Inception Kink Fest
Welcome to the Inception fandom Kink Fest!
This fandom puts out some seriously amazing fic on a regular basis, but I am of the opinion that there should always always ALWAYS be more kinky porn. You guys, our fandom has guns and bondage and daddy issues and dream forgery. I say it's time to bring on the kink, yes?
♥ Inception Kink Fest ♥You can ( Read more... )
This fandom puts out some seriously amazing fic on a regular basis, but I am of the opinion that there should always always ALWAYS be more kinky porn. You guys, our fandom has guns and bondage and daddy issues and dream forgery. I say it's time to bring on the kink, yes?
♥ Inception Kink Fest ♥You can ( Read more... )
Eames room was Spartan, but cosy enough. The couch folded out to a bed, there was a burner and sink in the corner, next to a small fridge, a shower room with toilet and a wardrobe for his clothes. He left the bills, when they arrived, on the side of the small table which alternated between coffee table and nightstand. Once a week there’d be an envelope with a few dollars for “sundries” and any waiting bills would be gone. Groceries were delivered on a Thursday.
He took some pictures from his sketchbook and taped them up to the walls to make it more homey.
Much to his surprise, considering the stories he’d heard, he was given a set of keys. His weekday mornings were his own, but he was always home by lunchtime, just in case. He taught himself to cook and always cooked for two. When he ate alone, he had the leftovers for lunch the next day.
He bought a new sketchbook, then started selling sketches from a blanket at a Friday morning street market. He invested the money in cheap supplies and tried painting. They sold well enough and he could charge more for them. It was a good cover for the money he was earning on the side forging IDs.
After a year, through a series of (very) careful negotiations, Eames moved to a larger flat.
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“Do you remember how I held you, Arthur? Clinging to you for dear life? One hand in the back of your thigh, holding it close to the side of my chest. The other was on your hip, my thumb rubbing in time with your thumb on my throat. Every stroke of your thumb, feeling your cock inside me, Arthur, I mirrored on that shiny police badge you wore on your hip.”
And Arthur marks another one of Eames paintings.
----
Arthur doesn’t mind that Eames will indeed take him home, strip him naked and push him onto their bed, opening him slowly with his talented fingers. Or that, no matter what Eames says in the gallery, he’ll fuck Arthur slowly, gently against the sheets. He doesn’t mind being fucked on Eames’ special night because these rare occasions are the only time Arthur will let Eames fuck him. It’s the only time Eames cries during sex. The only time he cries at all. He doesn’t mind if Eames’ memory of the past differs slightly from his own. He’ll let Eames have what he needs - it’s the only time it’s ever mentioned anyway.
He doesn’t even mind if Eames has kept that stupid handkerchief after all these years.
Arthur always ends these nights with Eames' name on his lips, like a benediction to the act. It’s the least he can do on Eames’ special night.
END
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I finally understand what people mean when they say "it wrote itself". I really didn't want them to be as messed up as they are, but it wasn't really up to me. I just wish I had the skills to express it all better.
Thank you once again for your comment.
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Thank you. It's odd, having had it arrive fully formed in my head, but I KNOW they love each other. It's just for all the wrong, f'd up reasons. I also knew that it was all Arthur, but when I was done getting it typed out I didn't know if anyone else would get that, so I'm glad it worked for you.
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