Another prompt from inception_kink at livejournal. Ridiculously angsty.

Enjoy!

Torn in Two

Sometimes, Cobb comes up behind Arthur, gently pries the files out of his hand, tosses them on top of a desk that looks like a city grid with how organized it is, and nuzzles Arthur's neck. His stubble rubs, unforgiving, against the smooth, flawless skin of Arthur's neck, making Arthur arch away.

And Arthur remembers the motions as Mal's – when she was feeling needy, when she was feeling playful, she'd come up to them, and that was her way of making her intentions clear.

Mal was a beautiful woman. She spoke with class and refinement, she was passionate, obstinate and stubborn enough to get caught up in her husband's world. She was a free-thinker, creating mountains and canyons in their dreams and leaving them breathless.

Arthur had always been Cobb's, from the first dream. But somewhere along the line, he became Mal's too.

Mal loved Cobb unconditionally. She was in love with love, in love with her children, in love with being Cobb's wife. And she grew to love having Arthur with them, because as she said, "You're important to both of us, Arthur dear."

Cobb loved Mal. Every fiber of his being positively thrummed with happiness, it shone out of him when he talked about her, when he dreamt about her. The only day Arthur ever saw Cobb happier than on his wedding day was when Phillipa was born. And the only day when he outshone that day was when James was born.

"And yet," Mal told him one dark night, with a storm brewing and howling outside, an angry titan cutting off all the power and drenching them in darkness. They waited for Cobb to get through traffic, sitting together on the couch with Arthur cradling a toddler Phillipa in his arms while Mal rocked James against her breast, "he can't stop looking at you, mon petit. He loves you so, so much," their thighs were touching, and Mal's voice was soft and whispered, and the lighting outside made her shine like some ethereal spirit, luminous large eyes and the mounds of her lips loose and pliable, her hair a halo of light. Arthur stared, entranced, and found himself getting caught in the same spell Cobb had been lost in for years.

Their eyes flickered to him that afternoon, a lazy sun nestling between the mountains, his hand caught high in her skirts, her hands tangled in his hair, and their smoldering eyes had locked on him and his accidental intrusion.

"Je veux un ménage à trois," she moaned, hips jerking upwards slightly, "It's time, Dom, you want him. I want him." Her voice was like peach nectar, sweet, sticky, rolling and melting on his skin, "And he wants us."

Dom's lips were parted, his eyes dark, dark pools, and though his hand was firm against Mal's hip, his eyes were only for Arthur, and his voice, hesitant, loving, strong, broke as he said, "A—Arthur… would you…?"

Arthur shook. He shook with all the feelings that he'd ever had for Cobb—the admiration, the sheer, crazy want, the exhilaration, and drank in the anxiety that pulsed in Cobb's eyes— they were nearly begging, his strong, confident Cobb, undone by the threat of Arthur's rejection. The seconds ticked by and Arthur knew. The decision had been made, from the moment that he'd met Cobb and gotten lost in his dreams, confirmed when Mal had looked at him, and seen all that lay there, laid out for them to take.

"Viens," Mal had commanded, one pale, elegant hand hanging in the air, beckoning him, and Arthur rushed forward, took it in his hands and kissed it, and then raised his head and tilted his neck to let Cobb sink his lips on it, suckle until the veins broke under the surface and Arthur had to moan and tremble to stay still. One hand dug into his scalp, another began tugging his shirt buttons loose, and his belt came undone with a snake-like slithering sound.

Oh, so many things came undone that night.

It wasn't until months later, lying in a messy tangle as Cobb got up to comfort James back to sleep, that he dared whisper, "Why? You could have had Dom all to yourself."

Mal chuckled sleepily, pressed her face into Dom's pillow and inhaled, then let her eyes slide open a fraction, looking at him as if seeing a child in need of comforting. She ran fingers through his hair, ran her toes up his calf, and let him shiver at their coldness.

"Oh Arthur," she whispered, "We've known you for years now," when that didn't seem to bring any enlightenment, she leaned forward to nudge her lips languidly against his, "I could see how Cobb needed you. I complete him, we are everything to each other. But you enrich us, mon chou. And you needed us."

She slung her arm over him, nestled her face underneath his chin, and he felt such a powerful allure and gratefulness for this woman, this temptress that encased everything a woman was – her perception, her compassion, her passion. He pressed her to him, felt her answering chuckle.

"But if you want the true reason…You love Dom," she continued, lips brushing haphazardly against his collarbone, "You love me. You love our children. You're a good man, Arthur. I know that no matter what happens, you'd never take Dom away from me. I'm safe with you."

They hadn't noticed that James's crying had stopped and Cobb had been watching from the doorway, the light from outside shining in his eyes, filled with so much love and warmth that it almost hurt to watch. His voice was rough as he climbed on the bed and made his way towards them on hands and knees, looking down at them, "You two are beautiful."

Mal was everything Arthur could not have. Arthur had always wanted a wife and a family, but all that had been stripped from the realm of possibilities after he'd met Cobb. But Mal offered all of this to Arthur—she was his wife and lover and mother of his godchildren. With Mal, Arthur could be a husband, could experience those far-off dreams that he was too principled to indulge in during sleep, and could not attain while awake. Sometimes he bought her flowers, just to see her smile and breathe their scent in. Sometimes he ran his fingers through her hair just because he could, and offered to dance with her to Edith Piaf. Sometimes he took Phillipa and James out to the park while Mal and Cobb played in their dreams, and pretended these were his children that he hugged and caught at the bottom of the slide. It was all perfect, until they went just a bit too far into that dream.

It wasn't just Cobb's world that crumbled at her suicide.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, you— it must hurt you too, but here I am—"

"Dom, it's alright, it's alright," he says insistently, murmuring it like a mantra as he tightens his hold on Cobb, and holds back his own tears, because Mal is dead, but Cobb is the one whose soul has been ripped apart, not Arthur. Arthur can rebuild himself, he can start anew, he tells himself, even though he knows deep inside that's impossible. Mal and Cobb were everything to him, "You're her husband, I was just… I was just an extra, of course you—"

Cobb gasps, shakes, shakes his head, "No, Arthur, you weren't an extra, you weren't—" but then he's crying too hard and can't finish his sentence and Arthur just holds him. He kisses the top of Cobb's head, the corner of his lips tugging downward as he grits his teeth and looks up to keep the tears from falling. He promises to never leave Cobb alone.

Cobb knows he has Arthur's undivided devotion. Just like Arthur has most of Cobb's – in his mind, Arthur knows, Mal still entraps him and beguiles him, but Arthur can't fault Cobb for that, so he takes what he can get.

"I might have killed myself if you weren't still alive," Cobb murmurs, voice rough like gravel, eyes slightly wet, stubble showing up as a faint shadow wrapped around his face in the dim lights. He looks up at Arthur, and Arthur braces himself against the bed, looking down at Cobb, but doesn't come any lower, even when Cobb pulls insistently. Cobb's shirt is gone, and Cobb's fingers are hanging on the hook of Arthur's tie, loosening it, but Arthur wraps his hand around Cobb's, gently prying his fingers loose. A bit of his heart crumbles with each finger he pries off.

"I know. That's why I'll never leave you," Arthur says, choking slightly. Cobb doesn't understand what that means to Arthur, the burden of that promise. Because—

Arthur is ashamed of himself. Because he's always been proud of doing the right thing, despite his choice of career. He's always been proud of being thorough, beating no bushes, getting the job done. But he can't bear to leave Cobb, though that would be the right decision.

"Arthur, why? I need you. Please," he begs, and Arthur hates that this is what Cobb has been reduced to. Begging, yearning, lost in the nothingness. Not only has he lost his wife, but now— It's killing Cobb to see Arthur but not be able to have him.

"I can't, Dom. I can't," he repeats it over and over, easing himself off the bed slowly, belt-buckle dragging along the comforter, eyes slightly crazed as he remembers Mal's trust but sees the pain in Cobb's eyes at his retreat, and the two halves of his heart are tearing in half, with a slow crunch that echoes in his ear like burning paper, "I can't take you away from her."

He can't stay with Dom, he can't do this to him. But he can't leave him alone either, he can't do that to himself.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Dom. But I love her too much."

Oh look, I've finally become able to write non-happy endings!