[Fic + Art] eames on food - 3/3
Title: eames on food
Author: duckgirlie
Artist: uncafe
Team: ROMANCE
Prompt: taste
Summary; Arthur is a massive food network fan, and Eames is their newest superstar. Inspired by this prompt on inception_kink
Word count: ~3100 words
Rating: PG-13
Notes: So I am very sorry that there is no porn. But there is more sexy and adorable art from uncafe, so...
one | two
When he woke up, Arthur stretched out across his bed and frowned slightly when his arm met empty sheets. Which was stupid, he knew - incredibly hot tv stars were unlikely enough to follow you home, let alone still be there in the morning - but his stomach still clenched.
Until he heard a clattering from his kitchen, followed by a low whistle.
Eames popped his head through the door. “You know, for someone who loves food, you've fuck-all of it.”
Arthur pulled a shirt on and followed him into the kitchen.
“I don't have much time. I get a lot of take out.”
“That you do. Your fridge is overflowing with the stuff. The only things you have to eat that aren't pre-cooked are a rather lonely bunch of spring onions, some eggs, five kinds of cheese - none of which is enough for a sandwich on its own - the tiniest bit of butter I've ever seen, what appears to be about a small glass of milk, and a gigantic bag of flour. Who the hell has four pounds of flour before they have bread?”
Arthur blushed and pulled himself up to sit on the counter.
“Ariadne got a little excited watching Ace of Cakes a few weeks ago, and her oven's terrible.”
“What did you bake?”
“We didn't. Carrying the flour here kind of wore her out, so we ordered in.”
“Of course you did.”
Eames pulled open one of the cupboards and started pulling stuff out. “Do you mind?”
“God no. Do whatever you want.”
Eames smiled happily and pulled the entire raw contents of Arthur's kitchen out onto the countertop. He tossed Arthur a couple of blocks of cheese.
“Make yourself useful and grate that, okay?”
Arthur found his cheese grater - which he did apparently own - and a plate and started carefully grating the cheese as Eames busied himself mixing various things at the stove.
“Do you miss it?”
Arthur looked up. “Hmm?”
“Cooking. I mean, you couldn't get me to stop. Even if they stopped paying me for it.”
“I guess. I used to cook a lot when I was little. My big sister didn't want to learn, so my mom taught me instead. I kind of stopped when I got to college - can't cook much in a dorm, not if you don't want to risk getting kicked out, anyway - and I never really picked it up again. There's just a lot of food around the place. So these days, the closest I get is watching food network.”
“What's the first thing she taught you to make?”
Arthur smiled as he grated the last of the cheese. “Latkes. I was five, so she didn't let me do much, the first time - I wasn't allowed to grate anything, and I obviously wasn't allowed to go near the oil - but she let me squish the grated potato into shape before she cooked them, and let me stand on a little step ladder so I could see them cooking without being near enough to get hurt.”
Eames took the cheese off him and tipped it into the pot. “How did they taste?”
“Amazing. I ate so many of them I was nearly sick before we lit the candle. And my grandmother said they were the best she'd ever had, and Rebecca pouted all night and said that everyone was just saying that to make me feel better.”
“God, sisters are horrible, aren't they?”
“Always.”
Eames leaned back against the counter and started furiously whisking something. “When was the last time you made them?”
Arthur fiddled with the hem of his shirt for a moment, thinking. “It's been... I don't know. I don't always make it home, and my mom... her arthritis kind of stops her cooking much, so it's usually my sister who does the cooking with her kids, so...”
He trailed off, watching Eames mix various things together in a bowl before sliding whatever it was into the oven.
“What about you?”
“First thing I learned to cook? Probably porridge - oatmeal - in the microwave, if that counts? Probably not. Scrambled eggs, probably. My mum would set me up by the stove and just let me stir very very carefully, until they were barely coagulated, because she liked them practically gooey, but couldn't be bothered with all the stirring herself. And fairy cakes, which are like cupcakes, but way, way better, because they have jam on them. And then jam, when I was eleven. That's how I got this scar.”
He held up his hand to show Arthur a faded pattern of circular scars on the side of his left hand.
“Some of the sugar escaped from the pot when I was looking the wrong way.”
“What kind of jam?”
Eames grinned widely. “Raspberry.”
“So it was worth it, then?”
“It's always worth a small scar for homemade jam.”
“I've never made jam at home.”
“Jam is one of the easiest things in the world - minor scarring notwithstanding - it just takes a little paying-attention-to. All you have to remember is -”
A timer binged and Eames leaned down to pull open the over. Arthur stared.
“You made souffles? In my kitchen? With my ingredients?”
Eames carefully wrapped the bottom of the ramekin in a dishtowel and handed it to Arthur. “Your ingredients didn't give me much choice, did they? It was these, or omelettes. And omelettes aren't impressive at all.”
Arthur took a spoonful and closed his eyes as the creamy cheese and hint of tangy spring onions washed across his tongue.
“This is amazing.”
Eames shrugged, blushing very slightly, and ate his own souffle. Arthur had barely finished his, still scraping the last traces out of the bottom of the dish when it was taken off him as Eames moved to stand between his knees.
“Hi.”
Arthur blushed again. “Hi.”
Eames trailed his hands up Arthur's legs to rest just at the edge of his boxers, his fingers playing gently with the hems.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Eames laughed gently. “I think that's allowed, yes.”
“What did Ariadne really say to you about me at the signing?”
He grinned. “She said that you were her friend Arthur, and that you had a massive crush on me, and -”
Arthur thumped his head against Eames' shoulder and groaned. “I'm going to have to kill her.”
Eames pulled Arthur's face around and kissed him. “Leave her be. I was probably going to write my number in your book anyway.”
Arthur stiffened slightly. “Do you... do that a lot?”
“Define 'a lot'?”
“More often then not?”
Eames paused to consider. “I'd say slightly less often. It's not usually worth the hassle, but sometimes...”
He leaned in for another kiss, but Arthur pulled back.
“I have to go to work.”
He slid off the counter, squeezed past Eames, and went back to the bedroom. He was staring into his wardrobe when he heard the floorboards behind him creak.
“Arthur? Is something...”
Arthur turned slightly, but didn't meet his eyes. “I... I have to shower. For work. I have to go to work. You can let yourself out, yeah?”
Eames looked at him for a second, before shaking his head and turning around.
The front door closed behind him with a solid thunk, and Arthur gave himself thirty seconds to sit on his bed and stare blankly at the wall before he pulled himself to his feet and got into the shower.
*****
That night, Ariadne showed up with two bottles of wine.
“You have to tell me everything.”
“No. I don't. Do we really have to watch this?”
“Yes. You're not depriving me of my food network fix just because you had a bad date with the guy.”
“Fine. But no talking. And give me that wine.”
On screen, Eames was wearing a gigantic puffy jacket and standing in a field.
“So, we started with dessert before we moved on to mains, and now we're doing the farm after we've already done the butcher. But bear with me, yeah? This place is fantastic.”
Arthur estimated that a good 80% of the following hour was just Eames cavorting around the farm with various children and animals. Sure, there were discussions about ethical farming and what it truly means to be organic, but after watching Eames do an entire segment talking to camera with a happy chicken under each arm, the next time (the fourth time) Eames got to his knees next to a baby animal and gave it what can only be described as a snuggle, Arthur's general annoyance must have made itself known, because Ariadne muted the tv and glared at him.
“What the fuck happened?”
“No talking.”
“Yeah. No. Talk.”
Arthur sighed and knocked back most of the rest of his wine. “It's nothing, Ari, okay? Just a... miscommunication.”
“A miscommunication? Like what? Was it some kind of creepy trawling-for-threesomes thing and he brought his boyfriend along? Or like, some fucked up way-past-safe-words BDSM stuff? Or -”
“What the fuck? No, nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
She set her glass down and started insistently poking him in the side.
“Stop it.”
She kept poking him until he tried to wriggle free.
“Fine, fine. Just stop that.”
Ariadne pulled her hands back and smiled happily.
“It was just... I was right about him doing that a lot. Giving out his number at signings. I just felt...”
He trailed off, and looked over at her. She had both her eyebrows raised.
“So... You're upset because the hot tv star who picked you up at a booksigning... Is the kind of person who sometimes picks up guys at booksignings?”
“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”
“Just when I say it like that?”
“No. I know it's stupid, all right. It's just... he took me to his friend's restaurant, and he told me all about Kenya, and his friend, and he fed me in a not-creepy way, and then he made breakfast in my tiny, terrible kitchen with no proper food and just... It felt special, for a little while. But if it's just something he does, with everyone, then... It kind of ruins it. Oh god. I sound like someone off Gossip Girl.”
Ariadne looked at him for a moment, and smiled sadly.
“You're allowed to want to feel special, you know.”
“It doesn't really seem that way.”
hitting up nolita tonight one of my favourite plaves in NYC
posted by chefeames at 8.15pm
“Ariadne, what are we doing here? There's no way you can afford to eat here, even if we could get a table.”
“Ssh!” Ariadne balanced carefully on her bike to try and see in the windows. “Dammit.”
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing. I just thought I saw some guy I knew. Lets get pizza.”
bull and bear tonight i think
posted by chefeames at 7.56pm
No. I'm not getting a tube to midtown just so we can be turned down at a restaurant.
Pleeeeease
I'm going to start revoking your food network privileges if this is what it does to you.
You're not my friend any more
not sure yet hitting up chinatown and recs?
posted by chefeames at 8.32pm
Arthur pulled his plate towards himself and looked at Ariadne across the table.
“You want to tell me why we looked into pretty much every place in Chinatown before you finally settled on where you want to eat?”
“No particular reason.”
Arthur sighed. “You know, I read his twitter too.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“So it's just a coincidence that every time he tweets where he's eating you try and drag me to somewhere ridiculously out-of-the-way or expensive that just happens to be where he's supposed to be?”
She sighed. “I just think if maybe you explain -“
“Explain what? 'I'm sorry I kind of implied you were a massive slut - which was very hypocritical of me, by the way, considering - but I'm sorry and hope you might want to go out with me again?'”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“That's not the way it works, Ari. You barely get one chance with amazingly attractive and successful people, and even if that chance was just to be remembered fondly, I blew it. So can we just stop all this?”
She looked at him for a long second before sighing again.
“Fine.”
*****
Technically, Arthur didn't have to work that day. But he wasn't in the mood to stay at home, and so sitting in the office was his best bet at distraction. At one fifteen, he stepped outside for lunch.
There was a hot dog cart at the end of the block. Which normally, he'd avoid, but there was something in the air that day that set off a craving, so he got in line.
He just paid and stepped away from the cart when he felt someone step up behind him.
“I see you're still dedicated to using all the parts of the animal.”
Arthur nearly dropped his hot dog as he whirled around.
“Arthur.”
“Eames.”
Arthur pulled his bag closer to himself and tried not to look like he was avoiding eye-contact.
“So, um... Are you enjoying New York?”
Eames raised an eyebrow.
“That's a really shit question, right? I mean, I presume you're enjoying yourself, you've been twittering enough about it...”
He trailed off. Eames was looking at him.
“What?”
“You've been following my twitter?”
Arthur blushed. “Maybe.”
“I was pretty sure you were going to be avoiding anything to do with me.”
“Eames, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said - done - said - I just shouldn't have, okay? It was just a stupid thing that's my fault and I shouldn't have judged you because it wasn't really anything -“
Eames gently silenced Arthur with a hand on his shoulder.
“Look, Arthur... I'm not going to apologise for stuff I've done in the past, right? But I like you. I don't normally stay over and cook for random one-night-stands, all right? Especially not if their entire kitchen seems to be set up to make cooking anything as difficult as possible. But - and I can't believe I'm the one saying this, because you're the one who's been a tool - I do like you. And I would like to have dinner with you again.”
Arthur blushed and looked down at his shoes for a second, before looking up to catch Eames' eye.
“I would like that.”
Eames' smile was so wide it was dazzling.
“Excellent. Now put that thing down. If you're looking for a hot dog, there's this guy in the park...”
He slid his hand to the small of Arthur's back, and nudged him towards the nearest crosswalk.
Arthur let himself lean into the contact, and smiled.
Author: duckgirlie
Artist: uncafe
Team: ROMANCE
Prompt: taste
Summary; Arthur is a massive food network fan, and Eames is their newest superstar. Inspired by this prompt on inception_kink
Word count: ~3100 words
Rating: PG-13
Notes: So I am very sorry that there is no porn. But there is more sexy and adorable art from uncafe, so...
one | two
When he woke up, Arthur stretched out across his bed and frowned slightly when his arm met empty sheets. Which was stupid, he knew - incredibly hot tv stars were unlikely enough to follow you home, let alone still be there in the morning - but his stomach still clenched.
Until he heard a clattering from his kitchen, followed by a low whistle.
Eames popped his head through the door. “You know, for someone who loves food, you've fuck-all of it.”
Arthur pulled a shirt on and followed him into the kitchen.
“I don't have much time. I get a lot of take out.”
“That you do. Your fridge is overflowing with the stuff. The only things you have to eat that aren't pre-cooked are a rather lonely bunch of spring onions, some eggs, five kinds of cheese - none of which is enough for a sandwich on its own - the tiniest bit of butter I've ever seen, what appears to be about a small glass of milk, and a gigantic bag of flour. Who the hell has four pounds of flour before they have bread?”
Arthur blushed and pulled himself up to sit on the counter.
“Ariadne got a little excited watching Ace of Cakes a few weeks ago, and her oven's terrible.”
“What did you bake?”
“We didn't. Carrying the flour here kind of wore her out, so we ordered in.”
“Of course you did.”
Eames pulled open one of the cupboards and started pulling stuff out. “Do you mind?”
“God no. Do whatever you want.”
Eames smiled happily and pulled the entire raw contents of Arthur's kitchen out onto the countertop. He tossed Arthur a couple of blocks of cheese.
“Make yourself useful and grate that, okay?”
Arthur found his cheese grater - which he did apparently own - and a plate and started carefully grating the cheese as Eames busied himself mixing various things at the stove.
“Do you miss it?”
Arthur looked up. “Hmm?”
“Cooking. I mean, you couldn't get me to stop. Even if they stopped paying me for it.”
“I guess. I used to cook a lot when I was little. My big sister didn't want to learn, so my mom taught me instead. I kind of stopped when I got to college - can't cook much in a dorm, not if you don't want to risk getting kicked out, anyway - and I never really picked it up again. There's just a lot of food around the place. So these days, the closest I get is watching food network.”
“What's the first thing she taught you to make?”
Arthur smiled as he grated the last of the cheese. “Latkes. I was five, so she didn't let me do much, the first time - I wasn't allowed to grate anything, and I obviously wasn't allowed to go near the oil - but she let me squish the grated potato into shape before she cooked them, and let me stand on a little step ladder so I could see them cooking without being near enough to get hurt.”
Eames took the cheese off him and tipped it into the pot. “How did they taste?”
“Amazing. I ate so many of them I was nearly sick before we lit the candle. And my grandmother said they were the best she'd ever had, and Rebecca pouted all night and said that everyone was just saying that to make me feel better.”
“God, sisters are horrible, aren't they?”
“Always.”
Eames leaned back against the counter and started furiously whisking something. “When was the last time you made them?”
Arthur fiddled with the hem of his shirt for a moment, thinking. “It's been... I don't know. I don't always make it home, and my mom... her arthritis kind of stops her cooking much, so it's usually my sister who does the cooking with her kids, so...”
He trailed off, watching Eames mix various things together in a bowl before sliding whatever it was into the oven.
“What about you?”
“First thing I learned to cook? Probably porridge - oatmeal - in the microwave, if that counts? Probably not. Scrambled eggs, probably. My mum would set me up by the stove and just let me stir very very carefully, until they were barely coagulated, because she liked them practically gooey, but couldn't be bothered with all the stirring herself. And fairy cakes, which are like cupcakes, but way, way better, because they have jam on them. And then jam, when I was eleven. That's how I got this scar.”
He held up his hand to show Arthur a faded pattern of circular scars on the side of his left hand.
“Some of the sugar escaped from the pot when I was looking the wrong way.”
“What kind of jam?”
Eames grinned widely. “Raspberry.”
“So it was worth it, then?”
“It's always worth a small scar for homemade jam.”
“I've never made jam at home.”
“Jam is one of the easiest things in the world - minor scarring notwithstanding - it just takes a little paying-attention-to. All you have to remember is -”
A timer binged and Eames leaned down to pull open the over. Arthur stared.
“You made souffles? In my kitchen? With my ingredients?”
Eames carefully wrapped the bottom of the ramekin in a dishtowel and handed it to Arthur. “Your ingredients didn't give me much choice, did they? It was these, or omelettes. And omelettes aren't impressive at all.”
Arthur took a spoonful and closed his eyes as the creamy cheese and hint of tangy spring onions washed across his tongue.
“This is amazing.”
Eames shrugged, blushing very slightly, and ate his own souffle. Arthur had barely finished his, still scraping the last traces out of the bottom of the dish when it was taken off him as Eames moved to stand between his knees.
“Hi.”
Arthur blushed again. “Hi.”
Eames trailed his hands up Arthur's legs to rest just at the edge of his boxers, his fingers playing gently with the hems.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Eames laughed gently. “I think that's allowed, yes.”
“What did Ariadne really say to you about me at the signing?”
He grinned. “She said that you were her friend Arthur, and that you had a massive crush on me, and -”
Arthur thumped his head against Eames' shoulder and groaned. “I'm going to have to kill her.”
Eames pulled Arthur's face around and kissed him. “Leave her be. I was probably going to write my number in your book anyway.”
Arthur stiffened slightly. “Do you... do that a lot?”
“Define 'a lot'?”
“More often then not?”
Eames paused to consider. “I'd say slightly less often. It's not usually worth the hassle, but sometimes...”
He leaned in for another kiss, but Arthur pulled back.
“I have to go to work.”
He slid off the counter, squeezed past Eames, and went back to the bedroom. He was staring into his wardrobe when he heard the floorboards behind him creak.
“Arthur? Is something...”
Arthur turned slightly, but didn't meet his eyes. “I... I have to shower. For work. I have to go to work. You can let yourself out, yeah?”
Eames looked at him for a second, before shaking his head and turning around.
The front door closed behind him with a solid thunk, and Arthur gave himself thirty seconds to sit on his bed and stare blankly at the wall before he pulled himself to his feet and got into the shower.
*****
That night, Ariadne showed up with two bottles of wine.
“You have to tell me everything.”
“No. I don't. Do we really have to watch this?”
“Yes. You're not depriving me of my food network fix just because you had a bad date with the guy.”
“Fine. But no talking. And give me that wine.”
On screen, Eames was wearing a gigantic puffy jacket and standing in a field.
“So, we started with dessert before we moved on to mains, and now we're doing the farm after we've already done the butcher. But bear with me, yeah? This place is fantastic.”
Arthur estimated that a good 80% of the following hour was just Eames cavorting around the farm with various children and animals. Sure, there were discussions about ethical farming and what it truly means to be organic, but after watching Eames do an entire segment talking to camera with a happy chicken under each arm, the next time (the fourth time) Eames got to his knees next to a baby animal and gave it what can only be described as a snuggle, Arthur's general annoyance must have made itself known, because Ariadne muted the tv and glared at him.
“What the fuck happened?”
“No talking.”
“Yeah. No. Talk.”
Arthur sighed and knocked back most of the rest of his wine. “It's nothing, Ari, okay? Just a... miscommunication.”
“A miscommunication? Like what? Was it some kind of creepy trawling-for-threesomes thing and he brought his boyfriend along? Or like, some fucked up way-past-safe-words BDSM stuff? Or -”
“What the fuck? No, nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
She set her glass down and started insistently poking him in the side.
“Stop it.”
She kept poking him until he tried to wriggle free.
“Fine, fine. Just stop that.”
Ariadne pulled her hands back and smiled happily.
“It was just... I was right about him doing that a lot. Giving out his number at signings. I just felt...”
He trailed off, and looked over at her. She had both her eyebrows raised.
“So... You're upset because the hot tv star who picked you up at a booksigning... Is the kind of person who sometimes picks up guys at booksignings?”
“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”
“Just when I say it like that?”
“No. I know it's stupid, all right. It's just... he took me to his friend's restaurant, and he told me all about Kenya, and his friend, and he fed me in a not-creepy way, and then he made breakfast in my tiny, terrible kitchen with no proper food and just... It felt special, for a little while. But if it's just something he does, with everyone, then... It kind of ruins it. Oh god. I sound like someone off Gossip Girl.”
Ariadne looked at him for a moment, and smiled sadly.
“You're allowed to want to feel special, you know.”
“It doesn't really seem that way.”
hitting up nolita tonight one of my favourite plaves in NYC
posted by chefeames at 8.15pm
“Ariadne, what are we doing here? There's no way you can afford to eat here, even if we could get a table.”
“Ssh!” Ariadne balanced carefully on her bike to try and see in the windows. “Dammit.”
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing. I just thought I saw some guy I knew. Lets get pizza.”
bull and bear tonight i think
posted by chefeames at 7.56pm
No. I'm not getting a tube to midtown just so we can be turned down at a restaurant.
Pleeeeease
I'm going to start revoking your food network privileges if this is what it does to you.
You're not my friend any more
not sure yet hitting up chinatown and recs?
posted by chefeames at 8.32pm
Arthur pulled his plate towards himself and looked at Ariadne across the table.
“You want to tell me why we looked into pretty much every place in Chinatown before you finally settled on where you want to eat?”
“No particular reason.”
Arthur sighed. “You know, I read his twitter too.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“So it's just a coincidence that every time he tweets where he's eating you try and drag me to somewhere ridiculously out-of-the-way or expensive that just happens to be where he's supposed to be?”
She sighed. “I just think if maybe you explain -“
“Explain what? 'I'm sorry I kind of implied you were a massive slut - which was very hypocritical of me, by the way, considering - but I'm sorry and hope you might want to go out with me again?'”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“That's not the way it works, Ari. You barely get one chance with amazingly attractive and successful people, and even if that chance was just to be remembered fondly, I blew it. So can we just stop all this?”
She looked at him for a long second before sighing again.
“Fine.”
*****
Technically, Arthur didn't have to work that day. But he wasn't in the mood to stay at home, and so sitting in the office was his best bet at distraction. At one fifteen, he stepped outside for lunch.
There was a hot dog cart at the end of the block. Which normally, he'd avoid, but there was something in the air that day that set off a craving, so he got in line.
He just paid and stepped away from the cart when he felt someone step up behind him.
“I see you're still dedicated to using all the parts of the animal.”
Arthur nearly dropped his hot dog as he whirled around.
“Arthur.”
“Eames.”
Arthur pulled his bag closer to himself and tried not to look like he was avoiding eye-contact.
“So, um... Are you enjoying New York?”
Eames raised an eyebrow.
“That's a really shit question, right? I mean, I presume you're enjoying yourself, you've been twittering enough about it...”
He trailed off. Eames was looking at him.
“What?”
“You've been following my twitter?”
Arthur blushed. “Maybe.”
“I was pretty sure you were going to be avoiding anything to do with me.”
“Eames, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said - done - said - I just shouldn't have, okay? It was just a stupid thing that's my fault and I shouldn't have judged you because it wasn't really anything -“
Eames gently silenced Arthur with a hand on his shoulder.
“Look, Arthur... I'm not going to apologise for stuff I've done in the past, right? But I like you. I don't normally stay over and cook for random one-night-stands, all right? Especially not if their entire kitchen seems to be set up to make cooking anything as difficult as possible. But - and I can't believe I'm the one saying this, because you're the one who's been a tool - I do like you. And I would like to have dinner with you again.”
Arthur blushed and looked down at his shoes for a second, before looking up to catch Eames' eye.
“I would like that.”
Eames' smile was so wide it was dazzling.
“Excellent. Now put that thing down. If you're looking for a hot dog, there's this guy in the park...”
He slid his hand to the small of Arthur's back, and nudged him towards the nearest crosswalk.
Arthur let himself lean into the contact, and smiled.