fic: symbiosys - chapter 1
title: symbiosis - chapter 1
author: dreamptyltd
pairing: Arthur/Eames
rating: NC-17 (this part g)
warnings: graphic sexual scenarios, violence, torture
word count: chapter 1 - 1.25K
summary: Set some time after the events of Inception. Arthur has to face his past, Cobb needs to step in, and Eames needs to let him.
a/n: I took the Treadmill from the long-standing Modesty Blaise series. Mea culpa. Planning on updates once every two weeks.
***
Arthur comes awake in the dark of the bedroom, taking in air like he’s been physically deprived of it.
His heart is beating faster, and there’s a molten unease swimming in his gut and chest. He lies still, taking stock of himself and his most recent memories, checking them off with military efficiency:
He’s in the right room. He remembers having dinner last night. This bed is the same one in which he fell asleep, and the person lying beside him ...
The person lying beside him is still asleep.
Arthur watches him for a second and finds himself being distracted by the broad expanse of smooth skin and hard muscle. If he reached over and ran his fingers along Eames’ body, Eames would let him, would probably stretch into the touch and invite more - and that’s a proposition that’s still new enough, that had been forbidden for so long and until so recently, that a different kind of heat unfurls through Arthur’s gut and makes him tense in a far more pleasant way.
But there’s a reason why Eames - normally awake at the slightest disturbance - is still asleep. The fine lines at the corner of Eames’ eyes, normally visible only when he flashes his thousand-watt grin, have been more pronounced lately. This latest job’s been demanding, the forgery requirements more intensive than usual, and although Eames has been loving every minute of the challenge it’s starting to take a toll.
One more week and they can both sign off another job cleanly done, with a payout figure that was more than proportionate.
The other reason Eames is still asleep, Arthur suspects, is that he’s begun to trust having Arthur in his bed. That knowledge is enough to make something in Arthur’s chest ache stupidly, so it’s with the utmost care not to disturb that he slides out from under the sheets and makes his way outside, grabbing his threadbare cotton sleep shirt on his way out.
The landing outside is dim but softly lit, and Arthur pauses as he pulls his shirt on to look out the low window near the top of the stairs. There’s a full moon outside, and the light of it is reflecting off the small tributary that Arthur knows joins a river three miles downstream from the Treadmill.
Kilometers Arthur hears Eames' voice murmur in the back of his mind, and feels his mouth tug into a small smile.
The carpet on the stairs is comforting, familiar, underneath Arthur’s bare feet as he makes his way down to the kitchen. He’s not certain when it had become familiar, but realises he likes the feeling. Trust Eames to not only buy a pub as a hobby, and name it the Treadmill despite there not being a mill within sight, but to set up a home on the same property. Within walking distance to the best pale ale in Britain.
In the kitchen Arthur looks with mild offence at the various teas lined up in the pantry, and reaches past them for the tin of coffee. That’s a conversion that’s never going to happen, no matter how eager Eames is to facilitate it.
He’s so damn English sometimes.
Hot coffee in hand, Arthur settles himself on the rug in front of the fireplace, leaning back against one of the armchairs to watch the dying embers glow.
As long as he’s up, he should do some extra recon. It’s a high-risk job, with a few days furlough while their chemist hones their compositions, so he had come back here with Eames for some much need rest. But Arthur’s found himself agitated and restless, which is unusual for him. He knows why, but dwelling on it doesn’t help.
It’s risky enough, doing what they do. Crime on a global scale, for stakeholders with money, power and the hunger for more. But now ... it’s even riskier now working the same con. Their first shared job while sharing the same bed.
Arthur actually feels a little sick, if he lets himself think of the leverage their relationship could provide to the wrong kind of people. But it’s his job to think about it, to ensure that their involvement stays between them. No one needs to know, and so no one does.
Cobb might suspect it, but Cobb won’t ask and Arthur wouldn’t tell, not unless the circumstances required it. The less Cobb knows, the less of a target he is, the less valuable his family will be. The less Cobb knows, the easier it will be for him to keep his feet planted firmly in the relatively visible and legal world of dream-share academia, now that Saito has delivered him back to it.
Arthur shouldn’t even be in contact with Cobb, but that’s one relationship he’s not willing to let go of. Cobb has done too much for him, and Mal had meant too much. He’ll take every precaution, but there’s too few people who mean something to him for him to let go of the ones that do.
That list is a short one, but has recently grown by one, and the question has to be asked if it’s worth the danger that comes with.
“I can smell that swill from upstairs.”
Arthur hides his smile and waits for Eames finish the stairs before looking up.
Still bare-chested, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, Eames looks like someone who wants to be in bed, eyes heavy-lidded with the remnants of sleep, his voice rough with it.
“Did I wake you?” Arthur asks as Eames settles himself on the rug opposite him.
Eames shakes his head, leans back against his own armchair and watches him with steady eyes. “All right?”
Arthur nods. “Random dream. I think.” He shrugs. “It happens.”
Eames hums, covers a yawn, and stretches out a leg to toe at Arthur’s foot.
“You need to sleep,” Arthur says.
“So do you,” Eames says easily. He’s not smiling, but there’s a glint in his eyes. “Want to sleep together?”
Arthur shakes his head, chuckling, which breaks Eames’ into that heart-stopping grin but it fades, slowly, into something more latent.
He holds Arthur’s gaze, and they sit like that, watching each other for one smooth, long moment of time.
Arthur, not shy to look now that he can, looks openly. He takes in every detail with hungry eyes, mapping out what he sees with what he’s felt and knows. The thick hair on Eames chest, coarse under his fingers. The bulk of Eames’ thighs, the thick muscles bunching under the palm of his hand.
He knows now that there is nothing even remotely casual about Eames. Eames slouches in doorways and leans back in chairs as a deterrent, a misdirection. He effects easiness because not doing so would give him away, his sharpness, his constant awareness, his frightening intelligence. Eames could slice you open, slip a blade so deep into your gut so quietly and cleanly, you wouldn’t know you were dying until it was already too late.
He knows now the other part of Eames, that vulnerable underbelly of his infrastructure that’s so carefully hidden. Eames had shown it to him freely, after years of dancing around each other.
Arthur’s short list has grown by one, but when he asks if it’s worth the danger --
“Come to bed, Arthur,” Eames says, voice rough from something deeper than sleep.
It’s worth it. Without question.
***
author: dreamptyltd
pairing: Arthur/Eames
rating: NC-17 (this part g)
warnings: graphic sexual scenarios, violence, torture
word count: chapter 1 - 1.25K
summary: Set some time after the events of Inception. Arthur has to face his past, Cobb needs to step in, and Eames needs to let him.
a/n: I took the Treadmill from the long-standing Modesty Blaise series. Mea culpa. Planning on updates once every two weeks.
***
Arthur comes awake in the dark of the bedroom, taking in air like he’s been physically deprived of it.
His heart is beating faster, and there’s a molten unease swimming in his gut and chest. He lies still, taking stock of himself and his most recent memories, checking them off with military efficiency:
He’s in the right room. He remembers having dinner last night. This bed is the same one in which he fell asleep, and the person lying beside him ...
The person lying beside him is still asleep.
Arthur watches him for a second and finds himself being distracted by the broad expanse of smooth skin and hard muscle. If he reached over and ran his fingers along Eames’ body, Eames would let him, would probably stretch into the touch and invite more - and that’s a proposition that’s still new enough, that had been forbidden for so long and until so recently, that a different kind of heat unfurls through Arthur’s gut and makes him tense in a far more pleasant way.
But there’s a reason why Eames - normally awake at the slightest disturbance - is still asleep. The fine lines at the corner of Eames’ eyes, normally visible only when he flashes his thousand-watt grin, have been more pronounced lately. This latest job’s been demanding, the forgery requirements more intensive than usual, and although Eames has been loving every minute of the challenge it’s starting to take a toll.
One more week and they can both sign off another job cleanly done, with a payout figure that was more than proportionate.
The other reason Eames is still asleep, Arthur suspects, is that he’s begun to trust having Arthur in his bed. That knowledge is enough to make something in Arthur’s chest ache stupidly, so it’s with the utmost care not to disturb that he slides out from under the sheets and makes his way outside, grabbing his threadbare cotton sleep shirt on his way out.
The landing outside is dim but softly lit, and Arthur pauses as he pulls his shirt on to look out the low window near the top of the stairs. There’s a full moon outside, and the light of it is reflecting off the small tributary that Arthur knows joins a river three miles downstream from the Treadmill.
Kilometers Arthur hears Eames' voice murmur in the back of his mind, and feels his mouth tug into a small smile.
The carpet on the stairs is comforting, familiar, underneath Arthur’s bare feet as he makes his way down to the kitchen. He’s not certain when it had become familiar, but realises he likes the feeling. Trust Eames to not only buy a pub as a hobby, and name it the Treadmill despite there not being a mill within sight, but to set up a home on the same property. Within walking distance to the best pale ale in Britain.
In the kitchen Arthur looks with mild offence at the various teas lined up in the pantry, and reaches past them for the tin of coffee. That’s a conversion that’s never going to happen, no matter how eager Eames is to facilitate it.
He’s so damn English sometimes.
Hot coffee in hand, Arthur settles himself on the rug in front of the fireplace, leaning back against one of the armchairs to watch the dying embers glow.
As long as he’s up, he should do some extra recon. It’s a high-risk job, with a few days furlough while their chemist hones their compositions, so he had come back here with Eames for some much need rest. But Arthur’s found himself agitated and restless, which is unusual for him. He knows why, but dwelling on it doesn’t help.
It’s risky enough, doing what they do. Crime on a global scale, for stakeholders with money, power and the hunger for more. But now ... it’s even riskier now working the same con. Their first shared job while sharing the same bed.
Arthur actually feels a little sick, if he lets himself think of the leverage their relationship could provide to the wrong kind of people. But it’s his job to think about it, to ensure that their involvement stays between them. No one needs to know, and so no one does.
Cobb might suspect it, but Cobb won’t ask and Arthur wouldn’t tell, not unless the circumstances required it. The less Cobb knows, the less of a target he is, the less valuable his family will be. The less Cobb knows, the easier it will be for him to keep his feet planted firmly in the relatively visible and legal world of dream-share academia, now that Saito has delivered him back to it.
Arthur shouldn’t even be in contact with Cobb, but that’s one relationship he’s not willing to let go of. Cobb has done too much for him, and Mal had meant too much. He’ll take every precaution, but there’s too few people who mean something to him for him to let go of the ones that do.
That list is a short one, but has recently grown by one, and the question has to be asked if it’s worth the danger that comes with.
“I can smell that swill from upstairs.”
Arthur hides his smile and waits for Eames finish the stairs before looking up.
Still bare-chested, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, Eames looks like someone who wants to be in bed, eyes heavy-lidded with the remnants of sleep, his voice rough with it.
“Did I wake you?” Arthur asks as Eames settles himself on the rug opposite him.
Eames shakes his head, leans back against his own armchair and watches him with steady eyes. “All right?”
Arthur nods. “Random dream. I think.” He shrugs. “It happens.”
Eames hums, covers a yawn, and stretches out a leg to toe at Arthur’s foot.
“You need to sleep,” Arthur says.
“So do you,” Eames says easily. He’s not smiling, but there’s a glint in his eyes. “Want to sleep together?”
Arthur shakes his head, chuckling, which breaks Eames’ into that heart-stopping grin but it fades, slowly, into something more latent.
He holds Arthur’s gaze, and they sit like that, watching each other for one smooth, long moment of time.
Arthur, not shy to look now that he can, looks openly. He takes in every detail with hungry eyes, mapping out what he sees with what he’s felt and knows. The thick hair on Eames chest, coarse under his fingers. The bulk of Eames’ thighs, the thick muscles bunching under the palm of his hand.
He knows now that there is nothing even remotely casual about Eames. Eames slouches in doorways and leans back in chairs as a deterrent, a misdirection. He effects easiness because not doing so would give him away, his sharpness, his constant awareness, his frightening intelligence. Eames could slice you open, slip a blade so deep into your gut so quietly and cleanly, you wouldn’t know you were dying until it was already too late.
He knows now the other part of Eames, that vulnerable underbelly of his infrastructure that’s so carefully hidden. Eames had shown it to him freely, after years of dancing around each other.
Arthur’s short list has grown by one, but when he asks if it’s worth the danger --
“Come to bed, Arthur,” Eames says, voice rough from something deeper than sleep.
It’s worth it. Without question.
***