Pairing(s): Eames/ Arthu.
Summary: Based off this kink meme prompt.
Genre(s): Romance, est-rel, family/ domesticity, fluffier than an army of chicks
Warning(s): Mentions of MPreg, self-beta’d, British spelling and slang.
Rating: PG for bad feels.
Word count: 937.
Disclaimer: Characters sprung from le mind of Christopher Nolan. Jacob, however, is mine.
Author’s Note: I know I was meant to be finishing Direct Me To The Sun but then this prompt caught my brain and ate my eye and like what am I DOING, why am I filling so many domesticity prompts right now omg. Anyway. ~Mika
The closer Eames got to the end, the more and more he found himself thinking about Arthur and Jacob, both of whom were waiting for him back home. In fact, he had strictly expressed his desire to get the job finished in time for those two reasons.
It was all the more reason, then, to work as quickly and efficiently as he could, checking and double-checking that he'd done everything to a level of precision more often seen in his husband than himself. The relief he felt once he walked out that door and slipped into the car was palpable.
He pulled into the drive, parked the car and let his forehead dunk onto the steering wheel, careful to miss the horn so his boys wouldn't be woken. After a few moments of peace, he got out, locked the car and walked to the front door, ready to sink into Arthur's arms and into their bed.
That's when he noticed that the lights were off.
He frowned. This was unusual; Arthur was always there to welcome him home. Eames cocked an ear towards the house, listening out for footsteps, low-volume TV; anything. There was nothing.
Panic creeping into his chest, Eames slipped into the home, the door shutting with a quiet click. Once again, he listened out for signs of movement, trying to keep his breathing even. Still nothing. The panic in his chest grew as he slipped off his shoes and ran up the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky spots he knew were present.
Please God, no, no no...
The words became a mantra circling his mind even as he strode towards Jacob's room. The door was ajar, showing a strip of black - Eames flung it open, terror gripping the base of his throat upon seeing the bed was empty, the covers thrown back.
"No," he whispered, turning in the direction of the master bedroom, terror now gripping his entire body. It had been several years since the failed extraction on Saito, but if Cobol had found Arthur and Jacob -- what if Cobol had found them, what --
He stopped in the doorway, breath halting in his lungs.
Arthur and Jacob were both there, Arthur's long, lean body curled around the smaller one of their five-year old son, who had practically buried himself in Arthur's embrace. They were both asleep. Unharmed, unhurt, otherwise unblemished.
Terror ceding itself to a mix of emotions, taking Eames' knees from under him and eliciting a long, relieved sigh, felt by his entire self. Oh, thank hell. Thank you, non-existant deity. Thank you for not taking my family from me.
Once he'd calmed down sufficiently to stand, stand he did, making his way around the bed quietly. He lowered himself slowly onto the bed, simply observing his little family for a few minutes. Arthur chose that moment to stir, extracting his arm from around Jacob to manoeuvre himself onto his back.
"Eames?" he murmured sleepily. "You hmmm?"
"Yes, love, I'm home." Eames shifted himself onto the bed, lightly brushing Arthur's fingers with his own. "Jake have another nightmare?"
"Mmm." Arthur frowned. He hauled himself up, his day clothes rumpled. "'m sorry I wasn't..." He waved his other hand in the vague direction of the ground floor. "Was a long nightmare. Monsters under the bed. That kind of stuff."
"'S okay, darling. Let me take him back to bed, yeah? You look done in."
"Mmkay." Arthur rubbed his eyes.
Eames curled both his arms around the small body in the middle of the bed, manoeuvring Jacob to a safe and comfortable level in his arms. He took a moment to press his nose to the black curls that had come from Arthur, inhaling the child's scent.
"You gonna breathe him back to bed?" Arthur asked, humour underlining his voice.
"Easy. Just got home, remember? Haven't seen either of you since Thursday." Eames kissed Jacob's head before carrying him carefully back to bed. As he was laying the little boy down, he stirred, almond-shaped brown eyes opening.
"Hey, Jakey. You alright?" Eames knelt by the bed, smiling as he stroked his son's curls.
"I guess. I had a bad dream and went to Daddy and we fell 'sleep."
"Yeah, Daddy mentioned that. You're okay though, yeah? No more bad dreams."
"No more bad dreams, 'specially now you're home," Jacob replied, voice thickening with sleep.
Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Eames kissed his son's forehead once again. "Night night, Jakey,"
"Nuh night, Papa..."
Eames closed the door quietly on the way out, stripping as he headed back to the master bedroom. Arthur was already ahead of him, pale skin almost matching the sheets, dark eyes watching Eames steadily.
The Brit chuckled. "Y'know, Jake gets more and more like you every day?"
"'Cept when it comes to candy," Arthur grumbles. "Can't get him out the confectionary aisle these days,"
"Ah, my sweet tooth perseveres." Eames pressed himself against Arthur, fingers dancing on the Caesarean scar low on the American's stomach, lips pressed against that patch of soft skin just below the ear. "I missed you, you know,"
Arthur grumbled, but pressed himself against Eames. "I missed you too, I guess,"
"You guess," Eames echoed with a chuckle. "Nah, course you missed me."
"If by 'missed you', you think I meant 'missed your c-"
Eames had cut him off with a kiss, which Arthur was only too happy to deepen. Suddenly, he cut it off abruptly, causing the other man to whine.
"You know what I meant, Arthur."
Arthur rolled his eyes before pulling Eames into another long, lazy kiss.
- Current Location:Home, UK
- Current Ear Tones:"Mephistopheles' Return" - Trans-Siberian Orchestra