[FIC] Milky Way, part 2/3
Title: Milky Way
Written by: akayalovesyaoi
Prompt no. 01 [bonds, touch, silence, naked, fall]
Team: Romance ♥
Part: two [ part one here]
A/N: Thank you all for comments on the previous post!
Part two
Arthur opens his eyes when the first notes of Fly me to the Moon starts softly playing in the background. It means Eames is already up and about, and if Arthur cared enough to actually get up and seek him, he'd probably find him in the kitchen. Re-reading the lecture he's about to give later today.
So predictable, Arthur thinks with a soft smile, before turning his head towards one of the big windows occupying most of the north wall of their condo.
It's still early, so if he keeps looking hard enough, he might still be able to find the remains of Orion's belt, in otherwise black and hollow space behind the thick, bulletproof glass.
“In other words,” Eames' humming voice comes closer. “Hold my hand,” he exaggerates and Arthur can feel the bed dip on the other side, soon followed by a warm lips on his naked arm. “In other words,” Eames chuckles against his skin and Arthur moves back into him. “Baby, kiss me.”
“I'm not your baby Eames,” the slighter man chides him, and moves his head back catching the other's lips in a chaste kiss. “And you can't carry a tone for shit,” he snickers.
“But, darling!” Eames huffs, hands to his chest in mock indignation. “It's the thought that counts.”
“But, of course,” Arthur sighs and sits up, sheets pooling in his lip as he shivers. The room is spacey and cold, but he doesn't mind it. He prefers it that way actually, old habits die hard. “It doesn't change the fact that you still can't sing for shit,” he grins and Eames laughs.
“Cruel, so very cruel,” he moans and moves closer to Arthur, invading his personal space as only he can - and is allowed to - do. “Are you ready to talk to me now?” He asks, face turning serious and Arthur finds it hard to continue looking him in the eye.
“Don't you have a lecture on Mid-medieval Saturian theatre?”
“Sick leave,” Eames answers smoothly.
“Right, you can fake it,” Arthur snorts and rubs at his face, reminding himself that he should be lucky for Eames waiting almost a week.
“It's my free day today, must we talk about it?”
“Yes,” Eames sighs and touches Arthur face, pushing a few unruly locks back. “It's been hanging over us like a meteor shower and I'd rather know what's going on with you.”
“Fine,” he says and pushes away from his lover, standing up from the bed. Not bothering to cover himself. “But I need a shower first.”
+
You know you shouldn't have done this.
I didn't have a choice.
You had. You had a choice, darling.
No, I did not. Eames.
+
“A couple of automatons came into the café,” Arthur starts and takes a sip of cold, tap water. He wouldn't be able to stomach anything coffee related. The mere thought makes him sick.
“I'm listening,” Eames says and sits across from him, allowing Arthur the space, but letting him know that he is here. That he is paying attention, his fingers playing with an old poker chip, he'd found on one of his school trips to the moon. It was old and scratched almost beyond recognition, but he kept it anyway.
“They tried to interrogate me about Dream-sharing, Eames,” Arthur's voice gets stuck in his throat and his fingers clench on the glass, he still holding. “Asked me for my personal details, in front of all of this people,” he growls and laughs a humourless laugh.
“It's - ” Eames scrunches his brows, and leans forward a bit. “After all this years, Arthur,” he smiles gently at the man, taking in his boyish features, marred with subtle worry lines and knowledge. He knows that sometimes it feels like too much for Arthur, who can't forget, who remembers things he'd rather not too.
“What if they know, Eames?” Arthur, breathes and runs his fingers through still wet hair. “What if I left a trace, and before we know it, they'll be here and -”
“Oh, Arthur,” Eames interrupts him with a low chuckle and stands up, pulling him into a tight hug. It's a bit awkward, because Arthur is still sitting, but it doesn't matter, because they're together. “Do you regret it?”
“No,” Arthur answers immediately and arms curling Eames, slightly bigger form. “Never,” he adds and touches the small scar on the other's back. The one just next to a tattoo of a red die, covering three little numbers, that he will never forget.
No. 034
+
“She's starting to really creep my out,” Ariadne mutters, leaning against the counter, and when Arthur looks up from his calculations he sees her watching Mal, sitting in the corner. Sipping on yet another Inception.
“Regulars are good for business,” he points out, eyes glancing around the room making sure that everything is in the right order. “Also, the pair by the window is done, go ask them if they want anything else.”
“Yeah, but she's really weird,” she snorts and puts on her professional smile no. 37 readying herself to check on the clients.
Maybe, she's just lonely, he thinks, eyes straying back to the elegant woman, sitting alone and looking emptily into space. Now, that Ariadne mentioned it, there is something very unsettling about the woman.
“She's your type?” A curious voice shakes him out of his stupor and Arthur straightens, coughing subtly to cover his surprise. It's uncommon for him to blank out like this.
“Not really,” he answers and looks at the man in front of him, watching him curiously. “How can I help you?”
“I'm new on this colony,” the man starts, rubs his hands on his jacket in a nervous
manner, of someone, who has something to hide, but doesn't know how to go about it. “I was told, by a new colleague of mine, that this is the best coffee shop in the area.”
“That it is,” Arthur grins in, what he hopes is, welcoming not threatening manner, curious about the newcomer. “We serve the best coffee, or other beverages, you will ever taste.”
“That good, huh,” the man chuckles and glances behind him, undoubtedly at Mal. “What is the lady drinking?” He asks, and squints like a person, who is too used to wearing glasses.
“Mal? She's having one of the specials, Inception,” Arthur answers and catches a subtle change in the man's expression. Interesting, he thinks just in time for Ariadne to come back. She throws an easy smile at the man, but he doesn't notice, so she shrugs and reaches into the freezer for more pink leaves. “Do you want the same?” Arthur asks, observing him closely, drinking each of the man's reaction.
“Yes,” he answers a bit more desperately, and Arthur is taken aback. It must be showing on his face, because the man straightens a bit. “I'd like to have the same.”
No, Arthur thinks, but nods at the man anyway and bends down, pretending to check something.
“Ah,” he says, standing back up. “I'm afraid we're out of one of the ingredients needed for it,” he says faking a sad expression. “But I have something else that I think would be perfect.”
“Which is?” The blonde man looks at him wary.
“Moonlight deception. It's not as sweet as Inception, but I think the taste should be to your liking,” he answers, and Ariadne snorts, head still in the fridge.
“That's a … rather unusual name for a coffee,” the man snorts.
“It's really good,” Ariadne pipes in, arms full of weirdly shaped pink leaves, making her look more like a nymph from the old stories, that Eames likes, than a simple barmaid. “One of our most popular drinks.”
“I didn't know there is a ranking,” Arthur snorts and hands her one of the big bowls. “Put that here, before you trip,” he scowls and she sticks her tongue at him.
“That's because it's a part of my masterplan to take over the place, Arthur,” she answers him with a straight face. He just rolls his eyes at her childish behaviour and she just smiles and continues preparing the drinks for one of the tables.
“Arthur?” The man looks surprised to hear that. “As in Arthur Callahan?”
“Yes,” Arthur answers. “Do we know each other from somewhere?” He asks, looking closer at the man. He doesn't remember seeing his face before, so it's highly improbable, but then again he doesn't just go around flaunting his surname like a flag. So unless the man knows someone, who'd been here a week ago, during the sudden intervention of the automatons, it's very unlikely for him to know it.
“Not exactly,” the man shrugs. “The colleague, Eames. He might've mentioned you.”
“You work at the Star Fleet Academy?” Arthur scrunches his brows, before schooling his face into a neutral expression. He knows Eames wouldn't tell anyone such important detail, so it's better to play it safe.
“Yes, I'm a guest lecturer there.”
“On what topics?” Arthur asks, genuinely curious, fishing for more information. He can't always be sneaky about it, besides he works if the man really works there and know Eames... The question is not weird or out of place.
“Dream architecture,” he answers freely.
“I am quite sure it's forbidden,” Arthur counters, his fingers ghosting over the counter, exactly on the place where the gun is placed, just under.
“It's only a harmless theorizing. It brings no harm, ah,” the man smacks his forehead and brings his hand forward. “I forgot to introduce myself. My name Cobb, Dominic Cobb.”
Arthur shakes his hand, but the gears in his mind are working, fuelled by adrenaline. This man, he thinks. Is either a dangerous lunatic with acting skills of a five year old, or a deranged naïve man, who is unaware of consequences of sharing some of his thoughts this loud, and in a public place no less.
“Nice to meet you,” he lies, hiding his suspicious towards his new friend. “I will have your drink ready in a few, just go and sit whenever,” he smiles, hoping the man will get the hint and go away. Arthur can be very persuasive, but he'd rather not use some of his methods in public.
Dominic nods and, to Arthur's surprise, goes straight to Mal's table sitting down in front of her. He watches the man chat the woman up, notes her surprised smile and the way her eyes soften. Arthur can see it even from where he is standing now.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ariadne asks, preparing a tray with four, steaming cups of chocolate cheese coffees. “You look like you're going to faint -” she continues, sprinkling gold flecks over the whipped cream. “Or kill someone,” she adds as an afterthought.
“This man,” Arthur says, eyes intent on the odd pair. “I don't believe Eames told him anything.”
“Why, if they work together is very probable,” she says and he looks back at her.
“I will take it, make the drink for him, alright?” He says and sees that she wants to protest, but the look on his face stops her.
“Ok,” she huffs. “But you've been getting more paranoid lately. It's not like they're out to get you,” she jokes.
“No,” he says softly and lifts the tray. “Of course not.”
+
Hey, welcome back. How are you feeling?
I feel strange, my body feels strange.
You were lost for almost a week.
I fell into a limbo. I thought I wouldn't be coming back.
You're here now, Eames. You're here.
+
Sometimes Arthur feels like there is nothing left of his true self.
He's tired, so very tired. His brain is overloaded with countless, random informations that confuse him, and on his worse days, make such a simple thing like lifting a hand an almost impossible task. A proper command getting lost somewhere between the lines of the latest novel he'd read, or a joke Yusuf had said the other day.
No matter how much he enjoys working at Milky Way, enjoys observing people and making his unique skills actually serve a purpose other than just storing needless data in his brain. He sometimes wonders what his life would be if he'd made different choices in the past.
“I don't regret it,” he says to the empty apartment, wiping the counter, even though it's pristine clean, but he feels the need to do something with his hands and they don't have any books in their flat. No television either, and there is only so much music Arthur can take daily. Eames is not at home yet, having called earlier to let him know, that there is supposedly this new guy coming to work with them and the paper work is somehow horrendous and they need every pair of hands they can use.
The house is silent, heavy. Arthur's remembers when it used to be different. Or maybe it was something I've read, he thinks, because he can never be sure of those things, not with the amount of knowledge that he'd be gladly rid of if given a chance.
Truth to be told, there is only one thing that he's sure of. One thing that makes him at peace.
He loves Eames, the constant presence in his life. Eames, who knows, who understands and loves Arthur back.
He lays on their shared bed and closes his eyes, allowing his mind to free fall into the happy and warm memories of the man he shares his life and soul with.
+
Arthur, I can't shift.
You're still not feeling well. It will pass.
No, it won't, darling.
How can you be so sure?
Arthur... This is not my body.
Of course it is.
Arthur. Darling. This. Is. Not my body.
End of part two
Written by: akayalovesyaoi
Prompt no. 01 [bonds, touch, silence, naked, fall]
Team: Romance ♥
Part: two [ part one here]
A/N: Thank you all for comments on the previous post!
Part two
Arthur opens his eyes when the first notes of Fly me to the Moon starts softly playing in the background. It means Eames is already up and about, and if Arthur cared enough to actually get up and seek him, he'd probably find him in the kitchen. Re-reading the lecture he's about to give later today.
So predictable, Arthur thinks with a soft smile, before turning his head towards one of the big windows occupying most of the north wall of their condo.
It's still early, so if he keeps looking hard enough, he might still be able to find the remains of Orion's belt, in otherwise black and hollow space behind the thick, bulletproof glass.
“In other words,” Eames' humming voice comes closer. “Hold my hand,” he exaggerates and Arthur can feel the bed dip on the other side, soon followed by a warm lips on his naked arm. “In other words,” Eames chuckles against his skin and Arthur moves back into him. “Baby, kiss me.”
“I'm not your baby Eames,” the slighter man chides him, and moves his head back catching the other's lips in a chaste kiss. “And you can't carry a tone for shit,” he snickers.
“But, darling!” Eames huffs, hands to his chest in mock indignation. “It's the thought that counts.”
“But, of course,” Arthur sighs and sits up, sheets pooling in his lip as he shivers. The room is spacey and cold, but he doesn't mind it. He prefers it that way actually, old habits die hard. “It doesn't change the fact that you still can't sing for shit,” he grins and Eames laughs.
“Cruel, so very cruel,” he moans and moves closer to Arthur, invading his personal space as only he can - and is allowed to - do. “Are you ready to talk to me now?” He asks, face turning serious and Arthur finds it hard to continue looking him in the eye.
“Don't you have a lecture on Mid-medieval Saturian theatre?”
“Sick leave,” Eames answers smoothly.
“Right, you can fake it,” Arthur snorts and rubs at his face, reminding himself that he should be lucky for Eames waiting almost a week.
“It's my free day today, must we talk about it?”
“Yes,” Eames sighs and touches Arthur face, pushing a few unruly locks back. “It's been hanging over us like a meteor shower and I'd rather know what's going on with you.”
“Fine,” he says and pushes away from his lover, standing up from the bed. Not bothering to cover himself. “But I need a shower first.”
+
You know you shouldn't have done this.
I didn't have a choice.
You had. You had a choice, darling.
No, I did not. Eames.
+
“A couple of automatons came into the café,” Arthur starts and takes a sip of cold, tap water. He wouldn't be able to stomach anything coffee related. The mere thought makes him sick.
“I'm listening,” Eames says and sits across from him, allowing Arthur the space, but letting him know that he is here. That he is paying attention, his fingers playing with an old poker chip, he'd found on one of his school trips to the moon. It was old and scratched almost beyond recognition, but he kept it anyway.
“They tried to interrogate me about Dream-sharing, Eames,” Arthur's voice gets stuck in his throat and his fingers clench on the glass, he still holding. “Asked me for my personal details, in front of all of this people,” he growls and laughs a humourless laugh.
“It's - ” Eames scrunches his brows, and leans forward a bit. “After all this years, Arthur,” he smiles gently at the man, taking in his boyish features, marred with subtle worry lines and knowledge. He knows that sometimes it feels like too much for Arthur, who can't forget, who remembers things he'd rather not too.
“What if they know, Eames?” Arthur, breathes and runs his fingers through still wet hair. “What if I left a trace, and before we know it, they'll be here and -”
“Oh, Arthur,” Eames interrupts him with a low chuckle and stands up, pulling him into a tight hug. It's a bit awkward, because Arthur is still sitting, but it doesn't matter, because they're together. “Do you regret it?”
“No,” Arthur answers immediately and arms curling Eames, slightly bigger form. “Never,” he adds and touches the small scar on the other's back. The one just next to a tattoo of a red die, covering three little numbers, that he will never forget.
No. 034
+
“She's starting to really creep my out,” Ariadne mutters, leaning against the counter, and when Arthur looks up from his calculations he sees her watching Mal, sitting in the corner. Sipping on yet another Inception.
“Regulars are good for business,” he points out, eyes glancing around the room making sure that everything is in the right order. “Also, the pair by the window is done, go ask them if they want anything else.”
“Yeah, but she's really weird,” she snorts and puts on her professional smile no. 37 readying herself to check on the clients.
Maybe, she's just lonely, he thinks, eyes straying back to the elegant woman, sitting alone and looking emptily into space. Now, that Ariadne mentioned it, there is something very unsettling about the woman.
“She's your type?” A curious voice shakes him out of his stupor and Arthur straightens, coughing subtly to cover his surprise. It's uncommon for him to blank out like this.
“Not really,” he answers and looks at the man in front of him, watching him curiously. “How can I help you?”
“I'm new on this colony,” the man starts, rubs his hands on his jacket in a nervous
manner, of someone, who has something to hide, but doesn't know how to go about it. “I was told, by a new colleague of mine, that this is the best coffee shop in the area.”
“That it is,” Arthur grins in, what he hopes is, welcoming not threatening manner, curious about the newcomer. “We serve the best coffee, or other beverages, you will ever taste.”
“That good, huh,” the man chuckles and glances behind him, undoubtedly at Mal. “What is the lady drinking?” He asks, and squints like a person, who is too used to wearing glasses.
“Mal? She's having one of the specials, Inception,” Arthur answers and catches a subtle change in the man's expression. Interesting, he thinks just in time for Ariadne to come back. She throws an easy smile at the man, but he doesn't notice, so she shrugs and reaches into the freezer for more pink leaves. “Do you want the same?” Arthur asks, observing him closely, drinking each of the man's reaction.
“Yes,” he answers a bit more desperately, and Arthur is taken aback. It must be showing on his face, because the man straightens a bit. “I'd like to have the same.”
No, Arthur thinks, but nods at the man anyway and bends down, pretending to check something.
“Ah,” he says, standing back up. “I'm afraid we're out of one of the ingredients needed for it,” he says faking a sad expression. “But I have something else that I think would be perfect.”
“Which is?” The blonde man looks at him wary.
“Moonlight deception. It's not as sweet as Inception, but I think the taste should be to your liking,” he answers, and Ariadne snorts, head still in the fridge.
“That's a … rather unusual name for a coffee,” the man snorts.
“It's really good,” Ariadne pipes in, arms full of weirdly shaped pink leaves, making her look more like a nymph from the old stories, that Eames likes, than a simple barmaid. “One of our most popular drinks.”
“I didn't know there is a ranking,” Arthur snorts and hands her one of the big bowls. “Put that here, before you trip,” he scowls and she sticks her tongue at him.
“That's because it's a part of my masterplan to take over the place, Arthur,” she answers him with a straight face. He just rolls his eyes at her childish behaviour and she just smiles and continues preparing the drinks for one of the tables.
“Arthur?” The man looks surprised to hear that. “As in Arthur Callahan?”
“Yes,” Arthur answers. “Do we know each other from somewhere?” He asks, looking closer at the man. He doesn't remember seeing his face before, so it's highly improbable, but then again he doesn't just go around flaunting his surname like a flag. So unless the man knows someone, who'd been here a week ago, during the sudden intervention of the automatons, it's very unlikely for him to know it.
“Not exactly,” the man shrugs. “The colleague, Eames. He might've mentioned you.”
“You work at the Star Fleet Academy?” Arthur scrunches his brows, before schooling his face into a neutral expression. He knows Eames wouldn't tell anyone such important detail, so it's better to play it safe.
“Yes, I'm a guest lecturer there.”
“On what topics?” Arthur asks, genuinely curious, fishing for more information. He can't always be sneaky about it, besides he works if the man really works there and know Eames... The question is not weird or out of place.
“Dream architecture,” he answers freely.
“I am quite sure it's forbidden,” Arthur counters, his fingers ghosting over the counter, exactly on the place where the gun is placed, just under.
“It's only a harmless theorizing. It brings no harm, ah,” the man smacks his forehead and brings his hand forward. “I forgot to introduce myself. My name Cobb, Dominic Cobb.”
Arthur shakes his hand, but the gears in his mind are working, fuelled by adrenaline. This man, he thinks. Is either a dangerous lunatic with acting skills of a five year old, or a deranged naïve man, who is unaware of consequences of sharing some of his thoughts this loud, and in a public place no less.
“Nice to meet you,” he lies, hiding his suspicious towards his new friend. “I will have your drink ready in a few, just go and sit whenever,” he smiles, hoping the man will get the hint and go away. Arthur can be very persuasive, but he'd rather not use some of his methods in public.
Dominic nods and, to Arthur's surprise, goes straight to Mal's table sitting down in front of her. He watches the man chat the woman up, notes her surprised smile and the way her eyes soften. Arthur can see it even from where he is standing now.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ariadne asks, preparing a tray with four, steaming cups of chocolate cheese coffees. “You look like you're going to faint -” she continues, sprinkling gold flecks over the whipped cream. “Or kill someone,” she adds as an afterthought.
“This man,” Arthur says, eyes intent on the odd pair. “I don't believe Eames told him anything.”
“Why, if they work together is very probable,” she says and he looks back at her.
“I will take it, make the drink for him, alright?” He says and sees that she wants to protest, but the look on his face stops her.
“Ok,” she huffs. “But you've been getting more paranoid lately. It's not like they're out to get you,” she jokes.
“No,” he says softly and lifts the tray. “Of course not.”
+
Hey, welcome back. How are you feeling?
I feel strange, my body feels strange.
You were lost for almost a week.
I fell into a limbo. I thought I wouldn't be coming back.
You're here now, Eames. You're here.
+
Sometimes Arthur feels like there is nothing left of his true self.
He's tired, so very tired. His brain is overloaded with countless, random informations that confuse him, and on his worse days, make such a simple thing like lifting a hand an almost impossible task. A proper command getting lost somewhere between the lines of the latest novel he'd read, or a joke Yusuf had said the other day.
No matter how much he enjoys working at Milky Way, enjoys observing people and making his unique skills actually serve a purpose other than just storing needless data in his brain. He sometimes wonders what his life would be if he'd made different choices in the past.
“I don't regret it,” he says to the empty apartment, wiping the counter, even though it's pristine clean, but he feels the need to do something with his hands and they don't have any books in their flat. No television either, and there is only so much music Arthur can take daily. Eames is not at home yet, having called earlier to let him know, that there is supposedly this new guy coming to work with them and the paper work is somehow horrendous and they need every pair of hands they can use.
The house is silent, heavy. Arthur's remembers when it used to be different. Or maybe it was something I've read, he thinks, because he can never be sure of those things, not with the amount of knowledge that he'd be gladly rid of if given a chance.
Truth to be told, there is only one thing that he's sure of. One thing that makes him at peace.
He loves Eames, the constant presence in his life. Eames, who knows, who understands and loves Arthur back.
He lays on their shared bed and closes his eyes, allowing his mind to free fall into the happy and warm memories of the man he shares his life and soul with.
+
Arthur, I can't shift.
You're still not feeling well. It will pass.
No, it won't, darling.
How can you be so sure?
Arthur... This is not my body.
Of course it is.
Arthur. Darling. This. Is. Not my body.
End of part two