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“You should let me shoot you out.”
Arthur grunted. He shoved against the concrete pressing down on his chest. Nothing. He let out a sigh. “You know you can’t.”
The rubble shifted slightly and Arthur tried to stay still. Beside him, Eames’ face appeared through a hole in the pile. “Darling, you must be miserable in there. It’s not like you need the money.”
“It’s not about the money,” Arthur wheezed. “Get up, asshole. You’re ruining that jacket.”
Arthur couldn’t see it, but it sounded distinctly like Eames was fully rubbing his torso against the dusty ground, probably just for spite. “Focusing on the real issues, I see,” Eames chided. “So what if the dream collapses? We can try again.”
“You should be helping Electra,” Arthur said. “I’m fine here.” And he was— he couldn’t breathe very well, and he was fairly certain the pile of rubble that used to be a parking garage before the mark’s projections blew it up was sinking directly towards him. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to be mobile to hold the dream together.
“Electra doesn’t need my help,” Eames said, dismissively. Arthur heard what sounded like a gun chambering. “Her name’s Electra. Woman’s got enough pent up aggression to take out an entire army of projections on her own. I figure I’m more useful right here. If you won’t let me get you out of here, the least I can do is make sure nothing else does.” He rolled over, leaving Arthur with a view of an ear and some stubble.
“Thanks,” Arthur said, flatly.
“The thing is, I’ve got something of a crush on you,” said Eames.
Arthur froze. “Now’s the time you choose to tell me?” he groused.
“Well there’s no time like the present, love,” Eames sighed. “I’m feeling a little emotionally overwrought at your current predicament, and you don’t really have a choice but to stay and listen to me.”
“Touching. Really. Very romantic.”
“I’m thinking after this, we head to Rome.”
“We split up after jobs,” Arthur gritted out. He pushed up on the concrete again.
“We could do, yes. I was thinking of trying something different. There’s an excellent Mongolian barbecue restaurant I’d love to take you to.”
Arthur blinked. “You wanna get Mongolian barbecue in Italy? You could get real, traditional, Italian food on any corner, and you want Mongolian?”
“Specifically, I’d like hoisin pork,” Eames said, bluntly. He turned his bright blue eyes into the hole.
Arthur nearly snorted. “Eames—“ he began. He wheezed.
“Save your breath. We both know you’re going to agree to go to Rome with me.” Arthur laughed, and quickly followed it up with a cough. The rubble creaked around him. “Hey now,” Eames cautioned. “Try not to move.”
“Go help Electra,” Arthur rasped.
“I’d rather not,” Eames replied. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m happy where I am.” At least one of them was.
Arthur struggled against the immovable concrete pinning him down. He tried to shift away from a piece of rebar digging into his side. He tried to ignore the pain in his left leg, and the pins and needles in his foot. He reminded himself that it didn’t matter that he was trapped, because this was a dream, and he’d wake up soon. He sagged into the rubble, feeling very awkwardly poked. “Eames?”
“Yes?”
Arthur kept his mouth shut, still debating. He thought the lack of oxygen might be causing a simultaneous lack of common sense. He also thought that Mongolian barbecue sounded pretty good. He could actually almost smell it, but that might have just been smoke from the explosion. Arthur swallowed, trying not to choke on the dust around him. “It’s possible I’ve got a very small crush on you as well.”
“Very small?” Eames asked, almost fondly.
“Tiny,” Arthur confirmed. “Barely there.”
“I can work with tiny,” Eames said. Arthur could hear him smile, even if he couldn’t see it. Slow strains of Clint Eastwood drifted through the rubble. “Ah, that’ll be time to go then,” Eames chirped.
“Eames,” Arthur sighed.
“Yes, love?”
“Please shoot me.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
^~*~^
In Italy, the night air was cool and fragrant around them as they strolled down the brick lane, surrounded by old buildings and the old familiarity they’d started carrying between themselves. Arthur stretched his arms over his head and sighed. “God, I’m full.”
Eames slid his hands into his pockets and spat out a toothpick. “I told you. Hoisin pork.”
“In Italy.”
“In Italy,” Eames agreed, eyes sparkling with mirth.
Arthur stopped. Eames stopped with him. “Eames,” Arthur sighed, “this was a good idea.”
“Why thank you, Arthur,” replied Eames. “I’m gratified by your grudging praise.”
“I mean it,” Arthur said, stepping closer. “What else should we do while we’re in Rome?”
Eames slid a careful arm around Arthur’s waist. “I can think of a few things that might be worth trying.”
“Hmm,” Arthur hummed. He slipped two fingers between Eames’ buttons and tugged him forward, pressing their lips together gently— with caution.
Eames sucked in a breath. “That was one of the things, yes.”
“You’re full of good ideas.”
Eames wrapped his other arm around Arthur’s waist. “I’d love to have the opportunity to show you how very true that is.”
Arthur kissed him, slow and sweet. “Save your breath, Mr. Eames,” he whispered. “We both know I'm going to agree.”
Eames huffed out a startled laugh. “Darling—“
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Just kiss me already.”
Eames smiled, slowly, glowing golden in the streetlights. He didn’t have to be told twice.