Fic: Ambrus Eames Malfoy and the Family Affair, 1/7
Author: darkhavens
Artist: pearljamz
Title: Ambrus Eames Malfoy and the Family Affair
Chapter: 1/7: Arthur Meets Aelfric
Team: ♥ ROMANCE ♥
Prompts: fear, touch, naked, silence, covers, lies, home, natural, sex
Rating: PG13
Words: 1500
Warnings/Squicks: none
Summary: A Harry Potter/Inception crossover. Ambrus Eames Malfoy is a thief, a forger, a dreamshare criminal... and a Squib; Arthur is surprised; Aelfric is a bit of a bastard; and Draco Malfoy wants Harry Potter.
Notes: Spun out from the HP/Inception mini-crossover I wrote here. After a basic discussion of where we were going to take the idea, Pearl drew this amazing piece of art and I incorporated details into the subsequent fic. Enjoy!
Eames woke to the odd, not wholly unpleasant, sensation of someone tugging gently at a lock of hair just above his right ear. His immediate reaction was to assume it was Arthur, who had been known to fist his hands in Eames's hair and pull - and occasionally steer - Eames wherever he wanted him to go, but Arthur wasn't much of a one for petting, and this definitely felt more like petting than... And anyway, Eames could feel the heat of Arthur, pressed all along his left side, from shoulder to hip to knee, and Arthur's elbow was caught between his ribcage and Eames's own, so, not Arthur.
Lying very still, Eames kept his breathing slow and natural, and wondered whether he should go for Arthur's gun, which was tucked under Arthur's pillow, or his own, where it lay pressed between the mattress and the base of the bed, level with his hip. He was busily calculating reaction times plus the element of surprise, divided by the chance of there being a gun aimed at his head right this very second, when he heard a faint click-click-skitter-click just inches from his ear and abruptly relaxed.
There was an owl on the bedside table. He didn't have to open his eyes or turn his head to know it - the sound of owl talons on polished wood was one he'd grown up with; grown familiar with over the years.
The next tug of his hair was less gentle, as though the bird knew Eames was playing possum and was not amused. Eames grinned and held up a hand, waiting for the owl to let go of the hair in its beak before he sat up and detached the small, ribbon-bound scroll from one spindly avian leg.
The message was written in tiny script, though not a single letter was cramped or smudged or crossed out. Eames knew immediately who had written it, and hungrily devoured every perfectly inked word as Arthur slept on beside him, unaware.
Dear Ambrus,
I hope this letter finds you well.
Actually, I hope this letter finds you. The last half dozen I have sent have all returned, though I choose to believe that meant you were simply overseas or in hiding, and not in truly dire trouble. Your name is still faintly visible on the Family Tree, after all, so you still persist, as so I.
Rumour - and a letter from the Muggle solicitor who handles the family's 'outside investments' - tell me that you are once again in residence at Aislynn House, and I find myself in need of your strange Muggle dream magic. I believe there is a suitable establishment for our discussion not much more than a mile from you. Send word with Aelfric; he'll be at your disposal for the duration of your stay.
Your cousin,
Draco Malfoy
Eames read the miniature missive through three times while he formulated a suitable response. Ostensibly, they were in England to lay low after a particularly ill-advised job had turned very messy very fast, over in Berlin. Arthur had predicted, to a terrifyingly accurate degree of specificity, exactly what would happen if their mark got wind of the client's identity. He'd laid it all out in his attempt to make Eames see reason, but the pot was too tempting, the job too challenging to resist, and so...
And so Arthur had tagged along with Eames to the first meet in the hotel bar. He'd sat down with the team, just for one quick drink, just to get reacquainted with old associates before heading out to dinner. Before they'd got to the point of needing to order a second round, he'd agreed to join the team - not as point man, but as the second level dreamer and additional security. Eames still wasn't entirely sure how that had happened, but having Arthur at his back had probably saved his life. Again.
There was 'laying low', and there was 'laying low', Eames decided, dragging his thumb over Draco's flamboyantly curlicued signature. This was an invitation to step back across the invisible line that Uncle Lucius had drawn in the sand all those years ago. A chance to experience the heady thrum of magic that never failed to excite him, no matter that he couldn't actually use it himself.
Beside him, Arthur snuffled into his pillow, squirming a little beneath the woollen blanket. Eames caught his full, lower lip between his teeth, wracked by indecision for all of three seconds before scratching out a quick note on the back of Draco's parchment.
Just agreeing to see his cousin didn't obligate him to take the job, he reasoned silently. If, if he took the job, he was sure he could explain the slight deviation from their 'laying low until Interpol gets distracted' plan. Arthur might not even be bothered by the prospect of spending some time in England by himself while Eames disappeared back into the wizarding world for a while.
Eames shrugged off his momentary concern and focussed on getting the scroll re-rolled and beribboned and firmly attached to Aelfric's leg. When he was done, Aelfric stared down his beak at Eames and waited. And waited. And waited.
Eames was confused. The window was open, the scroll was attached, but the owl wasn't leaving. He tried to remember the last time he'd had dealings with a postal owl and couldn't- Oh. He scanned the room, looking for inspiration, but there was nothing. He didn't carry sweets as a rule, unless he knew he was going to encounter children, and this was a private house, so there were no snacks in the mini-bar - there was no mini-bar.
"Look, I'm sorry," he whispered to the persistently staring owl. "I haven't needed to keep owl treats around for several years now, and I don't think there's anything in the kitchen for you either because we only got in last night and... And I'm explaining this to an owl. Dammit. Please, just- Go, and I promise to owe you one, okay? When you get back, I'll get you... a mouse. Two mice! I swear, if you'll just-"
Eames blinked and, on the inside of his eyelids, saw a snapshot of a moment the day before, when Arthur had patted his pockets, frowned, and then excused himself to pop into the shop they were passing. Arthur liked mints. Arthur carried mints. Eames held up a finger and then wagged it at Aelfric.
"Just- Stay there, okay? I'll be right over here, going through Arthur's pockets. He won't mind; he's pretty much used to it by now." And with that sotto voce announcement, Eames eased himself off the bed and quickly patted down Arthur's jacket where it hung on the back of the door.
The pockets were empty of anything worth feeding to a silently vociferous owl, so Eames crept around to where Arthur had laid the rest of his neatly folded clothes on the window seat.
In moments, Arthur's balled-up socks were knocked aside and off, bouncing once before rolling under the bed to gather dust-bunnies. His black briefs and striped tie were tossed absently over Eames's shoulder before he shook out Arthur's trousers and started rifling through the pockets.
He struck gold in the left rear pocket, unearthing a single, unwrapped mint. He turned, triumphant - just in time to see Aelfric swoop down to the foot of the bed, to Arthur's feet at the foot of the bed, where his toes were twitching beneath the covers as they were wont to do as Arthur slowly came awake, seemingly one random appendage at a time.
There was no way to know if Aelfric truly thought that Arthur's wiggling toes were mice, or whether he'd decided that enough was enough and he wasn't going to be kept waiting any longer. Quite possibly, being a Malfoy owl, he was simply a bit of a bastard. Anyway, first there was swooping, and then the talons came into play, and then the beak. And then there was a squawk - from Arthur - and a flailing of limbs and a flapping of blanket that Aelfric somehow managed to ride out while looking wholly unimpressed yet still affronted.
Arthur, on the other hand, looked... rather adorable, Eames admitted to himself, though he knew better than to say such a thing out loud. Arthur's hair, already rumpled from the previous night's enjoyably strenuous activities, looked positively electrified - wild and tangled with a couple of delightfully vertical points that Eames would bet signalled the location of at least one cowlick.
Clutching the top edge of the blanket to his chest, Arthur looked not entirely unlike a Victorian maiden trying to protect her modesty, while his legs, in all their naked, lightly-haired glory, were pedalling madly on the bottom sheet in a frustrated attempt to push him further up the bed - and possibly through the headboard and into the next room.
"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, EAMES! THERE'S AN OWL IN MY BED! AN OWL, EAMES! WHAT THE FUCK?!"
NEED MOAR TAGS! :D
Artist: pearljamz
Title: Ambrus Eames Malfoy and the Family Affair
Chapter: 1/7: Arthur Meets Aelfric
Team: ♥ ROMANCE ♥
Prompts: fear, touch, naked, silence, covers, lies, home, natural, sex
Rating: PG13
Words: 1500
Warnings/Squicks: none
Summary: A Harry Potter/Inception crossover. Ambrus Eames Malfoy is a thief, a forger, a dreamshare criminal... and a Squib; Arthur is surprised; Aelfric is a bit of a bastard; and Draco Malfoy wants Harry Potter.
Notes: Spun out from the HP/Inception mini-crossover I wrote here. After a basic discussion of where we were going to take the idea, Pearl drew this amazing piece of art and I incorporated details into the subsequent fic. Enjoy!
Eames woke to the odd, not wholly unpleasant, sensation of someone tugging gently at a lock of hair just above his right ear. His immediate reaction was to assume it was Arthur, who had been known to fist his hands in Eames's hair and pull - and occasionally steer - Eames wherever he wanted him to go, but Arthur wasn't much of a one for petting, and this definitely felt more like petting than... And anyway, Eames could feel the heat of Arthur, pressed all along his left side, from shoulder to hip to knee, and Arthur's elbow was caught between his ribcage and Eames's own, so, not Arthur.
Lying very still, Eames kept his breathing slow and natural, and wondered whether he should go for Arthur's gun, which was tucked under Arthur's pillow, or his own, where it lay pressed between the mattress and the base of the bed, level with his hip. He was busily calculating reaction times plus the element of surprise, divided by the chance of there being a gun aimed at his head right this very second, when he heard a faint click-click-skitter-click just inches from his ear and abruptly relaxed.
There was an owl on the bedside table. He didn't have to open his eyes or turn his head to know it - the sound of owl talons on polished wood was one he'd grown up with; grown familiar with over the years.
The next tug of his hair was less gentle, as though the bird knew Eames was playing possum and was not amused. Eames grinned and held up a hand, waiting for the owl to let go of the hair in its beak before he sat up and detached the small, ribbon-bound scroll from one spindly avian leg.
The message was written in tiny script, though not a single letter was cramped or smudged or crossed out. Eames knew immediately who had written it, and hungrily devoured every perfectly inked word as Arthur slept on beside him, unaware.
Dear Ambrus,
I hope this letter finds you well.
Actually, I hope this letter finds you. The last half dozen I have sent have all returned, though I choose to believe that meant you were simply overseas or in hiding, and not in truly dire trouble. Your name is still faintly visible on the Family Tree, after all, so you still persist, as so I.
Rumour - and a letter from the Muggle solicitor who handles the family's 'outside investments' - tell me that you are once again in residence at Aislynn House, and I find myself in need of your strange Muggle dream magic. I believe there is a suitable establishment for our discussion not much more than a mile from you. Send word with Aelfric; he'll be at your disposal for the duration of your stay.
Your cousin,
Draco Malfoy
Eames read the miniature missive through three times while he formulated a suitable response. Ostensibly, they were in England to lay low after a particularly ill-advised job had turned very messy very fast, over in Berlin. Arthur had predicted, to a terrifyingly accurate degree of specificity, exactly what would happen if their mark got wind of the client's identity. He'd laid it all out in his attempt to make Eames see reason, but the pot was too tempting, the job too challenging to resist, and so...
And so Arthur had tagged along with Eames to the first meet in the hotel bar. He'd sat down with the team, just for one quick drink, just to get reacquainted with old associates before heading out to dinner. Before they'd got to the point of needing to order a second round, he'd agreed to join the team - not as point man, but as the second level dreamer and additional security. Eames still wasn't entirely sure how that had happened, but having Arthur at his back had probably saved his life. Again.
There was 'laying low', and there was 'laying low', Eames decided, dragging his thumb over Draco's flamboyantly curlicued signature. This was an invitation to step back across the invisible line that Uncle Lucius had drawn in the sand all those years ago. A chance to experience the heady thrum of magic that never failed to excite him, no matter that he couldn't actually use it himself.
Beside him, Arthur snuffled into his pillow, squirming a little beneath the woollen blanket. Eames caught his full, lower lip between his teeth, wracked by indecision for all of three seconds before scratching out a quick note on the back of Draco's parchment.
Just agreeing to see his cousin didn't obligate him to take the job, he reasoned silently. If, if he took the job, he was sure he could explain the slight deviation from their 'laying low until Interpol gets distracted' plan. Arthur might not even be bothered by the prospect of spending some time in England by himself while Eames disappeared back into the wizarding world for a while.
Eames shrugged off his momentary concern and focussed on getting the scroll re-rolled and beribboned and firmly attached to Aelfric's leg. When he was done, Aelfric stared down his beak at Eames and waited. And waited. And waited.
Eames was confused. The window was open, the scroll was attached, but the owl wasn't leaving. He tried to remember the last time he'd had dealings with a postal owl and couldn't- Oh. He scanned the room, looking for inspiration, but there was nothing. He didn't carry sweets as a rule, unless he knew he was going to encounter children, and this was a private house, so there were no snacks in the mini-bar - there was no mini-bar.
"Look, I'm sorry," he whispered to the persistently staring owl. "I haven't needed to keep owl treats around for several years now, and I don't think there's anything in the kitchen for you either because we only got in last night and... And I'm explaining this to an owl. Dammit. Please, just- Go, and I promise to owe you one, okay? When you get back, I'll get you... a mouse. Two mice! I swear, if you'll just-"
Eames blinked and, on the inside of his eyelids, saw a snapshot of a moment the day before, when Arthur had patted his pockets, frowned, and then excused himself to pop into the shop they were passing. Arthur liked mints. Arthur carried mints. Eames held up a finger and then wagged it at Aelfric.
"Just- Stay there, okay? I'll be right over here, going through Arthur's pockets. He won't mind; he's pretty much used to it by now." And with that sotto voce announcement, Eames eased himself off the bed and quickly patted down Arthur's jacket where it hung on the back of the door.
The pockets were empty of anything worth feeding to a silently vociferous owl, so Eames crept around to where Arthur had laid the rest of his neatly folded clothes on the window seat.
In moments, Arthur's balled-up socks were knocked aside and off, bouncing once before rolling under the bed to gather dust-bunnies. His black briefs and striped tie were tossed absently over Eames's shoulder before he shook out Arthur's trousers and started rifling through the pockets.
He struck gold in the left rear pocket, unearthing a single, unwrapped mint. He turned, triumphant - just in time to see Aelfric swoop down to the foot of the bed, to Arthur's feet at the foot of the bed, where his toes were twitching beneath the covers as they were wont to do as Arthur slowly came awake, seemingly one random appendage at a time.
There was no way to know if Aelfric truly thought that Arthur's wiggling toes were mice, or whether he'd decided that enough was enough and he wasn't going to be kept waiting any longer. Quite possibly, being a Malfoy owl, he was simply a bit of a bastard. Anyway, first there was swooping, and then the talons came into play, and then the beak. And then there was a squawk - from Arthur - and a flailing of limbs and a flapping of blanket that Aelfric somehow managed to ride out while looking wholly unimpressed yet still affronted.
Arthur, on the other hand, looked... rather adorable, Eames admitted to himself, though he knew better than to say such a thing out loud. Arthur's hair, already rumpled from the previous night's enjoyably strenuous activities, looked positively electrified - wild and tangled with a couple of delightfully vertical points that Eames would bet signalled the location of at least one cowlick.
Clutching the top edge of the blanket to his chest, Arthur looked not entirely unlike a Victorian maiden trying to protect her modesty, while his legs, in all their naked, lightly-haired glory, were pedalling madly on the bottom sheet in a frustrated attempt to push him further up the bed - and possibly through the headboard and into the next room.
"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, EAMES! THERE'S AN OWL IN MY BED! AN OWL, EAMES! WHAT THE FUCK?!"
NEED MOAR TAGS! :D