Fic: Five Lives They Never Led [5/5]
Title: Five Lives They Never Led
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Ariadne/Mal, referenced Ariadne/Cobb/Mal
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3.5k
Summary: Five different roads never taken.
Series: Artists, doctors, chefs, musicians, and camp counselors.
A/N: Sorry about the delay, but here it is: the final chapter! Also a fill for this and this prompt at inception_kink.
V. It's the time of year when things are growing wild.
"It's unnatural," Eames says. He's watching Arthur across the way as he helps Dom arrange picnic tables. Mal follow his gaze.
"What, Arthur?"
"Who the hell looks put-together in the middle of the woods?" he demands, then frowns and looks at her accusingly. "You know what, I'm asking the wrong person."
Mal laughs and pats Eames on the shoulder. "I promise I'll be as dirty and disgusting as the rest of you once the campers get here tomorrow. But you can't pretend you don't like looking at Arthur and his inexplicably spotless shirts."
"I'd like it better without the shirts."
"That goes without saying, Eames. You've not exactly made a secret of it."
"Anyone that clean is meant to get dirty," Eames answers, "and I do mean dirty."
Mal fishes in the pocket of her shorts and hands a small packet to Eames. "Filched it from the mess hall while I was helping set up," she says, "I hope red's okay with you."
"Red will do marvelously," he assures her with a grin, pocketing it. "You are an angel, my dear."
"I suspect Arthur will beg to differ," Mal replies, amused. "Use it wisely."
"Naturally. The old shower trick, you think, or should I try something new? Just for variety's sake."
"He's wise to the shower thing."
"You make a good point."
"I always do. Have you met the new counselor for the girls yet?"
"Ariadne? Yeah, she seems like she'll be good with the kids, even if she's barely taller than they are."
Mal's eyes sparkle, bright and amused. "She's cute."
"Cuter than Dom?"
"Dom isn't cute, Dom is handsome. Ariadne is cute."
"You could tell her that eating you out is part of her first-year hazing."
Mal perks up. "I could, couldn't I?"
"Whatever you two are planning over there, stop it," Arthur calls. "Nothing good ever comes of it, and camp won't get ready by itself!"
Mal beats a hasty retreat toward the girls' cabins, and Eames rolls his eyes and goes over to help Arthur and Dom.
Arthur privately loathes craft time. He's not very artistic and generally resents having do do things he can't do excellently, but mostly he just dislikes the messes that result. Messes he always seems to wind up getting stuck with cleaning. Not that he complains- he doesn't- but it gets on his nerves. The others know perfectly well that mess and disorder eat at Arthur and that all they have to do is ignore it a while to get Arthur to snap and take care of it himself. His own compulsiveness will be the death of him.
At least Eames is outside with his group today. The campers with him are tie-dying everything white they could get their hands on, and Eames will doubtless be spending the rest of the session in a variety of horrifying, brightly-colored eyesores masquerading as tee-shirts, but at least the dye won't be getting spilled in the cabin. Ariadne's group are weaving on small hand looms, Dom's are carving bits of wood, and Mal's are stringing necklaces and bracelets while Arthur's group make dreamcatchers.
"Not the most masculine choice," Ariadne ribs lightly, and Arthur raises an eyebrow.
"I'm perfectly secure in my masculinity, Ariadne, thanks for your concern," he says mildly, and returns his gaze to the latticework of thin strings resting in his lap. He knows by the shadow she casts that she's peering over at his work.
"It's pretty."
"Thanks." Arthur knots a feather carefully into place. "So, has your first-year hazing started yet?"
"Hazing?" she echoes, concerned, and Arthur's lips quirk.
"Evidently not, then," he surmises. "Watch out for the damn shower trick."
"Shower trick?" Ariadne presses, just as Eames walks back inside to fetch more supplies.
"The Kool-Aid in the showerhead trick," he answers brightly, "go on, ask Arthur about the incident with the grape."
"I hate you," Arthur informs him, and Eames blows a kiss and waltzes back out. Ariadne raises her eyes and glances around to see if anyone else has noticed the exchange.
"So married," Mal mouths at her across the room, and Ariadne smothers a giggle.
Arthur glances around to make sure the campers are suitably distracted, then flips Mal an inappropriate gesture that just makes her grin. Mal knows she's right.
"Eames!" Arthur's voice is furious, and when he stalks into view he's wearing jeans but no shirt. It would be a dead sexy look on him if he didn't also look so rabidly enraged. Eames pokes his head out of the neighboring cabin, a shit-eating grin on his face. The rest of the camp is gathering at the sound of Arthur shouting.
"Problem, Arthur?" Eames asks innocently, as if he's fooling anyone. Arthur seizes him by the front of the shirt and drags him bodily the rest of the way out of his cabin.
"My shirts," Arthur spits, "my shirts, what did you do?!"
"Oh, that?" His grin gets wider, toothy. "I didn't have any white shirts of my own for the tie-dying the other day, so I did yours. You could use some more colour in your wardrobe."
Arthur manages not to swear in front of the campers, but it's a very close-run thing. "I will drown you in the lake," he growls instead.
"Why, Arthur! You want to see me all wet? And here I thought you didn't care!"
Arthur's hand curls into a fist, but Dom grabs hold of his arm before any violence is done. "Arthur," Dom says firmly, but Arthur struggles on principle.
"My shirts," he repeats, because clearly Dom doesn't understand the gravity of this situation. "One of them is pink and yellow, Dom."
"Pink will suit you," Dom says soothingly, glossing over the fact that yellow makes Arthur look horribly sallow. No need to rub it in- Arthur can get out of his hold if he's motivated enough, after all.
"You're a terrible liar," Arthur retorts, wrenching free, but manages to refrain from lunging at Eames, at least in front of everyone. "This isn't over, Eames," he sneers, and stalks off.
Immediately, the girls begin to titter, and Dom groans.
"Now they're going to be obsessed with him the rest of the month," he hisses to Eames, "you owe me for having to put up with this."
"To be fair, that wasn't the intended result," Eames says, leering after Arthur's retreating back, "just a pleasant bonus."
"I don't know why I hire you people," Dom grumbles.
"I hate the water gun fights," Arthur confides to Ariadne. "Eames in a wet shirt. It's like the universe is laughing at me."
"And Dom hates that you use innocent camp fun for foreplay," Ariadne replies, "and I hate that I'm already speculating about what Mal has on under her tank top. No one is happy here, so shut up."
"Bikini top," Arthur says, then backpedals. "Wait a minute. You, Mal?"
"I said shut up, and how did you know that?"
"You just said."
"No, no. Bikini."
"This isn't my first summer working with Mal," he replies, and turns to fill his water gun. "Relax, I'm not your competition. Dom is."
Ariadne scowls. "Thanks for rubbing it in."
"See? Water gun fights are horrible. So of course the campers fucking love them."
Eames has loaded his Super Soaker with red Kool-Aid, but Arthur doesn't explode anywhere near as dramatically as Eames might have hoped- the shirt he's wearing is already ruined with tie-dye, after all. Arthur takes it with the calm of a man plotting horrible revenge and sics his campers on Eames in a brutal rush for vengeance, and the water gun fight devolves into a mad free-for-all. Dom looks like he has a headache. There's a lot of yelling.
It's pretty much what Arthur had expected, in short. Thank goodness tomorrow is archery; Arthur likes taking out the frustrations of being a camp counselor on the haystack targets.
Mal sometimes implies that Arthur has anger issues. Arthur implies that she needs a better hobby than providing running commentary on his life. Also, he's not sure how trustworthy the judgment of a woman whose favorite part of camp is scaring the campers into tearful insomnia with scary stories around the fire is.
Arthur likes archery. He's a superb shot, and there's something satisfying about the twanging release of tension when the bowstring snaps forward. It's not a particularly practical skill, but it's one he happens to be privately proud of.
"I wouldn't stand there if I were you," Arthur advises the figure in his peripheral vision, his gaze still fixed on the target in front of him. "My aim is good, but the same can't be said of most of the campers."
Eames chuckles, and Arthur's arrow strikes the bull's-eye. "I thought you and your lot were going on a trail ride," he adds.
"We got back a little early," Eames answers easily, and Arthur lowers his bow and glances along the line of his campers in front of the targets. Judging them under control for the time being, he turns to Eames.
"So you decided that hanging around me when I'm armed was a wise choice?" he inquires mildly, and Eames' grin widens.
"We have strategy to discuss, Arthur. Cobb's putting us together for capture the flag this year."
"He is?" Arthur asks, startled. "But we're always on opposite teams."
"Maybe Cobb got sick of you using capture the flag as a thinly-veiled excuse to cause me grievous bodily harm. Or maybe Yusuf did, he's the one who has to patch everyone up."
"He does get twitchy about the whole business," Arthur agrees, and lets Eames lift the bow from his hands to examine it. "So did you have any thoughts?"
"I think it's just as well that you didn't get paired up with Mal, I'm pretty sure she'd just seduce the flag location out of Ariadne. As far as strategy, I have some tricks up my sleeve."
Arthur eyes him suspiciously. "They involve rope traps, don't they." It isn't really a question, even though it's phrased like one.
"I have no idea what makes you assume that," Eames replies airily, plucking an arrow from Arthur to notch to the bow.
"I've been burned before, Mr. Eames," Arthur says, deadpan, but his expression is almost amused. "Your stance is atrocious, by the way. If you're going to hold the bow, hold the bow. Elbow up."
"Yes, sir," he retorts sarcastically, and straightens.
The arrow hits right beside Arthur's.
"Eames!" Mal shrieks, "Putain, let me down!"
There is a sound of crunching leaves, and Arthur appears with a cluster of giggling campers in tow. All wear blue shirts and evil smiles, and Mal struggles fruitlessly in the ropes that have caught her in a large tree.
"Mal, Mal," he says, clicking his tongue, "trying to sneak into enemy territory when the rest of us are working on compass skills like we're supposed to? For shame."
"Arthur," Mal says, "I can't feel my leg. Let me down, please?"
He smiles pleasantly at her. "You used to help Eames make these traps," he replies, "surely you can get down on your own."
Mal swears loudly and very creatively, but has the consideration to do it in French so that the campers can't understand her. Eames, explaining to the Fisher kid how compasses work, grins at Arthur as he passes by.
Capture the flag is the crowning experience of summer camp, a week-long war of subterfuge between the two teams. The usual activities go on as always, save that they are interspersed with time for the two sides to hunt for the other team's hidden flag and defend their own; this doesn't stop anyone from trying to stealthily search when they're supposed to be doing something else, except maybe for Cobb.
Cobb has long since stopped trying to keep anybody else in line, though.
"Might want to go untie your teammate," Eames says casually to Ariadne later, when everyone is making their way back to the mess hall for lunch.
Cobb sighs heavily. "Go make sure she doesn't die in a rope trap," he says, resigned. "I'll save you a sandwich."
Ariadne leaves at a quick jog, and Eames shoots Arthur a grin as he shepherds her campers inside along with his own.
Mal hadn't even been close.
"Somehow, I get the idea this didn't go quite how you planned," Ariadne remarks, and starts climbing up the tree to reach Mal.
"You could say that," Mal admits, twisting in the ropes to look at Ariadne. "Think you can get me out of here?"
"Oh, sure," Ariadne agrees, "but you'll have to give me a good reason."
"...Excuse me?"
"The others are watching my campers, and here I am alone with a gorgeous woman tied up. Would you let you down?"
"Yes," Mal replies me, "I'm a much better lay when my hands are free." She meets the younger woman's gaze, unblinking, and then Ariadne grins and starts untying knots.
"Their flag must be around here somewhere," Ariadne muses as she works on setting Mal loose. "They wouldn't have bothered setting traps if you weren't getting close."
"We can look around for more traps later," Mal answers, grabbing hold of a tree branch to take her weight while Ariadne undoes the rest of the ropes. Once the last knot is untied, Mal settles herself on the same sturdy branch as Ariadne, watching her with a wicked sparkle in her eyes. "Right now I can think of some better things to do with this time."
Ariadne raises her eyebrows, expression both coy and challenging. "Do you need to climb down, or will here do?"
Mal leans forward and presses herself full against Ariadne, one hand braced on the trunk of the tree and the other snaking up under the hem of Ariadne's shirt. She smells of sunscreen and dirt and the faint tang of sweat, and her breasts are heavy and warm against Ariadne.
"Not if you don't," she purrs, and kisses her.
Eames wakes to a hand over his mouth, but he struggles only briefly before he realizes who it is that has crept into his cabin. Wordlessly, he pulls on the jeans he had been wearing earlier and then follows Arthur out into the darkness.
"Creepy way to wake a bloke," Eames says, once there's no risk of waking anyone with the sound of their voices. Arthur flashes him a brief, dimpled smile.
"Mal and Ariadne think they know where our flag is."
"The traps?"
Arthur nods. "Three others have been undone, they're pretty sure it's over there."
"So you're saying my plan was, in fact, brilliant."
Arthur looks amused. "I am, grudgingly, impressed."
"Much as I appreciate it, darling, did you really need to wake me up at three in the morning to tell me that?"
"Don't be absurd, Eames. I wouldn't wake you for something unimportant."
There is a pause.
"Arthur," Eames says slowly, "would you care to enlighten me as to why we're walking toward the lake?"
"Fancied a swim."
"In my company?"
Arthur quirks a brow. "I may, also, have found where the red team hid their flag."
"That's much more like the Arthur I know."
They reach the lake, and Arthur toes off his shoes. "I wasn't kidding about the swim, though."
"I'm not wearing my trunks."
"Neither am I," Arthur replies, and starts stripping of his clothes. "Not like anyone's here to see us."
Eames can't quite help but stare as Arthur, naked, sets his clothes in a pile on the edge of the dock and slides into the still lake water. His skin is marble-pale in the moonlight, and Eames can't quite help but stare after him.
"I'll pull you in with your clothes on if you don't hurry up," Arthur calls, and it's not that Eames doesn't want to follow, it's just that there's no way to avoid Arthur noticing the hard-on he's given Eames if he strips down. Fuck.
"You don't need me for this," Eames hedges, and Arthur rolls his eyes and levers himself up out of the water to grab Eames by the ankle.
"Never would have pegged you for a prude," Arthur says, and Eames lets out a laugh that's really just a huff of air.
"Fine. You're the one who wanted this, remember," Eames retorts, and drops his jeans to his ankles. His erection is obvious, tenting his boxers, but Arthur doesn't seem upset or embarrassed or even surprised as Eames slips those off, too, leaving him bare and aroused in the cool light of the waxing moon.
"Oh, Eames," Arthur murmurs, almost exasperated, "get in the water." He backs up a little to make room, and it's cold when Eames jumps in, but not quite cold enough to convince his body to ignore Arthur.
"Pigtail pulling," Arthur says, "really? The pranks, is that what that was?"
"You didn't know?"
"Tie-dying my shirts isn't exactly a way to get on my good side," Arthur says dryly, and Eames has to admit it's a fair point.
"Sorry."
"Not a bad strategy if you want to get me never to wear them, though, I'll admit," he adds, almost an afterthought, and then dives beneath the glassy surface of the lake.
Eames swears softly under his breath and follows.
Arthur reappears, shaking his waterlogged hair out of his eyes, near the old dock that they didn't use anymore- it was rickety and dangerous, and the new one was better designed, anyway.
"Look at this," Arthur says, and tugs a fine net up out of the water. It strains when he does it, obviously anchored somewhere, and both of them know perfectly well that the old dock has never been netted off before.
Eames whistles. "Clever," he says. "How the hell did you find it?"
"Complete accident," Arthur admits. "Some of the younger campers were daring each other during afternoon swim the other day to come out here and dive off it, and Cobb asked me to handle them."
"And you found the net."
"Exactly."
"Someone must have forgotten to count on adventurous sprogs," Eames says with a chuckle. "Probably Ariadne, she's new. Let's untie that net, shall we?"
Arthur smiles at him and moves closer, treading water as near as he can to stretch forward and press a brief kiss to Eames' lips. "Let's."
The red flag, as Arthur had predicted, is hidden under the dock, and they tow it back to the shore. Eames lifts it from Arthur's hands and sets it aside, then presses him down on the soft, wet earth.
"I'm going to molest you now, if that's all right," he murmurs, and in answer Arthur pulls him down and kisses him properly, deep and wet and eager.
"I'll take that as a yes," Eames says against his lips, husky, and Arthur chuckles and arches his hips, his cock hard now against Eames.
"Yes," Arthur says, "please."
Eames groans low in his throat and thrusts back, rutting against the younger man like they're teenagers, but fuck it feels good, Arthur squirming and breathless under him, silt streaked on his skin from the banks of the lake and Eames' hands. Dirty, exactly how Eames has wanted him for some long, and Arthur makes the most delicious whimpering noises when Eames wraps his hand around both of them.
"Eames," he moans, "Eames, I'm-"
"Me too," Eames whispers, "fuck, darling, come on..."
Eames comes first despite himself, spilling all over Arthur's belly, but it only takes a few more pumps of his fist before Arthur is right there with him, arching helplessly as he spurts over Eames' hand.
They lie silent, catching their breaths, before Arthur finally murmurs something about washing up and gets back into the water. Eames joins him, and then they dress and walk back to the cabins without a word until they part.
"Goodnight."
"Sure you don't want another round?"
A smile. "I'll see you tomorrow. Go to sleep, Mr. Eames."
Arthur kisses him goodnight.
The camp wakes the next day to see a red flag planted proudly in front of Eames' cabin, and Arthur wearing a godawful yellow and pink tie-dyed shirt. Mal sulks for the majority of the morning, never one to take defeat easily, but the significance of the shirt isn't lost on her, and by the time lunch is over she is smiling at them both.
"About time," she tells them, "now you two can help me with Dom."
"Dom, huh?" Eames murmurs skeptically. "Not Ariadne?"
Mal smiles like a cat with a canary. "I misspoke. You can help us."
Arthur sighs, long-suffering expression firmly in place, but he sounds fond when he replies, "We'll see what happens next summer."
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Ariadne/Mal, referenced Ariadne/Cobb/Mal
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3.5k
Summary: Five different roads never taken.
Series: Artists, doctors, chefs, musicians, and camp counselors.
A/N: Sorry about the delay, but here it is: the final chapter! Also a fill for this and this prompt at inception_kink.
V. It's the time of year when things are growing wild.
"It's unnatural," Eames says. He's watching Arthur across the way as he helps Dom arrange picnic tables. Mal follow his gaze.
"What, Arthur?"
"Who the hell looks put-together in the middle of the woods?" he demands, then frowns and looks at her accusingly. "You know what, I'm asking the wrong person."
Mal laughs and pats Eames on the shoulder. "I promise I'll be as dirty and disgusting as the rest of you once the campers get here tomorrow. But you can't pretend you don't like looking at Arthur and his inexplicably spotless shirts."
"I'd like it better without the shirts."
"That goes without saying, Eames. You've not exactly made a secret of it."
"Anyone that clean is meant to get dirty," Eames answers, "and I do mean dirty."
Mal fishes in the pocket of her shorts and hands a small packet to Eames. "Filched it from the mess hall while I was helping set up," she says, "I hope red's okay with you."
"Red will do marvelously," he assures her with a grin, pocketing it. "You are an angel, my dear."
"I suspect Arthur will beg to differ," Mal replies, amused. "Use it wisely."
"Naturally. The old shower trick, you think, or should I try something new? Just for variety's sake."
"He's wise to the shower thing."
"You make a good point."
"I always do. Have you met the new counselor for the girls yet?"
"Ariadne? Yeah, she seems like she'll be good with the kids, even if she's barely taller than they are."
Mal's eyes sparkle, bright and amused. "She's cute."
"Cuter than Dom?"
"Dom isn't cute, Dom is handsome. Ariadne is cute."
"You could tell her that eating you out is part of her first-year hazing."
Mal perks up. "I could, couldn't I?"
"Whatever you two are planning over there, stop it," Arthur calls. "Nothing good ever comes of it, and camp won't get ready by itself!"
Mal beats a hasty retreat toward the girls' cabins, and Eames rolls his eyes and goes over to help Arthur and Dom.
Arthur privately loathes craft time. He's not very artistic and generally resents having do do things he can't do excellently, but mostly he just dislikes the messes that result. Messes he always seems to wind up getting stuck with cleaning. Not that he complains- he doesn't- but it gets on his nerves. The others know perfectly well that mess and disorder eat at Arthur and that all they have to do is ignore it a while to get Arthur to snap and take care of it himself. His own compulsiveness will be the death of him.
At least Eames is outside with his group today. The campers with him are tie-dying everything white they could get their hands on, and Eames will doubtless be spending the rest of the session in a variety of horrifying, brightly-colored eyesores masquerading as tee-shirts, but at least the dye won't be getting spilled in the cabin. Ariadne's group are weaving on small hand looms, Dom's are carving bits of wood, and Mal's are stringing necklaces and bracelets while Arthur's group make dreamcatchers.
"Not the most masculine choice," Ariadne ribs lightly, and Arthur raises an eyebrow.
"I'm perfectly secure in my masculinity, Ariadne, thanks for your concern," he says mildly, and returns his gaze to the latticework of thin strings resting in his lap. He knows by the shadow she casts that she's peering over at his work.
"It's pretty."
"Thanks." Arthur knots a feather carefully into place. "So, has your first-year hazing started yet?"
"Hazing?" she echoes, concerned, and Arthur's lips quirk.
"Evidently not, then," he surmises. "Watch out for the damn shower trick."
"Shower trick?" Ariadne presses, just as Eames walks back inside to fetch more supplies.
"The Kool-Aid in the showerhead trick," he answers brightly, "go on, ask Arthur about the incident with the grape."
"I hate you," Arthur informs him, and Eames blows a kiss and waltzes back out. Ariadne raises her eyes and glances around to see if anyone else has noticed the exchange.
"So married," Mal mouths at her across the room, and Ariadne smothers a giggle.
Arthur glances around to make sure the campers are suitably distracted, then flips Mal an inappropriate gesture that just makes her grin. Mal knows she's right.
"Eames!" Arthur's voice is furious, and when he stalks into view he's wearing jeans but no shirt. It would be a dead sexy look on him if he didn't also look so rabidly enraged. Eames pokes his head out of the neighboring cabin, a shit-eating grin on his face. The rest of the camp is gathering at the sound of Arthur shouting.
"Problem, Arthur?" Eames asks innocently, as if he's fooling anyone. Arthur seizes him by the front of the shirt and drags him bodily the rest of the way out of his cabin.
"My shirts," Arthur spits, "my shirts, what did you do?!"
"Oh, that?" His grin gets wider, toothy. "I didn't have any white shirts of my own for the tie-dying the other day, so I did yours. You could use some more colour in your wardrobe."
Arthur manages not to swear in front of the campers, but it's a very close-run thing. "I will drown you in the lake," he growls instead.
"Why, Arthur! You want to see me all wet? And here I thought you didn't care!"
Arthur's hand curls into a fist, but Dom grabs hold of his arm before any violence is done. "Arthur," Dom says firmly, but Arthur struggles on principle.
"My shirts," he repeats, because clearly Dom doesn't understand the gravity of this situation. "One of them is pink and yellow, Dom."
"Pink will suit you," Dom says soothingly, glossing over the fact that yellow makes Arthur look horribly sallow. No need to rub it in- Arthur can get out of his hold if he's motivated enough, after all.
"You're a terrible liar," Arthur retorts, wrenching free, but manages to refrain from lunging at Eames, at least in front of everyone. "This isn't over, Eames," he sneers, and stalks off.
Immediately, the girls begin to titter, and Dom groans.
"Now they're going to be obsessed with him the rest of the month," he hisses to Eames, "you owe me for having to put up with this."
"To be fair, that wasn't the intended result," Eames says, leering after Arthur's retreating back, "just a pleasant bonus."
"I don't know why I hire you people," Dom grumbles.
"I hate the water gun fights," Arthur confides to Ariadne. "Eames in a wet shirt. It's like the universe is laughing at me."
"And Dom hates that you use innocent camp fun for foreplay," Ariadne replies, "and I hate that I'm already speculating about what Mal has on under her tank top. No one is happy here, so shut up."
"Bikini top," Arthur says, then backpedals. "Wait a minute. You, Mal?"
"I said shut up, and how did you know that?"
"You just said."
"No, no. Bikini."
"This isn't my first summer working with Mal," he replies, and turns to fill his water gun. "Relax, I'm not your competition. Dom is."
Ariadne scowls. "Thanks for rubbing it in."
"See? Water gun fights are horrible. So of course the campers fucking love them."
Eames has loaded his Super Soaker with red Kool-Aid, but Arthur doesn't explode anywhere near as dramatically as Eames might have hoped- the shirt he's wearing is already ruined with tie-dye, after all. Arthur takes it with the calm of a man plotting horrible revenge and sics his campers on Eames in a brutal rush for vengeance, and the water gun fight devolves into a mad free-for-all. Dom looks like he has a headache. There's a lot of yelling.
It's pretty much what Arthur had expected, in short. Thank goodness tomorrow is archery; Arthur likes taking out the frustrations of being a camp counselor on the haystack targets.
Mal sometimes implies that Arthur has anger issues. Arthur implies that she needs a better hobby than providing running commentary on his life. Also, he's not sure how trustworthy the judgment of a woman whose favorite part of camp is scaring the campers into tearful insomnia with scary stories around the fire is.
Arthur likes archery. He's a superb shot, and there's something satisfying about the twanging release of tension when the bowstring snaps forward. It's not a particularly practical skill, but it's one he happens to be privately proud of.
"I wouldn't stand there if I were you," Arthur advises the figure in his peripheral vision, his gaze still fixed on the target in front of him. "My aim is good, but the same can't be said of most of the campers."
Eames chuckles, and Arthur's arrow strikes the bull's-eye. "I thought you and your lot were going on a trail ride," he adds.
"We got back a little early," Eames answers easily, and Arthur lowers his bow and glances along the line of his campers in front of the targets. Judging them under control for the time being, he turns to Eames.
"So you decided that hanging around me when I'm armed was a wise choice?" he inquires mildly, and Eames' grin widens.
"We have strategy to discuss, Arthur. Cobb's putting us together for capture the flag this year."
"He is?" Arthur asks, startled. "But we're always on opposite teams."
"Maybe Cobb got sick of you using capture the flag as a thinly-veiled excuse to cause me grievous bodily harm. Or maybe Yusuf did, he's the one who has to patch everyone up."
"He does get twitchy about the whole business," Arthur agrees, and lets Eames lift the bow from his hands to examine it. "So did you have any thoughts?"
"I think it's just as well that you didn't get paired up with Mal, I'm pretty sure she'd just seduce the flag location out of Ariadne. As far as strategy, I have some tricks up my sleeve."
Arthur eyes him suspiciously. "They involve rope traps, don't they." It isn't really a question, even though it's phrased like one.
"I have no idea what makes you assume that," Eames replies airily, plucking an arrow from Arthur to notch to the bow.
"I've been burned before, Mr. Eames," Arthur says, deadpan, but his expression is almost amused. "Your stance is atrocious, by the way. If you're going to hold the bow, hold the bow. Elbow up."
"Yes, sir," he retorts sarcastically, and straightens.
The arrow hits right beside Arthur's.
"Eames!" Mal shrieks, "Putain, let me down!"
There is a sound of crunching leaves, and Arthur appears with a cluster of giggling campers in tow. All wear blue shirts and evil smiles, and Mal struggles fruitlessly in the ropes that have caught her in a large tree.
"Mal, Mal," he says, clicking his tongue, "trying to sneak into enemy territory when the rest of us are working on compass skills like we're supposed to? For shame."
"Arthur," Mal says, "I can't feel my leg. Let me down, please?"
He smiles pleasantly at her. "You used to help Eames make these traps," he replies, "surely you can get down on your own."
Mal swears loudly and very creatively, but has the consideration to do it in French so that the campers can't understand her. Eames, explaining to the Fisher kid how compasses work, grins at Arthur as he passes by.
Capture the flag is the crowning experience of summer camp, a week-long war of subterfuge between the two teams. The usual activities go on as always, save that they are interspersed with time for the two sides to hunt for the other team's hidden flag and defend their own; this doesn't stop anyone from trying to stealthily search when they're supposed to be doing something else, except maybe for Cobb.
Cobb has long since stopped trying to keep anybody else in line, though.
"Might want to go untie your teammate," Eames says casually to Ariadne later, when everyone is making their way back to the mess hall for lunch.
Cobb sighs heavily. "Go make sure she doesn't die in a rope trap," he says, resigned. "I'll save you a sandwich."
Ariadne leaves at a quick jog, and Eames shoots Arthur a grin as he shepherds her campers inside along with his own.
Mal hadn't even been close.
"Somehow, I get the idea this didn't go quite how you planned," Ariadne remarks, and starts climbing up the tree to reach Mal.
"You could say that," Mal admits, twisting in the ropes to look at Ariadne. "Think you can get me out of here?"
"Oh, sure," Ariadne agrees, "but you'll have to give me a good reason."
"...Excuse me?"
"The others are watching my campers, and here I am alone with a gorgeous woman tied up. Would you let you down?"
"Yes," Mal replies me, "I'm a much better lay when my hands are free." She meets the younger woman's gaze, unblinking, and then Ariadne grins and starts untying knots.
"Their flag must be around here somewhere," Ariadne muses as she works on setting Mal loose. "They wouldn't have bothered setting traps if you weren't getting close."
"We can look around for more traps later," Mal answers, grabbing hold of a tree branch to take her weight while Ariadne undoes the rest of the ropes. Once the last knot is untied, Mal settles herself on the same sturdy branch as Ariadne, watching her with a wicked sparkle in her eyes. "Right now I can think of some better things to do with this time."
Ariadne raises her eyebrows, expression both coy and challenging. "Do you need to climb down, or will here do?"
Mal leans forward and presses herself full against Ariadne, one hand braced on the trunk of the tree and the other snaking up under the hem of Ariadne's shirt. She smells of sunscreen and dirt and the faint tang of sweat, and her breasts are heavy and warm against Ariadne.
"Not if you don't," she purrs, and kisses her.
Eames wakes to a hand over his mouth, but he struggles only briefly before he realizes who it is that has crept into his cabin. Wordlessly, he pulls on the jeans he had been wearing earlier and then follows Arthur out into the darkness.
"Creepy way to wake a bloke," Eames says, once there's no risk of waking anyone with the sound of their voices. Arthur flashes him a brief, dimpled smile.
"Mal and Ariadne think they know where our flag is."
"The traps?"
Arthur nods. "Three others have been undone, they're pretty sure it's over there."
"So you're saying my plan was, in fact, brilliant."
Arthur looks amused. "I am, grudgingly, impressed."
"Much as I appreciate it, darling, did you really need to wake me up at three in the morning to tell me that?"
"Don't be absurd, Eames. I wouldn't wake you for something unimportant."
There is a pause.
"Arthur," Eames says slowly, "would you care to enlighten me as to why we're walking toward the lake?"
"Fancied a swim."
"In my company?"
Arthur quirks a brow. "I may, also, have found where the red team hid their flag."
"That's much more like the Arthur I know."
They reach the lake, and Arthur toes off his shoes. "I wasn't kidding about the swim, though."
"I'm not wearing my trunks."
"Neither am I," Arthur replies, and starts stripping of his clothes. "Not like anyone's here to see us."
Eames can't quite help but stare as Arthur, naked, sets his clothes in a pile on the edge of the dock and slides into the still lake water. His skin is marble-pale in the moonlight, and Eames can't quite help but stare after him.
"I'll pull you in with your clothes on if you don't hurry up," Arthur calls, and it's not that Eames doesn't want to follow, it's just that there's no way to avoid Arthur noticing the hard-on he's given Eames if he strips down. Fuck.
"You don't need me for this," Eames hedges, and Arthur rolls his eyes and levers himself up out of the water to grab Eames by the ankle.
"Never would have pegged you for a prude," Arthur says, and Eames lets out a laugh that's really just a huff of air.
"Fine. You're the one who wanted this, remember," Eames retorts, and drops his jeans to his ankles. His erection is obvious, tenting his boxers, but Arthur doesn't seem upset or embarrassed or even surprised as Eames slips those off, too, leaving him bare and aroused in the cool light of the waxing moon.
"Oh, Eames," Arthur murmurs, almost exasperated, "get in the water." He backs up a little to make room, and it's cold when Eames jumps in, but not quite cold enough to convince his body to ignore Arthur.
"Pigtail pulling," Arthur says, "really? The pranks, is that what that was?"
"You didn't know?"
"Tie-dying my shirts isn't exactly a way to get on my good side," Arthur says dryly, and Eames has to admit it's a fair point.
"Sorry."
"Not a bad strategy if you want to get me never to wear them, though, I'll admit," he adds, almost an afterthought, and then dives beneath the glassy surface of the lake.
Eames swears softly under his breath and follows.
Arthur reappears, shaking his waterlogged hair out of his eyes, near the old dock that they didn't use anymore- it was rickety and dangerous, and the new one was better designed, anyway.
"Look at this," Arthur says, and tugs a fine net up out of the water. It strains when he does it, obviously anchored somewhere, and both of them know perfectly well that the old dock has never been netted off before.
Eames whistles. "Clever," he says. "How the hell did you find it?"
"Complete accident," Arthur admits. "Some of the younger campers were daring each other during afternoon swim the other day to come out here and dive off it, and Cobb asked me to handle them."
"And you found the net."
"Exactly."
"Someone must have forgotten to count on adventurous sprogs," Eames says with a chuckle. "Probably Ariadne, she's new. Let's untie that net, shall we?"
Arthur smiles at him and moves closer, treading water as near as he can to stretch forward and press a brief kiss to Eames' lips. "Let's."
The red flag, as Arthur had predicted, is hidden under the dock, and they tow it back to the shore. Eames lifts it from Arthur's hands and sets it aside, then presses him down on the soft, wet earth.
"I'm going to molest you now, if that's all right," he murmurs, and in answer Arthur pulls him down and kisses him properly, deep and wet and eager.
"I'll take that as a yes," Eames says against his lips, husky, and Arthur chuckles and arches his hips, his cock hard now against Eames.
"Yes," Arthur says, "please."
Eames groans low in his throat and thrusts back, rutting against the younger man like they're teenagers, but fuck it feels good, Arthur squirming and breathless under him, silt streaked on his skin from the banks of the lake and Eames' hands. Dirty, exactly how Eames has wanted him for some long, and Arthur makes the most delicious whimpering noises when Eames wraps his hand around both of them.
"Eames," he moans, "Eames, I'm-"
"Me too," Eames whispers, "fuck, darling, come on..."
Eames comes first despite himself, spilling all over Arthur's belly, but it only takes a few more pumps of his fist before Arthur is right there with him, arching helplessly as he spurts over Eames' hand.
They lie silent, catching their breaths, before Arthur finally murmurs something about washing up and gets back into the water. Eames joins him, and then they dress and walk back to the cabins without a word until they part.
"Goodnight."
"Sure you don't want another round?"
A smile. "I'll see you tomorrow. Go to sleep, Mr. Eames."
Arthur kisses him goodnight.
The camp wakes the next day to see a red flag planted proudly in front of Eames' cabin, and Arthur wearing a godawful yellow and pink tie-dyed shirt. Mal sulks for the majority of the morning, never one to take defeat easily, but the significance of the shirt isn't lost on her, and by the time lunch is over she is smiling at them both.
"About time," she tells them, "now you two can help me with Dom."
"Dom, huh?" Eames murmurs skeptically. "Not Ariadne?"
Mal smiles like a cat with a canary. "I misspoke. You can help us."
Arthur sighs, long-suffering expression firmly in place, but he sounds fond when he replies, "We'll see what happens next summer."