Little emotions
Chapter I
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: future Arthur/Eames
Genre: Crime, future h/c
Rating: PG 13 (for now, it can be changed in future)
The scent of vanilla is a little bit too sweet for Eames taste, he prefers fragrances more spicy, more sharp and less.. female? Maybe.
But it’s a woman he’s kissing fiercely, will all the roundness of feminine body, with soft skin, full lips, blonde waves of hair and sharp nails.
Red ones. Oh, so cliché.
She’ll mark him with them this night, leaving clear but shallows traces on his skin, Eames is sure of that. He’s had many of them after all, made by sharp nails of women, whose names are utterly forgotten.
It’s strange by the way, Eames vaguely wonders, Why they always have such long nails? Is that a way of marking men they were fucking with?
Eames’s thoughts become more incoherent, as the blonde finally uses her perfectly shaped mouth to suck him. She’s clearly a greenhorn in that matter, but her enthusiasm wins over the lack of experience and Eames gasps with pleasure, when suddenly his BlackBerry vibrates announcing that there’s a text delivered.
It tears Eames from the mist of lust and pleasure, switching him to “full-alert” mode within seconds; of course it can nothing, but it also can be everything, as the job that was finished no more than four hours ago wasn’t an easy one. The woman seems to sense the change in his attitude as she sits down on her heels, looking at him with curiosity mixed with expectations. She rolls her eyes, when his grabs his phone to read the message.
“Don’t tell me it’s your girlfriend looking for you.”, she warns him playfully, but Eames doesn’t pay any attention to her.
The message is from Arthur and it’s really short, but says everything.
“RUN”
***
The chillness of the outside is pleasant after the stuffiness of small room crowded with five people and Arthur exhales deeply, filling his lung with the fresh air. He hears footsteps of the other members of the team, but doesn’t turn around; there’s no need for such behavior, the job is done and it’s time to disperse, as not everything went smoothly.
Nor the extractor, neither the architect pays any attention to Arthur as he stands leaned on the street lamp, observing the neighborhood with his sharp eyes.
It’s the point man job to check if everything seems to be fine, if there’s no suspicious rush, if every single team member successed in exiting the place where the job too place… Speaking of, Eames managed, as always, to disappear somewhere. Arthur sighs inwardly, he’s sure the forger is somewhere close, the presence of the annoying Englishman is almost perceptible.
The quiet sound of footsteps and friendly tap on his shoulder confirm Arthur’s premonition; he turns to the forger in one smooth movement, the answer for unasked question on his lips.
“I won’t go with you, Eames. Not after a disaster like that.” Arthur gestures Eames to keep walking as there’s no more any point in staying here.
“Disaster?”, Eames’s eyebrow arches so high that Arthur for a moment has a ridiculous feeling that it’ll disappear beneath the line of hair. “I agree, it wasn’t a perfect one, but disaster sounds a little bit too strong.”
“If the subject waking up in the middle of the job isn’t a disaster for you, I’d rather not know what is.”, Arthur replies immediately. “I would say that you knew the extractor, but…”
“But you knew the architect and he was even worse that the extractor.”, Eames continues smoothly after him and Arthur can’t help but nods his head. “And it’s not what I call a disaster, because it’s what I call a total shit, darling.”
“Right.”, Arthur says slowly, the tiniest shade of smile on his lips. “Chances that they’ll be looking for us aren’t really big, but I suggest leaving the city nevertheless.”
He doesn’t have any illusions that Eames will actually listen to him; he never does, but it’s a point man job to warn and Arthur never fails in fulfilling his duties.
Even when it seems to be pointless.
Another tap, this time in the back a quick nod of head and Eames disappears in the narrow by-street. He’ll probably end with a beautiful and eager young woman. Not that it’s a constant, but that’s the way Eames is recovering from stress and Arthur doesn’t feel any need to judge him.
Everybody in this business has own way of recovering.
Without slowing his pace Arthur massages the base of his nose; there’s a dull pain hidden there, a clear sign of incoming sinusitis.
Once again, like many times before this year he wishes Cobb wouldn’t be so stubborn with his retirement decision. If Cobb’d be the extractor Arthur could be heading to the hotel right now, instead of going to appointment with the employer.
Arthur frowns his forehead at the thought about the red-haired woman, with her narrow and sly eyes, hidden behind solid glasses frame.
The idea of working for her was really tempting, but Arthur decided to believe Eames’s common sense and agree; now, though, he starts to regret it, as a particularly awful and piercing drizzle wets his head and makes the pain more sharp and unpleasant.
Arthur stops abruptly realizing that he almost overlooked the local he’s supposed to meet their employer in. It’s a small restaurant, nothing unusual, Arthur had many meetings with people, who hired him, in such locations.
There’s no windows, though, just a solid, wooden door and bright red neon with the name of restaurant.
“Criminaliteit”, it says and Arthur shakes his head in amusement; a place with a perfect name for such meeting.
He opens the door reluctantly, suddenly anxious, his inner voice telling him to act carefully, as always when he can’t be sure what is waiting for him inside.
“Stay calm.”, a harsh voice command as soon as Arthur slips inside, the cold touch of gun barrel on Arthur’s neck accompanies it.
Arthur tenses against it, but remain calm, at least outside. Inside his mind thoughts are galloping in record-breaking tempo. He knows that this gun can mean nothing more than just a simple demonstration of force, there’s that tendency among their employers, as if it could stop Dream criminalists from using their skills against theirs former employers. But subcutaneously Arthur knows it’s not that kind of case, not this time.
This time there’s a pool of blood on the tiled with black and white titles floor.
This time a woman scream can be heard, coming from behind the yellow painted wall.
This time Arthur gets himself in bog full of shit, without Cobb on his side.
It’s a pure instinct, nothing else, which tells Arthur what to do in cold and short commands and he doesn’t hesitate to listen them.
Kick him in the knee.
The man groans in pain, when Arthur’s perfectly polished shoe meets his kneecap and stumble a little.
Hit in the temple, with elbow.
The sound of cracking eyebrow arch is awful and Arthur curses under his breath, when blood spoils the bright beige fabric of his jacket. The man goes limply and Arthur grabs him before he’ll hit the floor; the sound of it could alarm the rest.
Take his gun, the inner voice orders and the point man listens him reluctantly. He still has his own, beloved Glock 17 in holster, but the more weapons, the better.
The weight of Heckler and Koch USP in his hand is oddly familiar; but it’s Eames gun of choice, so Arthur shouldn’t really be surprised.
He unlocks it, just in time, as another two guys appear in the corridor, clearly interested what takes their colleague so many time.
“Don’t dare to move.”, Arthur warns them in dangerously low tone, the gun he took just a couple of seconds ago from their friend aimed at them.
They freeze, just for a moment, but that’s enough for Arthur.
He slams the door hard behind him, his eyes catch a car parked on the other side of the street, but it has no use for him.
Why I’ve never let Eames teach me how to steal a car?, he wonders briefly, hearing the crack of opened door and yells behind him.
He hears a bullet that pierces the air just above his head and ducks instinctively, even though it doesn’t make any sense.
You won’t hear the bullet that will kill you, snickers his inner voice and Arthur throws himself round the corner of the tenement house, buying a couple of precious seconds without bullets flying around him.
It’s stupid and doesn’t make any sense, but Arthur can’t help it; his hand is steady when he writes the message to Eames, a short one, but perfectly understandable.
“RUN.”, it says.
Then there’s no more time for anything like that.
***
The sting of remorse are really unpleasant thing, Eames decides quickly, Nothing strange I avoided them for such a long time…
However, this time Eames can’t run from them, as he looks at silhouette of Arthur’s body, leaned on the broken street lamp. He’s barely visible in the darkness of the side street, but Eames can read the signs of anger, exhaustion and incoming illness with the same easiness Arthur makes his detailed plans.
The forger is the one that found that job offer and the hopeless extractor.
Even though Arthur’s architect also sucks, Eames decides with a ridiculous hint of triumph, heading toward the point man, wishing he could bring him with himself and force to relax.
There were a couple of jobs in the past, when Eames managed to do so and got the wonderful picture of Arthur sitting comfortably, with glass in his hand, long fingers brushing lazily its brim, a shadow of smile dancing on his lips…
But it has never happened when there were still things to do, so there’s no point in asking.
We know each other way too well, Eames decides when Arthur answers the unasked question.
They talk a little and the forger takes a chance to scrutinize Arthur, from the perfectly polished shoes, to the top of his head. The way he squints his eyes, an involuntary touch of fingers on the forehead are screaming about pain ambushing in sinuses and Eames has to force down the urge to advice Arthur visiting the throat specialist.
Instead of that he just pats him gently and heads toward the nearest bus stop, with a strong resolution of finding some fancy and sophisticated local, where will be plenty of fancy and sophisticated women, who won’t have anything against Eames’s inborn, British charm.
Luckily, in Amsterdam the night life is blossoming even in the early evening and the forger doesn’t have any problems with finding a place in his taste.
There’s even a woman in his taste, too, sitting and chatting lazily with bartender, her eyes checking every person entering the room.
She smiles to Eames, a clear incentive and he quickly decides to catch the chance.
Her hair are blonde, the dress she’s wearing is a little bit too short and skin on her ring-finger is paler in one place. All of this tell Eames that she’s a bored wife, who’s looking for a risky fun.
And that’s suits him perfectly.
A couple of colorful drinks with umbrellas, weak ones, as he doesn’t want her to fall asleep as soon as they reach the bed, or to vomit all over the room.
A wink, a smile.
A gentle brush of fingers on the palm of her hand, a knee pressed to her knee.
The very British almost purr of his voice and she’s all his, without hesitation and doubts.
The picture of tiredness in Arthur’s dark eyes almost disappears from Eames’s mind.
Almost.
He lets her strip him of his pants, her eyes very bleu and shining with excitement of upcoming in quick steps adventure and Eames decides that he likes it, it’s a promise of night passionate enough to eradicate unwanted pictures from his brain.
Yet, somehow, he isn’t surprised to receive a message from Arthur telling him to run.
Like he sensed by intuition that something has to go wrongly.
“Sorry, sweetheart.”, he says honestly to bewildered blonde. “Plans have changed.”
Her eyes widen in anger. “So it was your girlfriend.”, she snaps fiercely and Eames chuckles.
“Rather boyfriend, if you insists on using such expressions.”, he corrects. “You can stay the whole night, it’s already paid.”, he adds, pausing in the door frame.
“Fuck you.”, he yells in answer, causing Eames to smirk.
“With pleasure, as soon as I find enough time to do so.”, he promises and closes the door.
The eventful night life of Amsterdam is a blessing, there’s no problem even with renting a car in the middle of the night and Eames soon leaves the city lights behind him.
He wishes Arthur managed to do the same thing
. Chapter II
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: future Arthur/Eames
Genre: Crime, future h/c
Rating: PG 13 (for now, it can be changed in future)
The scent of vanilla is a little bit too sweet for Eames taste, he prefers fragrances more spicy, more sharp and less.. female? Maybe.
But it’s a woman he’s kissing fiercely, will all the roundness of feminine body, with soft skin, full lips, blonde waves of hair and sharp nails.
Red ones. Oh, so cliché.
She’ll mark him with them this night, leaving clear but shallows traces on his skin, Eames is sure of that. He’s had many of them after all, made by sharp nails of women, whose names are utterly forgotten.
It’s strange by the way, Eames vaguely wonders, Why they always have such long nails? Is that a way of marking men they were fucking with?
Eames’s thoughts become more incoherent, as the blonde finally uses her perfectly shaped mouth to suck him. She’s clearly a greenhorn in that matter, but her enthusiasm wins over the lack of experience and Eames gasps with pleasure, when suddenly his BlackBerry vibrates announcing that there’s a text delivered.
It tears Eames from the mist of lust and pleasure, switching him to “full-alert” mode within seconds; of course it can nothing, but it also can be everything, as the job that was finished no more than four hours ago wasn’t an easy one. The woman seems to sense the change in his attitude as she sits down on her heels, looking at him with curiosity mixed with expectations. She rolls her eyes, when his grabs his phone to read the message.
“Don’t tell me it’s your girlfriend looking for you.”, she warns him playfully, but Eames doesn’t pay any attention to her.
The message is from Arthur and it’s really short, but says everything.
“RUN”
***
The chillness of the outside is pleasant after the stuffiness of small room crowded with five people and Arthur exhales deeply, filling his lung with the fresh air. He hears footsteps of the other members of the team, but doesn’t turn around; there’s no need for such behavior, the job is done and it’s time to disperse, as not everything went smoothly.
Nor the extractor, neither the architect pays any attention to Arthur as he stands leaned on the street lamp, observing the neighborhood with his sharp eyes.
It’s the point man job to check if everything seems to be fine, if there’s no suspicious rush, if every single team member successed in exiting the place where the job too place… Speaking of, Eames managed, as always, to disappear somewhere. Arthur sighs inwardly, he’s sure the forger is somewhere close, the presence of the annoying Englishman is almost perceptible.
The quiet sound of footsteps and friendly tap on his shoulder confirm Arthur’s premonition; he turns to the forger in one smooth movement, the answer for unasked question on his lips.
“I won’t go with you, Eames. Not after a disaster like that.” Arthur gestures Eames to keep walking as there’s no more any point in staying here.
“Disaster?”, Eames’s eyebrow arches so high that Arthur for a moment has a ridiculous feeling that it’ll disappear beneath the line of hair. “I agree, it wasn’t a perfect one, but disaster sounds a little bit too strong.”
“If the subject waking up in the middle of the job isn’t a disaster for you, I’d rather not know what is.”, Arthur replies immediately. “I would say that you knew the extractor, but…”
“But you knew the architect and he was even worse that the extractor.”, Eames continues smoothly after him and Arthur can’t help but nods his head. “And it’s not what I call a disaster, because it’s what I call a total shit, darling.”
“Right.”, Arthur says slowly, the tiniest shade of smile on his lips. “Chances that they’ll be looking for us aren’t really big, but I suggest leaving the city nevertheless.”
He doesn’t have any illusions that Eames will actually listen to him; he never does, but it’s a point man job to warn and Arthur never fails in fulfilling his duties.
Even when it seems to be pointless.
Another tap, this time in the back a quick nod of head and Eames disappears in the narrow by-street. He’ll probably end with a beautiful and eager young woman. Not that it’s a constant, but that’s the way Eames is recovering from stress and Arthur doesn’t feel any need to judge him.
Everybody in this business has own way of recovering.
Without slowing his pace Arthur massages the base of his nose; there’s a dull pain hidden there, a clear sign of incoming sinusitis.
Once again, like many times before this year he wishes Cobb wouldn’t be so stubborn with his retirement decision. If Cobb’d be the extractor Arthur could be heading to the hotel right now, instead of going to appointment with the employer.
Arthur frowns his forehead at the thought about the red-haired woman, with her narrow and sly eyes, hidden behind solid glasses frame.
The idea of working for her was really tempting, but Arthur decided to believe Eames’s common sense and agree; now, though, he starts to regret it, as a particularly awful and piercing drizzle wets his head and makes the pain more sharp and unpleasant.
Arthur stops abruptly realizing that he almost overlooked the local he’s supposed to meet their employer in. It’s a small restaurant, nothing unusual, Arthur had many meetings with people, who hired him, in such locations.
There’s no windows, though, just a solid, wooden door and bright red neon with the name of restaurant.
“Criminaliteit”, it says and Arthur shakes his head in amusement; a place with a perfect name for such meeting.
He opens the door reluctantly, suddenly anxious, his inner voice telling him to act carefully, as always when he can’t be sure what is waiting for him inside.
“Stay calm.”, a harsh voice command as soon as Arthur slips inside, the cold touch of gun barrel on Arthur’s neck accompanies it.
Arthur tenses against it, but remain calm, at least outside. Inside his mind thoughts are galloping in record-breaking tempo. He knows that this gun can mean nothing more than just a simple demonstration of force, there’s that tendency among their employers, as if it could stop Dream criminalists from using their skills against theirs former employers. But subcutaneously Arthur knows it’s not that kind of case, not this time.
This time there’s a pool of blood on the tiled with black and white titles floor.
This time a woman scream can be heard, coming from behind the yellow painted wall.
This time Arthur gets himself in bog full of shit, without Cobb on his side.
It’s a pure instinct, nothing else, which tells Arthur what to do in cold and short commands and he doesn’t hesitate to listen them.
Kick him in the knee.
The man groans in pain, when Arthur’s perfectly polished shoe meets his kneecap and stumble a little.
Hit in the temple, with elbow.
The sound of cracking eyebrow arch is awful and Arthur curses under his breath, when blood spoils the bright beige fabric of his jacket. The man goes limply and Arthur grabs him before he’ll hit the floor; the sound of it could alarm the rest.
Take his gun, the inner voice orders and the point man listens him reluctantly. He still has his own, beloved Glock 17 in holster, but the more weapons, the better.
The weight of Heckler and Koch USP in his hand is oddly familiar; but it’s Eames gun of choice, so Arthur shouldn’t really be surprised.
He unlocks it, just in time, as another two guys appear in the corridor, clearly interested what takes their colleague so many time.
“Don’t dare to move.”, Arthur warns them in dangerously low tone, the gun he took just a couple of seconds ago from their friend aimed at them.
They freeze, just for a moment, but that’s enough for Arthur.
He slams the door hard behind him, his eyes catch a car parked on the other side of the street, but it has no use for him.
Why I’ve never let Eames teach me how to steal a car?, he wonders briefly, hearing the crack of opened door and yells behind him.
He hears a bullet that pierces the air just above his head and ducks instinctively, even though it doesn’t make any sense.
You won’t hear the bullet that will kill you, snickers his inner voice and Arthur throws himself round the corner of the tenement house, buying a couple of precious seconds without bullets flying around him.
It’s stupid and doesn’t make any sense, but Arthur can’t help it; his hand is steady when he writes the message to Eames, a short one, but perfectly understandable.
“RUN.”, it says.
Then there’s no more time for anything like that.
***
The sting of remorse are really unpleasant thing, Eames decides quickly, Nothing strange I avoided them for such a long time…
However, this time Eames can’t run from them, as he looks at silhouette of Arthur’s body, leaned on the broken street lamp. He’s barely visible in the darkness of the side street, but Eames can read the signs of anger, exhaustion and incoming illness with the same easiness Arthur makes his detailed plans.
The forger is the one that found that job offer and the hopeless extractor.
Even though Arthur’s architect also sucks, Eames decides with a ridiculous hint of triumph, heading toward the point man, wishing he could bring him with himself and force to relax.
There were a couple of jobs in the past, when Eames managed to do so and got the wonderful picture of Arthur sitting comfortably, with glass in his hand, long fingers brushing lazily its brim, a shadow of smile dancing on his lips…
But it has never happened when there were still things to do, so there’s no point in asking.
We know each other way too well, Eames decides when Arthur answers the unasked question.
They talk a little and the forger takes a chance to scrutinize Arthur, from the perfectly polished shoes, to the top of his head. The way he squints his eyes, an involuntary touch of fingers on the forehead are screaming about pain ambushing in sinuses and Eames has to force down the urge to advice Arthur visiting the throat specialist.
Instead of that he just pats him gently and heads toward the nearest bus stop, with a strong resolution of finding some fancy and sophisticated local, where will be plenty of fancy and sophisticated women, who won’t have anything against Eames’s inborn, British charm.
Luckily, in Amsterdam the night life is blossoming even in the early evening and the forger doesn’t have any problems with finding a place in his taste.
There’s even a woman in his taste, too, sitting and chatting lazily with bartender, her eyes checking every person entering the room.
She smiles to Eames, a clear incentive and he quickly decides to catch the chance.
Her hair are blonde, the dress she’s wearing is a little bit too short and skin on her ring-finger is paler in one place. All of this tell Eames that she’s a bored wife, who’s looking for a risky fun.
And that’s suits him perfectly.
A couple of colorful drinks with umbrellas, weak ones, as he doesn’t want her to fall asleep as soon as they reach the bed, or to vomit all over the room.
A wink, a smile.
A gentle brush of fingers on the palm of her hand, a knee pressed to her knee.
The very British almost purr of his voice and she’s all his, without hesitation and doubts.
The picture of tiredness in Arthur’s dark eyes almost disappears from Eames’s mind.
Almost.
He lets her strip him of his pants, her eyes very bleu and shining with excitement of upcoming in quick steps adventure and Eames decides that he likes it, it’s a promise of night passionate enough to eradicate unwanted pictures from his brain.
Yet, somehow, he isn’t surprised to receive a message from Arthur telling him to run.
Like he sensed by intuition that something has to go wrongly.
“Sorry, sweetheart.”, he says honestly to bewildered blonde. “Plans have changed.”
Her eyes widen in anger. “So it was your girlfriend.”, she snaps fiercely and Eames chuckles.
“Rather boyfriend, if you insists on using such expressions.”, he corrects. “You can stay the whole night, it’s already paid.”, he adds, pausing in the door frame.
“Fuck you.”, he yells in answer, causing Eames to smirk.
“With pleasure, as soon as I find enough time to do so.”, he promises and closes the door.
The eventful night life of Amsterdam is a blessing, there’s no problem even with renting a car in the middle of the night and Eames soon leaves the city lights behind him.
He wishes Arthur managed to do the same thing
. Chapter II