Games We Play
Title: Games We Play
Rating // Warnings: NC17; explicit sex acts
Fandom // Character(s): Inception; Eames & Arthur
Pairing(s): Eames/Arthur
Disclaimer: Sorry Mr. Nolan, apparently hero worship really means "writing horrible slash about your work"
Summary: “I’ll just have to improvise a bit, then, won’t I? Lucky for me, I’m rather good at that.”
Status ( Read more... )
It’s like the beginning of dreams. Or like the end of drunken late-night conversations over a crackling connection, through a wash of background noise that makes it clear that time-zones and oceans will always crop up in-between.
So, your writing never fails to be staggeringly, achingly beautiful. I think we've established this.
Arthur’s eyes follow Eames’ fingers as he flips a coin along his knuckles. Perpetual motion. Eames is never still, always rolling his shoulders and arching to rid himself of a cramp, flicking his lighter open and closed, always with something in his hands. He may make it look casual - languid, even - but he’s living like in place of a heart he’s got an over-revved engine and he has to be terrified that if he pauses for even a moment, there will be no hope of starting again. Coiled tight with nervous energy. Always touching to make sure things are still there, still as they should be, solid and real and true. Perpetual motion. Eames is never still, always rolling his shoulders and arching to rid himself of a cramp, flicking his lighter open and closed, always with something in his hands. He may make it look casual - languid, even - but he’s living like in place of a heart he’s got an over-revved engine and he has to be terrified that if he pauses for even a moment, there will be no hope of starting again. Coiled tight with nervous energy. Always touching to make sure things are still there, still as they should be, solid and real and true.
Yes. Yes. YES.
And yes, he’s sure he wants to do this, can see it coming toward him full-force but he’s caught stock-still in the face of it all. Arthur’s silent, Eames speaks in torrents, insecurities are bleeding through in this coronary moment where they’re each holding a needle and looking at the deep blue veins in their wrists.
So, stuff about people sticking stuff in their veins really shouldn't be so hot. But it is.
He falls back onto the bed, propping himself up on his elbows to absolutely devour Arthur with his eyes. Mussed hair, boyish dimples flashing wickedly at the edges of his smile, a rumpled white oxford held down by a pin-neat tone-on-tone grey paisley vest and the two brutal holsters strapped across his torso in a mesh of leather and buckles. A thousand perfect, gorgeous contradictions.
“Guns in the bedroom? I knew there was a kinky streak somewhere under all those suits, luv,” Eames breathes, mock-surprised, as he runs his tongue along the seam of the pebbled leather shoulder harness and up across the smooth metal grip of the gun.
I am so in love with your descriptions and their banter it's not even funny.
Restless hands stilled and gripping tight enough to bruise, just the infinitesimal motion of his mouth and an anchoringsteady gaze, a grounding constant in a shivering, delirious dreamscape made from chemicals and stars.
And it’s like this: a slowly building rhythm punctuated with needy cries and strings of blasphemy, a thousand quaking variations on Eames’ name. A dull and perfect ache building at the back of Eames’ jaw. Hands that want so terribly to grasp at hair and rake at a broad, flexing back. The rustle and creak of leather as Arthur’s wrists turn and flick uselessly.
Running though it all like a fine golden chain is Eames’ unwavering focus. He sees every emotion flitting across Arthur’s flushed face like a pageant, loves the fact that he’s responsible for it all.
This might be the most sexy goddamn thing I have ever read.
Arthur is a complete and utter mess. Hair sticking out at odd angles, thoroughly kissed lips and blooming bruises, sweating and trembling and feverflushed. All flashing eyes with blown wide pupils and vulnerable shiversmiles. He’s a complete and utter mess and it’s beautiful, it’s perfect.
I RE-PROPOSE MARRIAGE TO YOU. THAT'S RIGHT. RE-PROPOSE.
Arthur’s voice was worn hoarse and raw and small from too much screaming, but it was so honest, endearing, utterly beautiful when he replied, “It’s almost a pity we have to wake up soon.”
♥ ♥ ♥
Reply
a) wanting to lick Cillian Murphy's cheekbones, (I know right, what's new),
b) madly in love with this GQMF:
c) convinced that no one should ever be able to be as hot as Marion Cotillard, (I'm not 100% sure that she's real),
d) shipping the fuck out of Arthur/Eames. I went with my father. Which made that even more awkward.
So yes, Inception is amazing, you are amazing, and I want to roll around with this fic and possibly have very kinky sex with it as well.
P.S. I am writing a 1930's bank-robbers Arthur/Eames AU, which you are largely indirectly responsible for. I hope you feel appropriately guilty.
Reply
I SWEAR I am going away now.
Reply
a) going holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck under my breath like some sort of prayer
b) in complete awe of how many fucking beautiful people were in that film: Marion Cotillard is fucking stunning and lkjsdla her voice oh god and JGL is just jlkjsadlkja fucking adorable and everyone knows how I feel about Cillian Murphy and oh oh oh Tom Hardy's jawline IDEK but it does things to me
c) more than a little jealous of Tom Hardy's lips.
d) certain that my suit fetish was/is worse than ever, which is really, really saying something
e) dead set on writing suspender bondage
f) wanting to hug everyone ever in the whole world
P.S. I can handle this guilt. Oh, god, can I ever.
Reply
FIRST OFF. I am incredibly glad that you saw the film. Everyone should see it. Twice, at least. It should be a law.
I am so glad that you picked up on that first bit because this is something I really want to expand on in fics with them. Because whereas I think that they want to shag one another rotten twice nightly and oh-so-rightly, I also think that an actual relationship beyond "oh hey we're both in town, let's fuck" is going to take some real effort. Eames doesn't strike me as a real relationship-y kind of guy (though he does have the potential to be a secretly sentimental bastard) and Arthur's got more control issues than he knows what to do with.
And I'm dead certain that, because of their line of work, they both have complicated trust issues going on. I mean, it must take vast amounts of faith in someone to let them into your head, but after you've seen the kinds of things that I'm sure they have, how fully can you let your guard down with someone? And then there's the fact that when you live most of your life in dreams, you must start to lose touch with reality. Maybe not to the degree that Cobb did, or manifesting in the same way, but I'm sure it's there.
OH HEY LOOK I AM GETTING REALLY RAMBLY.
Basically I want to write a million fics.
Yeah.
Also ahahahah veins. I like them and I think they're terribly pretty and we've already established that my aesthetic views are a bit off but yes.
And oh oh oh oh I am very glad that the banter worked. This is a very big secret, so you have to promise never to tell a soul, but I am terrified by writing dialogue.
IRL, I sort of talk like someone on speed reading Babelfish-translated dialogue composed of cut-and-paste from horrible B-movies and 70's pornos. I can't focus on one thought/topic at a time and when I can't see what I'm writing in front of me, my English tends to be shit but somehow neither of these things stop me from talking at the speed of light. Needless to say, I don't have a real grasp on how people talk.
And on top of having to sound natural it has to be vaguely witty? UGH. ANXIETY TIME. I stress over dialogue like no one's business and I try to write around it as much as I possibly can because sdkjlsajkd.
So the fact that you think it's not horribad makes me so happy I cannot even. I CANNOT EVEN.
BUT YES.
RE-PROPOSAL ACCEPTED. LET'S GET MARRIED AGAIN. WE CAN DO IT IN ZERO-GRAV.
Reply
Leave a comment