After The Summer
Title: After The Summer
Summary: Eames is interested in a relationship with both Ariadne and Arthur because he knows for sure that they'd make an interesting trio. And when he finally succeeds in doing so… things change.
Fandom: Inception
Characters/Pairings: Ariadne/Arthur/Eames
Genre: Romance, angst, humour
Rating/Warnings: PG-13/swearing
Word Count: 1631
Author's Notes: This is a fic that I originally wrote for kissoffools at npmexchange but it kind of got away from the prompts, so I'm just going to post it here :)
The warehouse's rather quiet. Cobb and Yusuf are gone for a field test; Arthur's researching on the mark's background, Ariadne is busy designing her mazes with furrowed brows, and Eames is doing what he does best: looking at himself in the mirror.
"Your shirt's a little damp, darling," Eames drawls into Arthur's ear during one of his self-proclaimed breaks. "Might want to take a breather."
"Fuck off." The pointman's voice has lost its cool, sharp edge. Arthur tugs at his collar (his tie has already been deemed as a lost cause), which does nothing to relieve the sweltering heat. Eames approves of the showing of collarbone though.
Eames tuts, noting Arthur's jaw clenching. "No need for that aggro, sweets. Was just being a concerned colleague." He smirks when Arthur looks up, beads of sweat dripping down his neck, and gives the forger the finger.
He moves on to Ariadne when Arthur has run out of swear words and curses.
"Hello, love." Eames perches on her desk, miraculously avoiding crushing any of her plans for the mazes. "How are you on this lovely summer day?"
"Wonderful. Fantastic. Yes," she murmurs in reply, reaching for a ruler and a protractor. "Don't you have work to do?"
Eames sips from his glass of iced tea. "I'm taking a break, my dear. You should join me. Live a little. Unlike that prick over there who refuses to look up from his folders."
"Arthur isn't a prick. He's determined to do his job well. But yes, I do need a break," Ariadne says, stretching her arms out.
"Oh, sorry, did I say a prick? I meant his prick. He's obviously only shagging his work and nothing else. The poor bugger in his pants must be bored to death, rubbing against manila envelopes."
The architect can't help but snort, drawing a shit-eating grin from Eames.
"I'll show you fucking shagging envelopes."
He and Ariadne both gulp simultaneously when they finally turn to see a scowling Arthur behind them.
----------
"Really, mate, you should get out more often," Eames says, half-pissed after a number of quality shots. He drapes a lazy arm around Arthur's shoulders and feels a sense of accomplishment when the man doesn't throw it off. "Your arse unclenches from its usual state when you loosen up."
Ariadne giggles and leans into Arthur, a pink drink in her hand. "True, that." He glances at her with mock annoyance.
"Hey, I know how to par-tay," he says, downing another shot of whisky and ignoring the dramatic rolling of Eames' eyeballs. "I just think that work is work, and we need to do a good job and focus on whatever we're doing. I need to pee."
With that announcement, Arthur left the table to the laughter of the other two.
"He can be fun, you know," Ariadne murmurs, looking at Eames intensely. "And he likes you, even though you drive him up the wall."
"Yeah well, I'm more into the ladies," Eames whispers back, eyes burning into hers. "I like to… drive them up walls. If you catch my drift."
"You're drunk."
"That declaration, even though absolutely one hundred percent correct, doesn't change the fact that-"
"Man, those restrooms are foul!"
"Dammit, Arthur!"
----------
As the weeks pass, they become inseparable, the three of them.
"I feel like the fucking Golden Trio," Eames announces one Friday evening at their usual bar. "I'm Harry and you two are Ron and Hermione."
Arthur looks at him weirdly. "What?"
"You have honestly never read Harry Potter, have you?"
"Nope."
Ariadne pipes up in between them. "Yep, he hasn't. I've seen his apartment."
"Oh, I bet you have," Eames says casually. "We should marathon the entire series at dear Arthur's apartment. Together."
Arthur growls. "No. We have a job to do, remember, and I do know that there are six movies so far, and we're not trashing my place so that you can watch Harry fucking Potter. I'm going to get us a booth; we've been waiting for too long."
"Ickle Ronniekins needs to stay cool, methinks." Eames grins after Arthur's disappeared into the crowd. "It's only been ten minutes."
Ariadne sips her iced tea. "He's been edgy all week."
"Yeah well, you did try to jump him. Funny thing, the three of us," Eames muses, mind whirling craftily (the first whisky of the night helped). "I tried jumping you. That didn't work. You tried jumping him and clearly that went all bollocks. And I know for sure that he has the hots for you; he's left a drunken message or two on my cell. Hilarious, they were."
"To be honest, you jumping me would have worked if you hadn't been stone drunk at the time. FYI, vomiting into her lap does not a seduced woman make."
Eames snickers, inwardly triumphant. "We should just do it. I should jump you while you jump him."
"Christ, Eames!" Ariadne can't help but blush furiously and gulp down her drink. She thanks goodness when Arthur comes back with a snarling face and a rant about how biased the management was.
----------
A week later, Eames brings the topic up again, because yeah he can see the three of them in his bed having a good time. He knows that they'd work well together. This time he talks about it blatantly in front of both Ariadne and Arthur, who chokes on his peas but doesn't say no.
She smirks and pecks him on the cheek, "Figure it out then."
----------
Afterwards, they lie back and wonder how the hell they had managed all of it. The sweaty skin, the tangled sheets (linen, not satin, because Eames hated smooth cloth - "It chafes," he'd said with a nonchalant shrug, in smirking answer to their confused faces), the designation of which body went where…
"We are fucking geniuses," Arthur says, still panting lightly. His once perfectly combed hair is now in disarray, tendrils poking out like quills on a porcupine. Ariadne and Eames share a look of approval. "Fucking geniuses."
----------
"Do you think Cobb knows?" Eames asks on a lazy Saturday afternoon, twirling Ariadne's hair around his finger.
She squirms in his lap, which only serves to make Arthur glare with one open eye at her. "I don't know. I think he does."
The man with his head in her lap snorts. "You bet he does. I've learned something about Cobb from all of the times I've worked with him. The man has a fucking sixth sense about his team. I'm waiting for the office romance speech any day."
Eames scoffs at the idea of Cobb sitting them down to warn them about the birds and the bees and how their… relationship could compromise the gig they're working on, but it does happen a few days later.
"I know that there's something going on," Cobb says quietly, looking directly at the forger. Eames cannot help but feel a little pride that he'd apparently been chosen as the leader of the trio. The feeling mixes in well with the lack of comfort he has with the conversation. "I don't need to know the details, but please realise that this job is important. We cannot afford to screw up just because you three have the hots for each other."
"We understand," Arthur replies, as cool as ever. "It's off the clock. No problems."
Eames nods with Ariadne, and decides to chip in a few serious words. "We all have no issues with maintaining our high level of professionalism, sweetheart."
The woman beside him stifles a laugh and he spots a bewildering smile on Cobb's face.
----------
When the threads start unravelling, Eames cannot believe it. He keeps asking himself why, when Ariadne and Arthur seem to want each other more often in the bed. When both their eyes meet more often and they don't look away, even until the end. When Ariadne chooses to hug Arthur to sleep instead of alternating between the two men.
When her kisses become nothing more than quick pecks and Arthur's eyes start taking on an apologetic look, Eames officially knows that it's over and that he's a stranger in their bed, their relationship.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, and he believes her, because her voice breaks right on the last syllable, and she doesn't need to blink to show him that there're tears in her eyes. He believes her because goddamn it Ariadne never lies and he always, always trusts her to tell him the truth, to show him the way out of quagmires and sticky situations.
Because he can see that her heart is breaking because she's seen his heart breaking.
Eames swallows and clasps her hand in between both of his own. "No need to be sorry, love. It's life, yeah?"
It ends with a kiss on the cheek, a bittersweet echo of how it had all began.
----------
Arthur doesn't say much as he stands in the doorway.
Eames is glad because he can't think of anything coherent either. The box in his hands feel like a farce, as if he's a sad little employee being let go by a stuck-up boss in a fancy shirt.
"I hope you're not expecting a handshake," he cracks, trying to give a relaxed grin.
The other man's mouth quirks upwards.
Eames leaves the apartment with Arthur's favourite blue tie knotted loosely around his neck.
----------
Eames smiles faintly as the couple walks unknowingly past him, still chattering to themselves. He catches a glimpse of a smile on Ariadne's face and an answering grin on Arthur's.
And yes, it reminds him of forgotten days in bed, of banter and arguments. Of salty skin and sweet pancakes in the morning.
But he doesn't slow down, doesn't say anything as they disappear backwards into the streets of London. He is a master forger after all.
FIN
Summary: Eames is interested in a relationship with both Ariadne and Arthur because he knows for sure that they'd make an interesting trio. And when he finally succeeds in doing so… things change.
Fandom: Inception
Characters/Pairings: Ariadne/Arthur/Eames
Genre: Romance, angst, humour
Rating/Warnings: PG-13/swearing
Word Count: 1631
Author's Notes: This is a fic that I originally wrote for kissoffools at npmexchange but it kind of got away from the prompts, so I'm just going to post it here :)
The warehouse's rather quiet. Cobb and Yusuf are gone for a field test; Arthur's researching on the mark's background, Ariadne is busy designing her mazes with furrowed brows, and Eames is doing what he does best: looking at himself in the mirror.
"Your shirt's a little damp, darling," Eames drawls into Arthur's ear during one of his self-proclaimed breaks. "Might want to take a breather."
"Fuck off." The pointman's voice has lost its cool, sharp edge. Arthur tugs at his collar (his tie has already been deemed as a lost cause), which does nothing to relieve the sweltering heat. Eames approves of the showing of collarbone though.
Eames tuts, noting Arthur's jaw clenching. "No need for that aggro, sweets. Was just being a concerned colleague." He smirks when Arthur looks up, beads of sweat dripping down his neck, and gives the forger the finger.
He moves on to Ariadne when Arthur has run out of swear words and curses.
"Hello, love." Eames perches on her desk, miraculously avoiding crushing any of her plans for the mazes. "How are you on this lovely summer day?"
"Wonderful. Fantastic. Yes," she murmurs in reply, reaching for a ruler and a protractor. "Don't you have work to do?"
Eames sips from his glass of iced tea. "I'm taking a break, my dear. You should join me. Live a little. Unlike that prick over there who refuses to look up from his folders."
"Arthur isn't a prick. He's determined to do his job well. But yes, I do need a break," Ariadne says, stretching her arms out.
"Oh, sorry, did I say a prick? I meant his prick. He's obviously only shagging his work and nothing else. The poor bugger in his pants must be bored to death, rubbing against manila envelopes."
The architect can't help but snort, drawing a shit-eating grin from Eames.
"I'll show you fucking shagging envelopes."
He and Ariadne both gulp simultaneously when they finally turn to see a scowling Arthur behind them.
----------
"Really, mate, you should get out more often," Eames says, half-pissed after a number of quality shots. He drapes a lazy arm around Arthur's shoulders and feels a sense of accomplishment when the man doesn't throw it off. "Your arse unclenches from its usual state when you loosen up."
Ariadne giggles and leans into Arthur, a pink drink in her hand. "True, that." He glances at her with mock annoyance.
"Hey, I know how to par-tay," he says, downing another shot of whisky and ignoring the dramatic rolling of Eames' eyeballs. "I just think that work is work, and we need to do a good job and focus on whatever we're doing. I need to pee."
With that announcement, Arthur left the table to the laughter of the other two.
"He can be fun, you know," Ariadne murmurs, looking at Eames intensely. "And he likes you, even though you drive him up the wall."
"Yeah well, I'm more into the ladies," Eames whispers back, eyes burning into hers. "I like to… drive them up walls. If you catch my drift."
"You're drunk."
"That declaration, even though absolutely one hundred percent correct, doesn't change the fact that-"
"Man, those restrooms are foul!"
"Dammit, Arthur!"
----------
As the weeks pass, they become inseparable, the three of them.
"I feel like the fucking Golden Trio," Eames announces one Friday evening at their usual bar. "I'm Harry and you two are Ron and Hermione."
Arthur looks at him weirdly. "What?"
"You have honestly never read Harry Potter, have you?"
"Nope."
Ariadne pipes up in between them. "Yep, he hasn't. I've seen his apartment."
"Oh, I bet you have," Eames says casually. "We should marathon the entire series at dear Arthur's apartment. Together."
Arthur growls. "No. We have a job to do, remember, and I do know that there are six movies so far, and we're not trashing my place so that you can watch Harry fucking Potter. I'm going to get us a booth; we've been waiting for too long."
"Ickle Ronniekins needs to stay cool, methinks." Eames grins after Arthur's disappeared into the crowd. "It's only been ten minutes."
Ariadne sips her iced tea. "He's been edgy all week."
"Yeah well, you did try to jump him. Funny thing, the three of us," Eames muses, mind whirling craftily (the first whisky of the night helped). "I tried jumping you. That didn't work. You tried jumping him and clearly that went all bollocks. And I know for sure that he has the hots for you; he's left a drunken message or two on my cell. Hilarious, they were."
"To be honest, you jumping me would have worked if you hadn't been stone drunk at the time. FYI, vomiting into her lap does not a seduced woman make."
Eames snickers, inwardly triumphant. "We should just do it. I should jump you while you jump him."
"Christ, Eames!" Ariadne can't help but blush furiously and gulp down her drink. She thanks goodness when Arthur comes back with a snarling face and a rant about how biased the management was.
----------
A week later, Eames brings the topic up again, because yeah he can see the three of them in his bed having a good time. He knows that they'd work well together. This time he talks about it blatantly in front of both Ariadne and Arthur, who chokes on his peas but doesn't say no.
She smirks and pecks him on the cheek, "Figure it out then."
----------
Afterwards, they lie back and wonder how the hell they had managed all of it. The sweaty skin, the tangled sheets (linen, not satin, because Eames hated smooth cloth - "It chafes," he'd said with a nonchalant shrug, in smirking answer to their confused faces), the designation of which body went where…
"We are fucking geniuses," Arthur says, still panting lightly. His once perfectly combed hair is now in disarray, tendrils poking out like quills on a porcupine. Ariadne and Eames share a look of approval. "Fucking geniuses."
----------
"Do you think Cobb knows?" Eames asks on a lazy Saturday afternoon, twirling Ariadne's hair around his finger.
She squirms in his lap, which only serves to make Arthur glare with one open eye at her. "I don't know. I think he does."
The man with his head in her lap snorts. "You bet he does. I've learned something about Cobb from all of the times I've worked with him. The man has a fucking sixth sense about his team. I'm waiting for the office romance speech any day."
Eames scoffs at the idea of Cobb sitting them down to warn them about the birds and the bees and how their… relationship could compromise the gig they're working on, but it does happen a few days later.
"I know that there's something going on," Cobb says quietly, looking directly at the forger. Eames cannot help but feel a little pride that he'd apparently been chosen as the leader of the trio. The feeling mixes in well with the lack of comfort he has with the conversation. "I don't need to know the details, but please realise that this job is important. We cannot afford to screw up just because you three have the hots for each other."
"We understand," Arthur replies, as cool as ever. "It's off the clock. No problems."
Eames nods with Ariadne, and decides to chip in a few serious words. "We all have no issues with maintaining our high level of professionalism, sweetheart."
The woman beside him stifles a laugh and he spots a bewildering smile on Cobb's face.
----------
When the threads start unravelling, Eames cannot believe it. He keeps asking himself why, when Ariadne and Arthur seem to want each other more often in the bed. When both their eyes meet more often and they don't look away, even until the end. When Ariadne chooses to hug Arthur to sleep instead of alternating between the two men.
When her kisses become nothing more than quick pecks and Arthur's eyes start taking on an apologetic look, Eames officially knows that it's over and that he's a stranger in their bed, their relationship.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, and he believes her, because her voice breaks right on the last syllable, and she doesn't need to blink to show him that there're tears in her eyes. He believes her because goddamn it Ariadne never lies and he always, always trusts her to tell him the truth, to show him the way out of quagmires and sticky situations.
Because he can see that her heart is breaking because she's seen his heart breaking.
Eames swallows and clasps her hand in between both of his own. "No need to be sorry, love. It's life, yeah?"
It ends with a kiss on the cheek, a bittersweet echo of how it had all began.
----------
Arthur doesn't say much as he stands in the doorway.
Eames is glad because he can't think of anything coherent either. The box in his hands feel like a farce, as if he's a sad little employee being let go by a stuck-up boss in a fancy shirt.
"I hope you're not expecting a handshake," he cracks, trying to give a relaxed grin.
The other man's mouth quirks upwards.
Eames leaves the apartment with Arthur's favourite blue tie knotted loosely around his neck.
----------
Eames smiles faintly as the couple walks unknowingly past him, still chattering to themselves. He catches a glimpse of a smile on Ariadne's face and an answering grin on Arthur's.
And yes, it reminds him of forgotten days in bed, of banter and arguments. Of salty skin and sweet pancakes in the morning.
But he doesn't slow down, doesn't say anything as they disappear backwards into the streets of London. He is a master forger after all.
FIN