[CROSSOVER; INCEPTION/ROCKNROLLA] FIC: Untitled (Arthur/Handsome Bob)
Title: Untitled.
Summary: For inception_kink meme prompt: They fuck whenever Arthur's in town on a job. The filthier the better.
QUOTE: Distractions never work.
When Arthur first saw Handsome Bob, it wasn't because Handsome Bob was clearly eyeing him from across the room but because his face was as familiar as sight as it was unfamiliar. They had never met before, he was sure, because Arthur has certainly met anyone in that seedy pub in the East End of London. Not with a suit like he was wearing now when the very loose and very drunk group sitting somewhere near him wore very little else above skimpy shorts and very tight jeans.
But then a group of men, all looking much taller than Arthur, with broad shoulders and faces that looked like they could punch you in the balls with their eyes, entered the pub. Handsome Bob glanced away from Arthur to look at them and never met Arthur's eyes again for the rest of the night.
The following evening, Arthur was sitting on the same seat but Handsome Bob was not.
Handsome Bob was sitting right beside him, not-smiling and not-sarcastic. He didn't call Arthur 'darling' whenever the opportunity called for it either. (And for each of those opportunities, Arthur paused ever so slightly, as if waiting for it. Darling, dear, sweetheart. But Handsome Bob never picked up on it and he didn't look like he said those words overly much anyway.)
But it didn't matter because later on in the evening, when Arthur had had too many vodka tonics and Handsome Bob had finished the last of his beer, they didn't need to call each other anything at all.
Not when Arthur was bracing himself against the bathroom mirror, his groin pressed against the cold porcelain of the sink. Not when Bob's hand snaked over his hip to wrap around him, the callouses on his fingers adding a new detail to a very elaborate picture painted in Arthur's head.
"Oh, fuck," Bob breathed into his ear and his weight pressed against Arthur's back, filling him fully from within.
Arthur groaned, deep and rough, when a blind and unrelentless need bubbled up within them and all that was left to the air was the rustle of clothing and the slip and slide of their feet on wet tiles.
The following day, after a brief phoen call from Cobb, Arthur was on the first plane to Paris, and he didn't remember Handsome Bob again for several weeks.
Almost a a year had passed until Arthur found himself in London and, once again, at that very same pub. He was not in his usual seat and neither was Handsome Bob. They were in the very dark, very smelly, and often-used alleyway at the back of the pub, with only the dim light from the cracked glass of the pub's backdoor to guide their hands.
"Didn't think you'd see me again, did you," Arthur had greeted Handsome Bob but was only met with a stony silence, to be broken shortly after with a fierce and searing kiss that was all need and lust but no desire.
They didn't bother with drinks this time. The only thing they needed was a condom Bob skillfully fished out of Arthur's back pocket. His loaded die fell on the ground but Arthur didn't need to look at it to know that this was real, because his dreams were filled with hushed terms of endearment and not nearly as quiet.
Arthur was half-seated on what felt like a tall garbage can, Bob in between his thighs with the packet poised inelegantly on lips framed by stubble. His face was a familiar one but the fullness of his cheeks failed to appease the hands that wanted something different, something fuller and more akin to smile in however way Arthur could get it to.
It went as fast as Arthur remembered it. All hands no talk, a brief kiss that didn't last as long as he'd wanted, as if Bob hardly ever kissed and when he did, it was to steal his breath to keep him quiet.
When they both came, it was with Arthur resting his head on the brick wall and Bob biting at his chest through his thin shirt, both of their pants stripped only halfway, and both of their lips mouthing different things.
Arthur stayed longer in London this time and when he next met Bob at the pub, the bathroom was occupied, and the alleyway had already been lit. So they sat at a booth, where partitions half-heartedly covered them from other people.
They were sitting on opposite sides of the narrow table, with Bob facing the door, which he eyed every so often.
"Are you waiting for someone?" Arthur asked after the nth time he noted Bob's eyes glance distractedly away from him.
Bob shook his head, running a hand down his semi-bald head and Arthur wondered what he would look like with a mop of dark brown hair.
Arthur didn't bother to bring his die this time, and there would have been no use for it because the dim light overhead cast all the wrong shadows on Bob's pointed face for it to be anything but reality.
"You always look at me like that," Bob said finally said, with a cigarette poised on his lips.
"Like what?" Arthur asked, frowning at him.
Bob shrugged, a look of uncertainy on his face that Arthur thought didn't belong there at all. "Like you're seeing me for the first time," Bob pointed out, lighting his cigerette. "Every time."
"Are you bothered by that?" Arthur fired back, sounding slightly defensive when in all honesty, he couldn't care less if Bob did or not. He didn't keep coming back for the sentiments anyway.
Bob shook his head. "You just look strange, is all." He slouched in his seat until their feet brushed.
"What?" Arthur asked, slightly confused.
Bob smiled, almost knowingly, and Arthur had never seen him smile before. It looked so achingly familiar that Arthur suddenly groped for the die in his pocket he knew he wasn't there.
"Stop that," Bob scolded with an authoritative tone.
Arthur did. The voices in his dream never sounded like that.
"Now relax," Bob continued, his voice softening but never teasing.
Arthur felt a strange sensation up his leg and he realized that it was Bob's bare foot lifting itself up from the floor until his toes rested on the edge of the seat in between Arthur's thighs.
"What-wh--" Arthur struggled to form but Bob quickly shushed him.
"Don't talk."
Arthur didn't. He closed his mouth and when the first threads of arousal unfurled in his belly, he sank into his seat. THe weight of Bob's foot on his half-hard cock made him bite off a groan. The rhythm of toes as they rubbed the cloth of his pants against him shuddered, subtle and silent, and Arthur wanted more, his cock growing painfully hard.
But all of a sudden, Bob's foot was no longer there.
Arthur's eyes shot open in surprise. "Why did you--" but Bob was already on his feet, his foot shoved inside his sneakers.
"You're not gonna find what you want here, mate," Bob said, as he put out his cigarette on the ashtray. "I'm gonna do you the favor of cutting you off from a distraction like me." At this, Bob's smile was almost sad, "Distractions never work."
Arthur didn't bother looking at him as he left, there was nothing about Bob's gait, or about the back of his head, or about his clothes that satisfied Arthur anyway.
Arthur left for Mombasa the following day and never again found a good reason to return to London.
Summary: For inception_kink meme prompt: They fuck whenever Arthur's in town on a job. The filthier the better.
QUOTE: Distractions never work.
When Arthur first saw Handsome Bob, it wasn't because Handsome Bob was clearly eyeing him from across the room but because his face was as familiar as sight as it was unfamiliar. They had never met before, he was sure, because Arthur has certainly met anyone in that seedy pub in the East End of London. Not with a suit like he was wearing now when the very loose and very drunk group sitting somewhere near him wore very little else above skimpy shorts and very tight jeans.
But then a group of men, all looking much taller than Arthur, with broad shoulders and faces that looked like they could punch you in the balls with their eyes, entered the pub. Handsome Bob glanced away from Arthur to look at them and never met Arthur's eyes again for the rest of the night.
The following evening, Arthur was sitting on the same seat but Handsome Bob was not.
Handsome Bob was sitting right beside him, not-smiling and not-sarcastic. He didn't call Arthur 'darling' whenever the opportunity called for it either. (And for each of those opportunities, Arthur paused ever so slightly, as if waiting for it. Darling, dear, sweetheart. But Handsome Bob never picked up on it and he didn't look like he said those words overly much anyway.)
But it didn't matter because later on in the evening, when Arthur had had too many vodka tonics and Handsome Bob had finished the last of his beer, they didn't need to call each other anything at all.
Not when Arthur was bracing himself against the bathroom mirror, his groin pressed against the cold porcelain of the sink. Not when Bob's hand snaked over his hip to wrap around him, the callouses on his fingers adding a new detail to a very elaborate picture painted in Arthur's head.
"Oh, fuck," Bob breathed into his ear and his weight pressed against Arthur's back, filling him fully from within.
Arthur groaned, deep and rough, when a blind and unrelentless need bubbled up within them and all that was left to the air was the rustle of clothing and the slip and slide of their feet on wet tiles.
The following day, after a brief phoen call from Cobb, Arthur was on the first plane to Paris, and he didn't remember Handsome Bob again for several weeks.
Almost a a year had passed until Arthur found himself in London and, once again, at that very same pub. He was not in his usual seat and neither was Handsome Bob. They were in the very dark, very smelly, and often-used alleyway at the back of the pub, with only the dim light from the cracked glass of the pub's backdoor to guide their hands.
"Didn't think you'd see me again, did you," Arthur had greeted Handsome Bob but was only met with a stony silence, to be broken shortly after with a fierce and searing kiss that was all need and lust but no desire.
They didn't bother with drinks this time. The only thing they needed was a condom Bob skillfully fished out of Arthur's back pocket. His loaded die fell on the ground but Arthur didn't need to look at it to know that this was real, because his dreams were filled with hushed terms of endearment and not nearly as quiet.
Arthur was half-seated on what felt like a tall garbage can, Bob in between his thighs with the packet poised inelegantly on lips framed by stubble. His face was a familiar one but the fullness of his cheeks failed to appease the hands that wanted something different, something fuller and more akin to smile in however way Arthur could get it to.
It went as fast as Arthur remembered it. All hands no talk, a brief kiss that didn't last as long as he'd wanted, as if Bob hardly ever kissed and when he did, it was to steal his breath to keep him quiet.
When they both came, it was with Arthur resting his head on the brick wall and Bob biting at his chest through his thin shirt, both of their pants stripped only halfway, and both of their lips mouthing different things.
Arthur stayed longer in London this time and when he next met Bob at the pub, the bathroom was occupied, and the alleyway had already been lit. So they sat at a booth, where partitions half-heartedly covered them from other people.
They were sitting on opposite sides of the narrow table, with Bob facing the door, which he eyed every so often.
"Are you waiting for someone?" Arthur asked after the nth time he noted Bob's eyes glance distractedly away from him.
Bob shook his head, running a hand down his semi-bald head and Arthur wondered what he would look like with a mop of dark brown hair.
Arthur didn't bother to bring his die this time, and there would have been no use for it because the dim light overhead cast all the wrong shadows on Bob's pointed face for it to be anything but reality.
"You always look at me like that," Bob said finally said, with a cigarette poised on his lips.
"Like what?" Arthur asked, frowning at him.
Bob shrugged, a look of uncertainy on his face that Arthur thought didn't belong there at all. "Like you're seeing me for the first time," Bob pointed out, lighting his cigerette. "Every time."
"Are you bothered by that?" Arthur fired back, sounding slightly defensive when in all honesty, he couldn't care less if Bob did or not. He didn't keep coming back for the sentiments anyway.
Bob shook his head. "You just look strange, is all." He slouched in his seat until their feet brushed.
"What?" Arthur asked, slightly confused.
Bob smiled, almost knowingly, and Arthur had never seen him smile before. It looked so achingly familiar that Arthur suddenly groped for the die in his pocket he knew he wasn't there.
"Stop that," Bob scolded with an authoritative tone.
Arthur did. The voices in his dream never sounded like that.
"Now relax," Bob continued, his voice softening but never teasing.
Arthur felt a strange sensation up his leg and he realized that it was Bob's bare foot lifting itself up from the floor until his toes rested on the edge of the seat in between Arthur's thighs.
"What-wh--" Arthur struggled to form but Bob quickly shushed him.
"Don't talk."
Arthur didn't. He closed his mouth and when the first threads of arousal unfurled in his belly, he sank into his seat. THe weight of Bob's foot on his half-hard cock made him bite off a groan. The rhythm of toes as they rubbed the cloth of his pants against him shuddered, subtle and silent, and Arthur wanted more, his cock growing painfully hard.
But all of a sudden, Bob's foot was no longer there.
Arthur's eyes shot open in surprise. "Why did you--" but Bob was already on his feet, his foot shoved inside his sneakers.
"You're not gonna find what you want here, mate," Bob said, as he put out his cigarette on the ashtray. "I'm gonna do you the favor of cutting you off from a distraction like me." At this, Bob's smile was almost sad, "Distractions never work."
Arthur didn't bother looking at him as he left, there was nothing about Bob's gait, or about the back of his head, or about his clothes that satisfied Arthur anyway.
Arthur left for Mombasa the following day and never again found a good reason to return to London.