Woah, dream big.
Title: Yes I've seen it before, just little bits of history repeating.
Pairing: Arthur/Eames. (Brief mention of Arthur/Ariadne)
Rating: PG 13.
Summary: Eames' moves are so white hot, Arthur steals them.
Warnings: Boys kissing.
Disclaimer: All credit to the characters goes to Nolan. I own nothing. If I did, the film would've been a little different.
London, England.
Six years ago.
The air in the bar is thick with the stale smell of smoke and liquor. Arthur rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, before gingerly resting his bare forearms on the sticky table. He ducks his head enough to keep an eye on their latest mark, Benjamin Howard, while appearing engrossed in the contents of his glass.
"Do smile a bit, Arthur. You're scaring off the boys."
Arthur's fingers tighten reflexively around the glass at the voice, low and soft, with that damn accent. He scoffs, ignoring the faint shiver than spreads through him, and moves over enough on the bench to allow Eames to slide in next to him.
Of course, Eames being Eames, he keeps going until he's almost plastered against Arthur.
Arthur swears the room heats up a little then, but god forbid if he ever admits to that.
"Me? I'm afraid that shirt's doing all the work for me." Arthur says in as bland a voice as he can manage, flicking his eyes down to the paisley monstrosity stretched across Eames' chest. Pointedly ignoring the way the undone buttons show a hint of the tattoo spread out over the tanned skin of his collarbone.
Eames laughs, still close enough that his breath fans out over Arthur's cheek. Arthur meets his eyes for a long moment, before turning his head, searching out Benjamin and taking a sip of his drink.
"How's it going?" Eames shifts back enough to drape his arm over the back of the seat, body still tilted towards Arthur, who notes that they've caught the attention of a projection standing on the edge of the dance floor.
"As well as I expected." At Eames' raised eyebrow, Arthur continues. "Cobb went to the back room to check the safe; Howard thinks he's in the bathroom. It shouldn't take much longer."
Eames laughs a little. "Who knew old Dom had it in him?"
Arthur smirks. "Mal, apparently."
"And dearest Benjamin is hoping to find out too." Eames tosses back the rest of his drink before shifting forward suddenly. "Our rugged good looks tend to attract attention at the best of times, but that one by the bar's been staring a little too intently for my liking."
Arthur tenses, eyes darting over to find the projection from earlier has moved closer, and is now leaning up against the bar, staring straight towards their table. "Shit. He's been looking for a while, hasn't he?"
From the corner of his eye, Arthur sees Eames nod. He flicks his eyes around the room once more, before Eames' fingers press against the skin of his arm. He turns his head, breath catching suddenly when he realises how close together their faces are.
"Kiss me."
Arthur barely has time to open his mouth to protest - because, seriously, what the hell? - before Eames is pressing their mouths together.
It takes an embarrassingly short time for Arthur to blink away the shock and respond, exhaling shakily into Eames' mouth before deepening the kiss. He shudders as Eames bites on his lower lip a little, and he's met with little resistance when he slides his tongue in to tangle with the other man's.
Arthur expects it to be chaste, to last just a moment, but Eames kisses back enthusiastically. The arm that was braced along the back of the chair wraps around Arthur's shoulders, bringing them almost chest-to-chest. Arthur fits a hand along Eames' jaw, calloused fingertips pressing into the rough stubble there.
Eventually, Arthur's chest tightens and he pulls away, breathing hard. He looks up at Eames for a moment - wet lips, red and swollen, panting a little, his cheeks flushed - and has to physically bite down on his own tongue to stop the admissions he'd very much like to keep hidden from spilling out; this being neither the time nor the place.
Eames smirks at him before pulling away slightly, allowing his arm to slide down until he's simply pressing a hand between Arthur's shoulder blades.
He looks away, then, face clouding over. Arthur follows his line of sight and swears under his breath at the number of gazes trained upon them.
"Ah, well, it was worth a shot."
Arthur snaps his head around to Eames, incredulous. "What?" His voice is rough yet steady, and Eames smiles a little, softly, despite Arthur's glare.
"I think it might be time to leave, darling."
Arthur shakes his head and stands abruptly. He makes it around the small table before Mal grabs onto his arm, fingernails cutting into the skin.
"Dom's got what we need, but we need to hurry now. Come on." The words barely leave her mouth before the harsh lights in the club turn on, blinding Arthur momentarily. The music cuts off and the occupants of the dance floor seem to move as one, rushing towards where the three of them are stood.
"Run!"
Arthur reaches out a hand blindly as he follows Mal, fingers curling around Eames' warm wrist as they speed out the door. The corridor leading to the street outside is beginning to crumble, and Arthur pulls on Eames' wrist at Mal's command to move faster.
They're barely outside for more than a second before a smiling Dom appears from the alley, handgun and envelope in hand.
Arthur doesn't remove his hand from Eames' skin until everything goes black.
---
Los Angeles, California.
Present day.
Ariadne watches as families, couples and business men in suits breeze past the window. She smiles as a man twirls a laughing child, the sight reminding her of Dom and how he'd looked as it an invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he'd walked calmly through customs.
She lifts the glass of lemonade to her lips, fingers toying with the edges of a tourist map she'd picked up. It's been a while since she's been in the states, and she isn't sure what to do with herself. She's debating finding a pay phone and calling her mother when Arthur drops smoothly into the seat across from her, placing two glasses of Amber liquid onto the table.
"Hi. Is that for me?" Ariadne gestures towards one hopefully, deflating in disappointment when Arthur shakes his head. "If I give you five dollars, would you get me one?"
A raised eyebrow is her response, and Ariadne sighs. "It was worth a shot", she says, lips quirking a little when she realises what she's said.
"Now, where have I head that before?" She jumps at the second voice, at the polished vowels of Eames' accent. She tips her head back enough to see him braced against the back of her chair. His eyes are trained on Arthur, and Ariadne looks between them for a second, confused.
"What? You were-- You heard Arthur say that earlier?" Ariadne feels her cheeks pink a little, and turns to look at Arthur. She isn't expecting to see him looking faintly abashed and almost guilty.
"It--"
"I'm afraid I'm confused, Ariadne. What did Arthur say?" Eames smoothly interrupts Arthur, moving around the able, and Ariadne wonders if she's imagining the fact that his voice is slightly harder than before.
"Um, he just... Uh, that's what he said. 'It was worth a shot.' Earlier, in, you know, Arthur's dream. When the projections were still looking at us after, um, we..." She trails off, looking rapidly between a frowning Eames and Arthur who is still wearing the same expression as before. "Am I missing something, here?"
"Eames, it was nothing." Arthur's voice is low, and Ariadne is fairly confident that not many people would notice the slight pleading in the words. She frowns, staring at Arthur as he connects his statement with the brief, extremely chaste kiss they shared during the job.
Ignoring the tiny spark of hurt that prickles through her at Arthur describing it as "nothing", she considers why Eames would care about something like that. It takes her a few seconds of looking between the silent pair before things begin to click into place. All the tension, bickering, and lingering glances. The two glasses on the table.
Ariadne's sure her mouth is gaping open, but Arthur and Eames don't seem to be paying her too much attention. She takes a few seconds to process the fact that, clearly, she's misread the full nature of Eames and Arthur's relationship, before remembering she has just admitted to having kissed Arthur. However brief and chaste it may have been.
"Oh, crap. It-- Eames, no, it was nothing." She sucks in a breath when the Englishman meets her gaze, before barreling on. "Really, it was barely a kiss, and it didn't mean anything. I didn't realise you two were-- I mean, if I'd known, obviously, I'd have never... I promise. It was nothing."
She pauses to breathe, and notices that the harshness around Eames' eyes has softened a little. He quirks an eyebrow at Arthur. "You used my move, darling. I don't really know whether to be flattered or insulted."
"Move? What...? Oh!" Ariadne barely manages to hold back a snort of laughter when she catches on. She can feel Arthur frown at her, but she's looking at Eames and is pleased to note that a smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"I'm fairly certain it worked better on him when coming from you."
Eames laughs outright at that, clapping a hand on Ariadne's shoulder as he reaches forward for one of the glasses. He takes a sip and moves around the table, sliding down into a chair. Arthur takes longer to relax, but his body seems to turn instinctively towards Eames as he does so. And Ariadne wonders exactly why she didn't realise there was more to their interactions that she'd assumed.
Twisting the straw in her glass, Ariadne looks down at the clear liquid as Eames leans forward to whisper in Arthur's ear. She doesn't catch everything, she likes both of them and respects their privacy, but the words "teasing", "fine" and "don't worry, love" reach her ears and have her smiling down at the ice in her drink.
Arthur clears his throat a few seconds later, and she looks up again, pleased to see that he's no longer frowning and that Eames is comfortable enough in her presence to have placed an arm around the back of Arthur's chair.
"So, Ariadne, what are your plans now?"
"Well, Eames, I was rather hoping you'd buy me a beer."
Pairing: Arthur/Eames. (Brief mention of Arthur/Ariadne)
Rating: PG 13.
Summary: Eames' moves are so white hot, Arthur steals them.
Warnings: Boys kissing.
Disclaimer: All credit to the characters goes to Nolan. I own nothing. If I did, the film would've been a little different.
London, England.
Six years ago.
The air in the bar is thick with the stale smell of smoke and liquor. Arthur rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, before gingerly resting his bare forearms on the sticky table. He ducks his head enough to keep an eye on their latest mark, Benjamin Howard, while appearing engrossed in the contents of his glass.
"Do smile a bit, Arthur. You're scaring off the boys."
Arthur's fingers tighten reflexively around the glass at the voice, low and soft, with that damn accent. He scoffs, ignoring the faint shiver than spreads through him, and moves over enough on the bench to allow Eames to slide in next to him.
Of course, Eames being Eames, he keeps going until he's almost plastered against Arthur.
Arthur swears the room heats up a little then, but god forbid if he ever admits to that.
"Me? I'm afraid that shirt's doing all the work for me." Arthur says in as bland a voice as he can manage, flicking his eyes down to the paisley monstrosity stretched across Eames' chest. Pointedly ignoring the way the undone buttons show a hint of the tattoo spread out over the tanned skin of his collarbone.
Eames laughs, still close enough that his breath fans out over Arthur's cheek. Arthur meets his eyes for a long moment, before turning his head, searching out Benjamin and taking a sip of his drink.
"How's it going?" Eames shifts back enough to drape his arm over the back of the seat, body still tilted towards Arthur, who notes that they've caught the attention of a projection standing on the edge of the dance floor.
"As well as I expected." At Eames' raised eyebrow, Arthur continues. "Cobb went to the back room to check the safe; Howard thinks he's in the bathroom. It shouldn't take much longer."
Eames laughs a little. "Who knew old Dom had it in him?"
Arthur smirks. "Mal, apparently."
"And dearest Benjamin is hoping to find out too." Eames tosses back the rest of his drink before shifting forward suddenly. "Our rugged good looks tend to attract attention at the best of times, but that one by the bar's been staring a little too intently for my liking."
Arthur tenses, eyes darting over to find the projection from earlier has moved closer, and is now leaning up against the bar, staring straight towards their table. "Shit. He's been looking for a while, hasn't he?"
From the corner of his eye, Arthur sees Eames nod. He flicks his eyes around the room once more, before Eames' fingers press against the skin of his arm. He turns his head, breath catching suddenly when he realises how close together their faces are.
"Kiss me."
Arthur barely has time to open his mouth to protest - because, seriously, what the hell? - before Eames is pressing their mouths together.
It takes an embarrassingly short time for Arthur to blink away the shock and respond, exhaling shakily into Eames' mouth before deepening the kiss. He shudders as Eames bites on his lower lip a little, and he's met with little resistance when he slides his tongue in to tangle with the other man's.
Arthur expects it to be chaste, to last just a moment, but Eames kisses back enthusiastically. The arm that was braced along the back of the chair wraps around Arthur's shoulders, bringing them almost chest-to-chest. Arthur fits a hand along Eames' jaw, calloused fingertips pressing into the rough stubble there.
Eventually, Arthur's chest tightens and he pulls away, breathing hard. He looks up at Eames for a moment - wet lips, red and swollen, panting a little, his cheeks flushed - and has to physically bite down on his own tongue to stop the admissions he'd very much like to keep hidden from spilling out; this being neither the time nor the place.
Eames smirks at him before pulling away slightly, allowing his arm to slide down until he's simply pressing a hand between Arthur's shoulder blades.
He looks away, then, face clouding over. Arthur follows his line of sight and swears under his breath at the number of gazes trained upon them.
"Ah, well, it was worth a shot."
Arthur snaps his head around to Eames, incredulous. "What?" His voice is rough yet steady, and Eames smiles a little, softly, despite Arthur's glare.
"I think it might be time to leave, darling."
Arthur shakes his head and stands abruptly. He makes it around the small table before Mal grabs onto his arm, fingernails cutting into the skin.
"Dom's got what we need, but we need to hurry now. Come on." The words barely leave her mouth before the harsh lights in the club turn on, blinding Arthur momentarily. The music cuts off and the occupants of the dance floor seem to move as one, rushing towards where the three of them are stood.
"Run!"
Arthur reaches out a hand blindly as he follows Mal, fingers curling around Eames' warm wrist as they speed out the door. The corridor leading to the street outside is beginning to crumble, and Arthur pulls on Eames' wrist at Mal's command to move faster.
They're barely outside for more than a second before a smiling Dom appears from the alley, handgun and envelope in hand.
Arthur doesn't remove his hand from Eames' skin until everything goes black.
---
Los Angeles, California.
Present day.
Ariadne watches as families, couples and business men in suits breeze past the window. She smiles as a man twirls a laughing child, the sight reminding her of Dom and how he'd looked as it an invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he'd walked calmly through customs.
She lifts the glass of lemonade to her lips, fingers toying with the edges of a tourist map she'd picked up. It's been a while since she's been in the states, and she isn't sure what to do with herself. She's debating finding a pay phone and calling her mother when Arthur drops smoothly into the seat across from her, placing two glasses of Amber liquid onto the table.
"Hi. Is that for me?" Ariadne gestures towards one hopefully, deflating in disappointment when Arthur shakes his head. "If I give you five dollars, would you get me one?"
A raised eyebrow is her response, and Ariadne sighs. "It was worth a shot", she says, lips quirking a little when she realises what she's said.
"Now, where have I head that before?" She jumps at the second voice, at the polished vowels of Eames' accent. She tips her head back enough to see him braced against the back of her chair. His eyes are trained on Arthur, and Ariadne looks between them for a second, confused.
"What? You were-- You heard Arthur say that earlier?" Ariadne feels her cheeks pink a little, and turns to look at Arthur. She isn't expecting to see him looking faintly abashed and almost guilty.
"It--"
"I'm afraid I'm confused, Ariadne. What did Arthur say?" Eames smoothly interrupts Arthur, moving around the able, and Ariadne wonders if she's imagining the fact that his voice is slightly harder than before.
"Um, he just... Uh, that's what he said. 'It was worth a shot.' Earlier, in, you know, Arthur's dream. When the projections were still looking at us after, um, we..." She trails off, looking rapidly between a frowning Eames and Arthur who is still wearing the same expression as before. "Am I missing something, here?"
"Eames, it was nothing." Arthur's voice is low, and Ariadne is fairly confident that not many people would notice the slight pleading in the words. She frowns, staring at Arthur as he connects his statement with the brief, extremely chaste kiss they shared during the job.
Ignoring the tiny spark of hurt that prickles through her at Arthur describing it as "nothing", she considers why Eames would care about something like that. It takes her a few seconds of looking between the silent pair before things begin to click into place. All the tension, bickering, and lingering glances. The two glasses on the table.
Ariadne's sure her mouth is gaping open, but Arthur and Eames don't seem to be paying her too much attention. She takes a few seconds to process the fact that, clearly, she's misread the full nature of Eames and Arthur's relationship, before remembering she has just admitted to having kissed Arthur. However brief and chaste it may have been.
"Oh, crap. It-- Eames, no, it was nothing." She sucks in a breath when the Englishman meets her gaze, before barreling on. "Really, it was barely a kiss, and it didn't mean anything. I didn't realise you two were-- I mean, if I'd known, obviously, I'd have never... I promise. It was nothing."
She pauses to breathe, and notices that the harshness around Eames' eyes has softened a little. He quirks an eyebrow at Arthur. "You used my move, darling. I don't really know whether to be flattered or insulted."
"Move? What...? Oh!" Ariadne barely manages to hold back a snort of laughter when she catches on. She can feel Arthur frown at her, but she's looking at Eames and is pleased to note that a smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"I'm fairly certain it worked better on him when coming from you."
Eames laughs outright at that, clapping a hand on Ariadne's shoulder as he reaches forward for one of the glasses. He takes a sip and moves around the table, sliding down into a chair. Arthur takes longer to relax, but his body seems to turn instinctively towards Eames as he does so. And Ariadne wonders exactly why she didn't realise there was more to their interactions that she'd assumed.
Twisting the straw in her glass, Ariadne looks down at the clear liquid as Eames leans forward to whisper in Arthur's ear. She doesn't catch everything, she likes both of them and respects their privacy, but the words "teasing", "fine" and "don't worry, love" reach her ears and have her smiling down at the ice in her drink.
Arthur clears his throat a few seconds later, and she looks up again, pleased to see that he's no longer frowning and that Eames is comfortable enough in her presence to have placed an arm around the back of Arthur's chair.
"So, Ariadne, what are your plans now?"
"Well, Eames, I was rather hoping you'd buy me a beer."