroom Eames, why do you have the phone?”
“I couldn’t miss out on this conversation, now could I?”
“You’d better put it back downstairs before you come to bed, or Bubbe will throw a fit tomorrow morning.”
“My houseguest is here, we’re discussing this cotton candy business tomorrow.” Cobb says and hangs up. Arthur and Eames both know that the houseguest is actually Ariadne. Arthur would feel jealous if James and Phillipa didn’t always choose him over her.
There’s a moment of silence.
“Do you think they’re shagging?” Eames asks.
“Don’t ever ask me that again,” Arthur says, and hangs up.
Predictably, Arthur wakes up to the sound of his 90-something year old grandmother wailing in Yiddish.
“Eames,” Arthur groans, because he knows for a fact that Eames didn’t put the phone back like Arthur told him to.
He rolls over to kick Eames awake but Eames isn’t in bed; he’s sneaking in through the bedroom door, carefully closing it behind him. Arthur sits up, letting the sheets pool around his waist, and folds his arms over his chest. Eames pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion and turns, obviously planning on slipping back into bed. He freezes when he sees that Arthur is very much awake and very much glaring at him.
“Arthur,” Eames says, clearing his throat and straightening up.
“What were you doing?”
“I just put the phone back.”
“You put it back?”
“I may have pointed out that it had fallen under the couch.”
“Eames, are you trying to psychologically traumatize my Bubbe?”
“No, never,” Eames has his fake innocent face on. Arthur recognizes it because Eames has used it on him many times before. Eventually Arthur groans and flops back onto his pillow, kicking the rest of the covers off of him.
“I was going to sleep in today,” Arthur mutters as Eames climbs onto the bed.
“There’s no reason why you still can’t,” Eames says as he buries his face in Arthur’s neck.
“I hate just lying around in bed doing nothing,” Arthur grumbles as he puts his hands on Eames shoulders, ready to push him off.
“Who says we’ll be doing nothing?” Eames asks in a low voice, glancing upward to smirk at Arthur before crawling down to lick at his cock.
“Oh. Okay,” Arthur sighs and cants his hips up into the heat of Eames’s mouth.
**
Arthur and Eames aren’t the only ones in town for Christmas. There’s Arthur’s aunts, his step-aunts and step-uncles, his cousins and step-cousins, and of course his grandparents and step-grandparents and really, Eames has no idea how he manages to actually get through an entire blowjob without being interrupted.
Normally the family wouldn’t all be together at the same time like this; The Cohens would get together for Hanukkah and leave before the step family arrived. With Christmas and Hanukkah so close this year, it simply made sense to combine the two holidays. Of course, that means that when Arthur and Eames make their way downstairs that morning they are assaulted by children who want to see Uncle Arthur’s comic book collection (again) that Arthur keeps under lock and key.
Predictably, Arthur falls asleep early that evening; he really did need the extra sleep. The youngest children have already been put to sleep and the older ones have quieted down somewhat. The men are in the basement, playing cards and telling stories and the women are in the kitchen talking not so quietly about god knows what.
Arthur and Eames are settled in the upstairs living room. Arthur had fallen asleep in the reclining chair, drifting off while he watched the news. Eames muted the TV shortly after he noticed Arthur had fallen asleep and picked up a newspaper instead.
Noticing movement out of the corner of his eye, Eames lowers his newspaper and turns his head to find one of the step cousins creeping towards Arthur, pink plastic bag in hand. Eames clears his throat loudly and folds the paper, looking at the girl over his glasses.
The girl freezes, Eames can’t remember her name but he’s pretty sure he could pick out her mother. He arches an eyebrow and the girl spins to face him, holding the bag in front of her.
“What’ve you got there?” Eames asks, gesturing to the little bag.
“I was going to give Uncle Arthur a pedicure,” the little girl pouts.
“Hmm, well in that case you’re going to need the help of someone who knows his favorite colors,” Eames says, grinning widely. The little girl stares at him for a second before beaming back at him.
They settle down on their knees at the foot of Arthur’s chair. Eames carefully pulls Arthur’s feet free of the Pikachu slippers that had been one of last year’s Christmas presents and sets them aside. Arthur, who is normally a light sleeper, doesn’t stir; He feels safe here, in the home he bought for his parents. Surrounded by his family, he lets himself relax.
Eames presses a finger to his lips to indicate that they should be quiet, and pulls out the purple and green nail polish. He hands the girl the green and indicates that she should paint every other toe. She nods eagerly and uncaps it, getting to work on Arthur’s second toe.
“Uncle Arthur has really soft feet,” the little girl whispers to Eames as they’re exchanging colors. “They smell like chocolate.”
“It’s one of the things I love about him,” Eames whispers, smirking to himself. A fondness for giving foot massages (and the effect they have on Arthur) means that Eames is very intimately acquainted with Arthur’s feet.
“You love Uncle Arthur because of his feet?” the little girl scrunches up her nose and looks confused.
“Wouldn’t you want the person you love to have nice feet?”
“I don’t know. Is it important? For, you know, sex?” Eames has to stifle a snort at that and glances up at Arthur’s face to see the shadow of a dimple on his cheek, almost as if he’s heard the entire exchange.
“I suppose it can be important for some people,” Eames says. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” he assures the little girl, and that seems to satisfy her.
They go back to working in silence and just as Eames is carefully tucking Arthur’s toes into pink toe separators, the phone rings and another of the cousins comes running through the hallway screaming Arthur’s name.
Arthur’s eyes open and he straightens in his seat; his eyes are alert, almost as if he hadn’t been sleeping this entire time, and he doesn’t seem at all surprised to find his toenails painted purple and green.
“Mimi, who is it?” Arthur asks as he takes the phone from her. “Hello?” he says into the phone after the girl has shrugged that she doesn’t know.
“Oh.” Arthur says, glancing around uncomfortably and wiggling his toes a bit. Eames smacks his foot. “Merry Christmas, Ariadne.”
Eames arches an eyebrow, and knows that Cobb is going to get another one of Arthur’s lectures about giving out his phone number willy nilly. Arthur shrugs down at him and relaxes into his seat, holding his feet out for inspection.
“Thank you, I appreciate the thought,” Arthur says in the warm happy voice he reserves for Eames and his family. “And you’re welcome. You’re sticking around until New Year’s, right? See you then.” He hangs up and places the phone into Mimi’s waiting, outstretched hand. She dashes off back down the hallway.
“Who’s Ariadne?” the little girl who helped Eames paint Arthur’s toes asks.
“A…friend.” Arthur says. “My toes look very nice. How did you know purple and green are my favorite colors?”
“Uncle Eames told me,” she giggles and slants Eames a ‘haha got you in trouble’ look.
“Is that so?” Arthur says, smirking at Eames.
“Uh huh,” she says, packing up her little bag of nail polishes. “Be careful, your toes are still wet,” she says and dashes off after Mimi, yelling out her name.
“What did Ariadne want?” Eames asks.
“She saw the presents, I think, and wanted to say thank you.”
Eames pouts.
“What’s wrong?”
“I got her a present too, you know... and I’ve given her my cell number.” Eames climbs into Arthur’s lap, letting his feet hang over the side of the chair.
“Maybe she likes me better,” Arthur says, smirking.
“No one ever likes you better,” Eames mutters under his breath. “I’m going to text her,” Eames says, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. ‘Mrry X-mas xx’ Eames texts, while Arthur watches over his shoulder.
“You just want to make her feel bad for not calling you first.”
“So?” Eames says as he gets a ‘Merry Christmas!’ texted back. “She didn’t even bother calling,” Eames huffs.