[Fanfiction] Inception fic: All Innocence
Title All Innocence
Author: celestineangel
Fandom: Inception
Character(s)/Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG, awwww.
Word Count: 1,728
Summary: Eames takes Arthur out for what seems like innocent rest and relaxation, but hey, everyone has an ulterior motive, right?
Warnings: Arthur's a snob, and a cynic.
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox. I'm just moving sand around.
Author's Notes: DID I JUST WRITE SOMETHING CUTE AND FLUFFY??? THE WORLD IS OFFICIALLY ENDING. Written as a fill for this prompt at inception_kink. Hope you like it!
All Innocence
It seems innocent enough.
"You need something to eat, no, no denials, you've worked all day with nothing on your stomach."
Arthur is steered out of their headquarters-if a small hotel room can be called such-with barely enough time to grab his suit coat. It's Eames, it's always Eames who thrusts himself unwanted into any situation, especially Arthur's life. His person, his pet names, everything about the man is rude and unwarranted. Arthur's spent years desensitizing himself to Eames' personality, then his little quirks, until one day Arthur looked up and Eames' jaunty smirk didn't spark the urge to shoot him in the face.
Not, of course, that he's ever bothered to mention it to Eames.
It isn't until the car stops and Eames touches his shoulder that Arthur realizes he dozed off during the drive. Blinking, he looks out the window to see the brightly lit sign of a fast food restaurant. "No," he says. Then, just to make sure Eames understands just how vehemently he means it, he says, "Hell no. Fast food is disgusting on an infinite number of levels."
"Good, because you're looking out the wrong door." Eames grins, and before Arthur's exhausted mind can catch up, the ass has walked around the vehicle and opened Arthur's door for him.
The restaurant is next door, and a rather nice place serving Indian, which confuses Arthur because he can't figure out how Eames could be certain he'd like Indian food, but the sensation of confusion only increases when Eames orders for him. Arthur should be angry, but considering Eames ordered exactly what he wanted-naan and ginger chicken, his favorite-he can' t seem to work up a good rage.
All he can really do is sit there, eat his ginger chicken, and listen to Eames ramble. All right, 'ramble' was an unkind term, and he really should try to be nicer to the man, but unkindness toward Eames is almost second nature. Mostly, Arthur just listens, because Eames doesn't give him a chance to say two words between anecdotes, and dear God, has Eames ever chattered this non-stop before? Usually the man takes a breath once in a while, or even waits for Arthur to answer. Not tonight.
Eames talks about past jobs, he natters on and on about the inception job, though in hushed tones, and once or twice he starts to relate stories about kids Arthur suspects might be stories from his past, little Tommy and his sister Irene. Eames never says as much, but there are few other explanations.
When the check comes, Eames doesn't even blink before grabbing it and paying for both meals. It's annoying, but Arthur doesn't complain. Complain over free food? Never.
After dinner, Arthur feels better, though he thinks admitting it to Eames would be to reveal the weakness of actually liking him. He's ready to go home and take a good, long nap, but Eames apparently has other ides. After prattling the entire way, he finally goes quiet as he pulls the car in the parking lot of a big, garish building lit up with even more neon than the awful fast food place, though it takes Arthur several moments to realize where they are, and immediately he thinks What. The. Hell?
He's so confused by this turn of events that he can't even manage a protest when Eames opens his door and offers his hand.
"When's the last time you slummed around and just went to a movie, hmm?" Eames asks, smirking in the way that makes Arthur want to punch him.
"I… don't remember."
The smirk widens to a grin. "Oh good, then this will be a somewhat more unique experience. Come on, then."
Arthur hesitates, but in the end it's just easier not to argue. He tries not to argue with Eames if he can help it, because arguing with someone who fights with snark and smirks is never a productive use of time. Eames' hand, however, he ignores.
This theatre has five screens, a different movie on each, and immediately there's a problem when they can't even decide on what movie to see.
"Come on, big explosions, what's better than that?"
"Don't you have enough of explosions at work?" Arthur asks, and the gum-chewing ticket attendant blinks, but to her credit that's the extent of her reaction. "I'd rather there be no explosions, or gunfire, or torture or death."
"None?" Eames looks at the movie list with pursed lips. Arthur finds his eyes glued to them, unable to respond as the strangest thoughts flicker through his mind. "Do they even make movies without explosions and death?"
"They're usually called romantic comedies." The words are out before Arthur realizes he's speaking.
"A romcom, darling?" Eames grins at him. "You never struck me as a chick flick kind of guy."
Arthur rolls his eyes. "You couldn't possibly refrain from being a sexist ass for five seconds, could you?"
"It is my specialty."
Eames buys the tickets, too, making Arthur frown as they enter the theatre. He's quite out of place in his three piece suit that cost more than most of the peoples' cars, even more so standing in line at the concession stand waiting for snacks that Eames also pays for. Arthur only orders a bottled water, because he can't imagine putting anything else on that menu in his body, but Eames walks away with a gigantic fountain soda, a tub of popcorn with enough butter to clog both their arteries, and nachos with an obscene amount of cheese.
"We just ate."
"I have a hollow leg, I have to fill that up before anything ever goes to my stomach."
"I can't believe you're going to eat that garbage. You're going to have a coronary by the time you're forty."
"Ah, but I'll die a happy, well-fed man."
Eames insists on sitting at the very top of the theatre, which is something of a climb in the amphitheatre layout of the room, but they are nothing if not in shape. The seats are small, made out of cheap purple cloth, and absolutely uncomfortable, and holy Hell, the movie trivia and quotes shown during the waiting period are mind-numbingly inane, and the preview show before the previews is worse, loud and annoying and showing nothing Arthur has any interest in seeing.
The movie is the epitome of the romantic comedy, meaning it's absurd, and completely unrealistic. Perfect people bumbling around each other in ways they never would in real life, and Arthur sees all the so-called 'plot twists' from the very beginning.
Halfway through, though, he realizes that at some point, Eames has draped his arms over the backs of the theatre seats, meaning one of them is mere inches from resting against Arthur's shoulders.
Something obvious-incredibly obvious, now that he thinks about it-occurs to him, and Arthur turns his head to glance at Eames. Eames, who paid for dinner, and the movie, and the snacks, and who drove him around all night, who very quickly steered him from the headquarters before he could protest. Goddammit, the others watched it happen and didn't do a thing to stop it.
A date. Eames thinks they're on a date. He intends this to be a date, Arthur realizes, and is somewhat discomfited when he comprehends that he isn't entirely upset by the idea.
A date. With Eames. A trick date. A sneak date attack. Son of a bitch.
Still. Those lips.
Arthur really would like to take those lips for a test drive. On the screen, the happy couple finally find their resolution and engage in their final happy kiss, and in the audience, Arthur imagines Eames' lips doing quite a few less innocent things to various parts of his body.
Thoughts of Eames' lips and tongue keep Arthur occupied from the walk to the car, and then on the drive to his place. Eames even knows where he lives, when Arthur is quite certain he's never told the forger his address. Then again, if there's a conspiracy going on, as he suspects, then Cobb is probably in on it, and Arthur will certainly have a few words for him in the morning.
After he has a few words with Eames. After several hours of no talking.
That's the plan, anyway, and it seems to be going well when Eames exits the car with him and walks him to the door. Arthur already has his key out, and unlocks the door, and turns back to Eames, mouth already open to invite him in for drinks. Eames, however, is looking at him with the strangest expression, one Arthur can't place for several moments because it's so out of place on Eames' face, hell, it would be out of place on anyone in Arthur's acquaintance. Nervousness. Insecurity.
"Had fun, love," he finally says, caught in an odd stance as though his body began to act on a thought before his mind stopped him from following through. "You should get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow." And he turns to walk away.
Walk away.
"Oh hell no," Arthur says, jingling his keys in his hands.
Eames stops, and turns, mouth slightly open. "What?"
"You did not just take me out to dinner and a movie at a crappy theatre and walk away without even a kiss on the cheek."
Arthur has never seen Eames so flustered before, and decides he likes it. A great deal. "E-Excuse me?"
"You went through a great deal of trouble, didn't you? I mean, rushing me out before anyone else on the team could say anything, though I suspect more than one of them were probably in on this. You spent a disgusting amount of money on me tonight, and you don't even want a kiss?"
"I-"
"That's all right, I guess, I'll just go inside and have a drink. By myself. In my bed." He opens the door and steps through, turning just as Eames starts up the driveway again, opening his mouth. "Good night, Mr. Eames."
He closes the door on Eames' face.
Smiling, Arthur locks the door and does exactly as he said he would. It's a bit lonely in bed by himself, but it isn't as though he isn't accustomed to it.
Besides, he'll generously allow Eames to make it up to him tomorrow.
Author: celestineangel
Fandom: Inception
Character(s)/Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG, awwww.
Word Count: 1,728
Summary: Eames takes Arthur out for what seems like innocent rest and relaxation, but hey, everyone has an ulterior motive, right?
Warnings: Arthur's a snob, and a cynic.
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox. I'm just moving sand around.
Author's Notes: DID I JUST WRITE SOMETHING CUTE AND FLUFFY??? THE WORLD IS OFFICIALLY ENDING. Written as a fill for this prompt at inception_kink. Hope you like it!
All Innocence
It seems innocent enough.
"You need something to eat, no, no denials, you've worked all day with nothing on your stomach."
Arthur is steered out of their headquarters-if a small hotel room can be called such-with barely enough time to grab his suit coat. It's Eames, it's always Eames who thrusts himself unwanted into any situation, especially Arthur's life. His person, his pet names, everything about the man is rude and unwarranted. Arthur's spent years desensitizing himself to Eames' personality, then his little quirks, until one day Arthur looked up and Eames' jaunty smirk didn't spark the urge to shoot him in the face.
Not, of course, that he's ever bothered to mention it to Eames.
It isn't until the car stops and Eames touches his shoulder that Arthur realizes he dozed off during the drive. Blinking, he looks out the window to see the brightly lit sign of a fast food restaurant. "No," he says. Then, just to make sure Eames understands just how vehemently he means it, he says, "Hell no. Fast food is disgusting on an infinite number of levels."
"Good, because you're looking out the wrong door." Eames grins, and before Arthur's exhausted mind can catch up, the ass has walked around the vehicle and opened Arthur's door for him.
The restaurant is next door, and a rather nice place serving Indian, which confuses Arthur because he can't figure out how Eames could be certain he'd like Indian food, but the sensation of confusion only increases when Eames orders for him. Arthur should be angry, but considering Eames ordered exactly what he wanted-naan and ginger chicken, his favorite-he can' t seem to work up a good rage.
All he can really do is sit there, eat his ginger chicken, and listen to Eames ramble. All right, 'ramble' was an unkind term, and he really should try to be nicer to the man, but unkindness toward Eames is almost second nature. Mostly, Arthur just listens, because Eames doesn't give him a chance to say two words between anecdotes, and dear God, has Eames ever chattered this non-stop before? Usually the man takes a breath once in a while, or even waits for Arthur to answer. Not tonight.
Eames talks about past jobs, he natters on and on about the inception job, though in hushed tones, and once or twice he starts to relate stories about kids Arthur suspects might be stories from his past, little Tommy and his sister Irene. Eames never says as much, but there are few other explanations.
When the check comes, Eames doesn't even blink before grabbing it and paying for both meals. It's annoying, but Arthur doesn't complain. Complain over free food? Never.
After dinner, Arthur feels better, though he thinks admitting it to Eames would be to reveal the weakness of actually liking him. He's ready to go home and take a good, long nap, but Eames apparently has other ides. After prattling the entire way, he finally goes quiet as he pulls the car in the parking lot of a big, garish building lit up with even more neon than the awful fast food place, though it takes Arthur several moments to realize where they are, and immediately he thinks What. The. Hell?
He's so confused by this turn of events that he can't even manage a protest when Eames opens his door and offers his hand.
"When's the last time you slummed around and just went to a movie, hmm?" Eames asks, smirking in the way that makes Arthur want to punch him.
"I… don't remember."
The smirk widens to a grin. "Oh good, then this will be a somewhat more unique experience. Come on, then."
Arthur hesitates, but in the end it's just easier not to argue. He tries not to argue with Eames if he can help it, because arguing with someone who fights with snark and smirks is never a productive use of time. Eames' hand, however, he ignores.
This theatre has five screens, a different movie on each, and immediately there's a problem when they can't even decide on what movie to see.
"Come on, big explosions, what's better than that?"
"Don't you have enough of explosions at work?" Arthur asks, and the gum-chewing ticket attendant blinks, but to her credit that's the extent of her reaction. "I'd rather there be no explosions, or gunfire, or torture or death."
"None?" Eames looks at the movie list with pursed lips. Arthur finds his eyes glued to them, unable to respond as the strangest thoughts flicker through his mind. "Do they even make movies without explosions and death?"
"They're usually called romantic comedies." The words are out before Arthur realizes he's speaking.
"A romcom, darling?" Eames grins at him. "You never struck me as a chick flick kind of guy."
Arthur rolls his eyes. "You couldn't possibly refrain from being a sexist ass for five seconds, could you?"
"It is my specialty."
Eames buys the tickets, too, making Arthur frown as they enter the theatre. He's quite out of place in his three piece suit that cost more than most of the peoples' cars, even more so standing in line at the concession stand waiting for snacks that Eames also pays for. Arthur only orders a bottled water, because he can't imagine putting anything else on that menu in his body, but Eames walks away with a gigantic fountain soda, a tub of popcorn with enough butter to clog both their arteries, and nachos with an obscene amount of cheese.
"We just ate."
"I have a hollow leg, I have to fill that up before anything ever goes to my stomach."
"I can't believe you're going to eat that garbage. You're going to have a coronary by the time you're forty."
"Ah, but I'll die a happy, well-fed man."
Eames insists on sitting at the very top of the theatre, which is something of a climb in the amphitheatre layout of the room, but they are nothing if not in shape. The seats are small, made out of cheap purple cloth, and absolutely uncomfortable, and holy Hell, the movie trivia and quotes shown during the waiting period are mind-numbingly inane, and the preview show before the previews is worse, loud and annoying and showing nothing Arthur has any interest in seeing.
The movie is the epitome of the romantic comedy, meaning it's absurd, and completely unrealistic. Perfect people bumbling around each other in ways they never would in real life, and Arthur sees all the so-called 'plot twists' from the very beginning.
Halfway through, though, he realizes that at some point, Eames has draped his arms over the backs of the theatre seats, meaning one of them is mere inches from resting against Arthur's shoulders.
Something obvious-incredibly obvious, now that he thinks about it-occurs to him, and Arthur turns his head to glance at Eames. Eames, who paid for dinner, and the movie, and the snacks, and who drove him around all night, who very quickly steered him from the headquarters before he could protest. Goddammit, the others watched it happen and didn't do a thing to stop it.
A date. Eames thinks they're on a date. He intends this to be a date, Arthur realizes, and is somewhat discomfited when he comprehends that he isn't entirely upset by the idea.
A date. With Eames. A trick date. A sneak date attack. Son of a bitch.
Still. Those lips.
Arthur really would like to take those lips for a test drive. On the screen, the happy couple finally find their resolution and engage in their final happy kiss, and in the audience, Arthur imagines Eames' lips doing quite a few less innocent things to various parts of his body.
Thoughts of Eames' lips and tongue keep Arthur occupied from the walk to the car, and then on the drive to his place. Eames even knows where he lives, when Arthur is quite certain he's never told the forger his address. Then again, if there's a conspiracy going on, as he suspects, then Cobb is probably in on it, and Arthur will certainly have a few words for him in the morning.
After he has a few words with Eames. After several hours of no talking.
That's the plan, anyway, and it seems to be going well when Eames exits the car with him and walks him to the door. Arthur already has his key out, and unlocks the door, and turns back to Eames, mouth already open to invite him in for drinks. Eames, however, is looking at him with the strangest expression, one Arthur can't place for several moments because it's so out of place on Eames' face, hell, it would be out of place on anyone in Arthur's acquaintance. Nervousness. Insecurity.
"Had fun, love," he finally says, caught in an odd stance as though his body began to act on a thought before his mind stopped him from following through. "You should get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow." And he turns to walk away.
Walk away.
"Oh hell no," Arthur says, jingling his keys in his hands.
Eames stops, and turns, mouth slightly open. "What?"
"You did not just take me out to dinner and a movie at a crappy theatre and walk away without even a kiss on the cheek."
Arthur has never seen Eames so flustered before, and decides he likes it. A great deal. "E-Excuse me?"
"You went through a great deal of trouble, didn't you? I mean, rushing me out before anyone else on the team could say anything, though I suspect more than one of them were probably in on this. You spent a disgusting amount of money on me tonight, and you don't even want a kiss?"
"I-"
"That's all right, I guess, I'll just go inside and have a drink. By myself. In my bed." He opens the door and steps through, turning just as Eames starts up the driveway again, opening his mouth. "Good night, Mr. Eames."
He closes the door on Eames' face.
Smiling, Arthur locks the door and does exactly as he said he would. It's a bit lonely in bed by himself, but it isn't as though he isn't accustomed to it.
Besides, he'll generously allow Eames to make it up to him tomorrow.