Never accept a sandwich from Eames while you're dreaming
Title: 100 Things Eames Is No Longer Allowed To Do - 11
Authors: immoral-crow and unvarnishedtale
Team: ROMANCE
Prompt: Touch
Word count: 450 ish
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Eames is disturbingly enthusiastic sometimes… And kids? Don’t drug friends, even if you think it will help them.
A/N: Well, you don’t always have pockets in dreams, do you? You can find the whole list here.
11) When Arthur says he doesn't want to know where on his person Eames was hiding that pistol, he means it
They all survived, they extracted the information they needed and the job was finished. That, thought Arthur, is the only important thing to consider right now.
Ariadne however? Yeah. She still had a lot to learn.
‘Eames,’ she said, all big eyes filled with the thirst for knowledge. ‘When we were leaving the hotel room, where did you get that last pistol from? I mean...’ she blushed prettily, ‘you only had a towel on at that point.’
Cobb met Arthur’s eyes in a silent plea. Arthur sighed.
‘Eames, I don’t want to know where you had the pistol; Ariadne, neither do you.’
Ariadne pouted and turned a beseeching look towards Eames.
‘Sorry, Arthur. The lady has spoken.’ Eames turned towards Ariadne. ‘I always keep a spare pistol in my pouch.’
‘Your pouch?’ Ariadne sounded more curious than disgusted, but Arthur was aware of a small whimpering noise coming from Cobb’s side of the office.
‘My pouch!’ Eames beamed. ‘Like a kangaroo, you know? It’s so useful! You wouldn’t believe what I can fit in there when necessary. You take my advice, Ari, and learn to forge a pouch.’
‘Isn’t it a bit small though? How much can you fit in?’ Ariadne’s face was full of horrified admiration. After years of dealing with Eames, Arthur knew the expression well.
‘Oh no! If you get your mind right, you can fit almost anything into your pouch. Why, once I managed to find three semi-automatics, a grenade launcher, a cheese sandwich and a laptop there.’ Arthur nodded. He remembered that. It had been a good cheese sandwich as well - just the right amount of pickle. ‘There was even,’ Eames’s tone turned conspiratorial, ‘still room for a potted plant and a...’
‘No! Arthur really doesn’t need to know this.’ Cobb’s voice was a bit frantic and although Arthur resented being made the scapegoat, he nodded tightly before leading Cobb into the kitchenette.
‘You okay?’ he asked, starting to make a restorative cup of chamomile tea to calm Cobb’s nerves.
Cobb didn’t look okay. He was slumped over the counter, head in his hands, though he managed to look up when Arthur put a comforting hand on his shoulder, his expression as confused and scared as a child’s.
‘It’s just,’ his voice broke slightly, and Arthur rubbed his back in what he hoped was a comforting way, ‘the grappling hooks he gave me earlier were warm.’
He dropped his face back into his hands and looked so bereft that Arthur resolved, then and there, to double the dose of Prozac he was slipping Cobb on a daily basis.
Authors: immoral-crow and unvarnishedtale
Team: ROMANCE
Prompt: Touch
Word count: 450 ish
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Eames is disturbingly enthusiastic sometimes… And kids? Don’t drug friends, even if you think it will help them.
A/N: Well, you don’t always have pockets in dreams, do you? You can find the whole list here.
11) When Arthur says he doesn't want to know where on his person Eames was hiding that pistol, he means it
They all survived, they extracted the information they needed and the job was finished. That, thought Arthur, is the only important thing to consider right now.
Ariadne however? Yeah. She still had a lot to learn.
‘Eames,’ she said, all big eyes filled with the thirst for knowledge. ‘When we were leaving the hotel room, where did you get that last pistol from? I mean...’ she blushed prettily, ‘you only had a towel on at that point.’
Cobb met Arthur’s eyes in a silent plea. Arthur sighed.
‘Eames, I don’t want to know where you had the pistol; Ariadne, neither do you.’
Ariadne pouted and turned a beseeching look towards Eames.
‘Sorry, Arthur. The lady has spoken.’ Eames turned towards Ariadne. ‘I always keep a spare pistol in my pouch.’
‘Your pouch?’ Ariadne sounded more curious than disgusted, but Arthur was aware of a small whimpering noise coming from Cobb’s side of the office.
‘My pouch!’ Eames beamed. ‘Like a kangaroo, you know? It’s so useful! You wouldn’t believe what I can fit in there when necessary. You take my advice, Ari, and learn to forge a pouch.’
‘Isn’t it a bit small though? How much can you fit in?’ Ariadne’s face was full of horrified admiration. After years of dealing with Eames, Arthur knew the expression well.
‘Oh no! If you get your mind right, you can fit almost anything into your pouch. Why, once I managed to find three semi-automatics, a grenade launcher, a cheese sandwich and a laptop there.’ Arthur nodded. He remembered that. It had been a good cheese sandwich as well - just the right amount of pickle. ‘There was even,’ Eames’s tone turned conspiratorial, ‘still room for a potted plant and a...’
‘No! Arthur really doesn’t need to know this.’ Cobb’s voice was a bit frantic and although Arthur resented being made the scapegoat, he nodded tightly before leading Cobb into the kitchenette.
‘You okay?’ he asked, starting to make a restorative cup of chamomile tea to calm Cobb’s nerves.
Cobb didn’t look okay. He was slumped over the counter, head in his hands, though he managed to look up when Arthur put a comforting hand on his shoulder, his expression as confused and scared as a child’s.
‘It’s just,’ his voice broke slightly, and Arthur rubbed his back in what he hoped was a comforting way, ‘the grappling hooks he gave me earlier were warm.’
He dropped his face back into his hands and looked so bereft that Arthur resolved, then and there, to double the dose of Prozac he was slipping Cobb on a daily basis.