Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Inception. Eames/Arthur. R. 2300+
Title: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Eames/Arthur
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: Fake. Not for profit. No harm, no foul.
Fill for round 5 of the inception_kink meme. From this prompt: Eames likes to kiss. A Lot.
i.
The job goes nothing as planned, and the sound of bullets is still fresh in Arthur's mind. Pain is throbbing through his shoulder, the sling and painkillers doing little to help the situation. The warehouse is dark and the soft hum of the computers is the only sound. Arthur knows that he should call a cab to take him back to his apartment, but even the thought of moving is causing more pain to shoot through his body and he figures he’s safe here for now. He keeps a blanket in the bottom drawer of his desk for this sort of thing.
He’s got files and blueprints spread out over his desk for now, trying to pinpoint exactly where the plan veered off course. If he can get there, he might be able to find a way to salvage the job, to deliver before anyone comes after them.
He’s startled when he hears a loud cough from somewhere over his shoulder.
“Shit,” he says, jumping a little and jarring his shoulder. “Fuck.”
“Sorry, love,” comes Eames’ familiar drawl. “Didn’t think anyone was still around.”
They don’t exactly have offices in this place, so Arthur figures it would have been wise to check the place before settling in to work.
“Just me, I guess,” Arthur says, pushing back in his chair, swiveling around to face Eames.
“You gave us quite a scare,” Eames says, inching forward into the circle of light created by Arthur’s desk lamp.
“It’s the last time I trust anyone else to do the background check for the real world security. Who doesn’t think to jam the security signals for a silent alarm. That was just careless.”
Eames nods, stepping closer so he’s right in front of Arthur’s chair. He crouches down, resting one hand on the arm of the chair.
“How’s the shoulder, that’s a particularly nasty one.”
Arthur’s pretty sure that he’ll have a scar, but nothing worse than he got in his military days. Neither one of them wants to admit that they were scared shitless when they woke up to a team of heavily armed guys, narrowly escaping with all their limbs in tact. Cobb had chewed them out the whole ride back to the warehouse, all the while, holding a stained cloth to the wound on Arthur’s shoulder. Eames had been silent the whole ride. At one point, just before he passed out, Arthur had reached over and taken Eames’ hand, giving it a firm squeeze.
“Should heal up fine, just hurts like a bitch at this point.” He reaches up and hooks his fingers in his tie, attempting to pull it loose, but it gets stuck and he drops his hand in frustration.
“Here, let me,” Eames says, his hand hovering just over Arthur’s throat.
Arthur gives a nod of consent and Eames leans forward, hooking his fingers around the knot of Arthur’s tie. He doesn’t pull immediately, instead he very gingerly leans forward, using his other hand as leverage against Arthur’s chair. He stops when he’s about an inch away, and looks over Arthur’s face before licking his lips and closing the distance between them. He loosens Arthur’s tie then, and Arthur shivers as Eames’ fingers brush over his throat.
He lets out a heavy sigh as Eames pulls back, the pain in his shoulder momentarily forgotten.
ii.
Eames should have known that Arthur would be light on his feet.
The current job is a standard extraction, a two man job really, but Eames decided to tag along for the sole fact that the scene is a masquerade ball and he couldn’t resist the chance to step out in a Tux. He’s wearing a plane white mask that ties around the back with a black ribbon and is currently on the arm of a blonde in a Sapphire ballgown. Every now and then he’ll pass by Arthur who’s wearing gold to match the mark’s dress.
He listens for the rich timber of Arthur’s laugh as he changes to partner with a brunette in a red-feathered mask and dress.
Halfway through the night he sees Arthur slip off the floor with the mark and signals to Cobb who’s waiting just off the dance floor. He heads to the bar then, to wait for the exchange. He checks his watch, expensive and understated, admiring Arthur’s taste and attention to detail. They’re ahead of schedule at this point. Eames knocks back a vodka tonic, keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity and once again signals to Cobb when he sees Arthur re-enter the ballroom. The mark is nowhere to be seen as Eames approaches Arthur.
“May I have this dance?” he says, extending his arm to Arthur, quirking up an eyebrow.
It’s strange that he can’t really see Arthur’s eyes and he figures Arthur will once again be all business, but he smiles and takes Eames’ arm.
“You lead,” he says.
On the dance floor, Eames slides an arm around Arthur’s waist and pulls him close, leading them into the music. It’s a simple waltz and Arthur follows him easily.
“How’d it go?” Eames says, his lips close to Arthur’s ear.
“She put up a fight, but we got it,” Arthur says.
“Nothing untoward happened, I hope.”
“I was a perfect gentleman.”
“Of course, darling,” Eames says, pushing against Arthur’s side to spin him around.
“How much time do we have left?” Arthur asks when Eames pulls him back in again.
“About ten minutes, better make it count,” Eames says, tightening his arm around Arthur and gracefully dipping him down towards the floor.
He leans forward, giving Arthur a playful smirk as he presses their lips together. He feels Arthur’s hand tighten on the back of his neck as their lips move slowly. He scrapes his teeth against Arthur’s bottom lip as they pull apart just as music ends. Arthur is breathing heavily and Eames takes in the way that he licks his lips. He’s overwhelmed by the urge to kiss Arthur again, and slides his hand up to cup the side of Arthur’s face, fingers brushing against the edge of his mask.
As he leans in, the band starts up again, but Eames realizes it’s actually the opening bars of the cue for the kick.
He smiles as he trails his thumb over Arthur’s bottom lip. “Gotta get ready for the kick.”
“See you on the other side,” Arthur says with a smile before disappearing into the crowd.
iii.
It was Ariadne who started the tradition of spending Friday nights at a local bar called The Drunk Tank. They’ve been caravanning around the world since their first job together, but the sun and fun of Los Angeles was the only thing that stuck long enough to call home. Now they all have apartments and Ariadne has school and Cobb has his kids, it’s a comfortable spot to be in. Eames likes the comfort of the routine to combat the haphazard nature of doing jobs all over the world and going in and out of dreams.
There’s a standing 8 o’clock invitation for the whole team, and who actually shows up varies from week to week.
This week, Ariadne and Arthur are going shot for shot when Eames arrives. Cobb’s off on a side job, Saito is back to being multi billionaire bad ass, and Yusuf is back visiting with family, so Eames figures it’ll just be the three of them tonight.
“Look who finally showed up,” Ariadne says, dropping her shot glass down on the top of the bar, signalling to the bartender. “You better start now if you’re going to catch up.”
Eames shakes his head slightly, leaning past Ariadne and Arthur to speak to the bartender.
“Whiskey, neat,” he says, preferring to start slow, well, slower.
“Boo,” Ariadne says, lightly knocking Eames' shoulder. “There goes the plan to see Eames, the drunken college girl come out.”
Eames laughs and shakes his head, “That was one time and it was an accident.”
“But it’s on film,” Arthur adds, and Eames turns to glare at him. It doesn’t last long, because Arthur’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes already look a little sleepy and he’s got this amazing smile that reminds Eames of like puppies and birthday cakes or something.
“Cheers,” Eames says and holds up his drink. Ariadne and Arthur both raise a glass and they all drink.
Like every other week, the night goes from there. Soon enough, Ariadne declares the two of them boring and goes off with someone from one of her grad classes. Eames slides over so he’s sitting on the stool next to Arthur.
He drops an arm over Arthur’s shoulder and says, “Of all the gin joints, you had to walk into mine.”
Eames smiles when Arthur all but snorts with laughter, and his grin spreads when Arthur leans into his side. The combination of alcohol and body heat is making Eames’ head spin, and the sight of Arthur absently licking his lips sends sparks of electricity shooting through Eames' body and he leans in even closer. Arthur is wearing his own special brand of casual wear--tight jeans, button down shirt, skinny tie--and Eames is just itching to kiss him.
He runs through the catalog of kisses they’ve shared thus far. He remembers the feel of Arthur’s lips, somehow soft, yet firm. He remembers the wetness of his mouth, slick and warm. And most of all, he remembers the feeling of Arthur opening up to him, losing himself in the moment. This attraction between them has been simmering for months now and it’s putting Eames on edge. Going all the way might change them, change the team, change the way they work on missions.
For now, Eames doesn’t care about all that, he just wants to kiss Arthur.
So he does as much. Sliding his hand along Arthur’s waist, moving forward so their lips are pressed lightly together. He supposes that he catches Arthur off guard, because he makes a surprised noise and kind of flails his hands around, but they settle on Eames’ shoulders all the same. Eames smiles into the kiss and moves his lips slowly, stroking his fingers just over the waistband of Arthur’s pants.
“What are you doing?” Arthur says, with more curiosity than malice in his voice.
“Nothing,” Eames says, a playful tone in his own voice, nipping at Arthur’s lower lip. His bottom lip is slightly swollen, and Eames drags his tongue across it.
Eames can feel it when Arthur breathes out slowly, shaking his head.
“This is a bad idea, Mr. Eames.”
“Rubbish, absolute rubbish.”
Eames leans in for another kiss, and Arthur doesn’t move away immediately, which Eames takes as a good sign.
Everything is going great until Ariadne pops out of nowhere.
“Woo, get a room loverboys.”
Eames laughs, but Arthur jumps away, running his hands down the front of his shirt, smoothing out some unseen wrinkle.
“I think this is great,” she says, throwing her arm around Eames’ shoulders.
“I’m leaving,” Arthur says on cue, grabbing his jacket and throwing a wave over his shoulder as he makes a hasty retreat.
“I almost had him that time,” Eames says, pouting out his bottom lip.
“I know, dear,” Ariadne says, patting Eames on the head.
iv.
Arthur is mad. Arthur is really mad. Some might even say furious.
There is a deep furrow running across the middle of Arthur’s forehead and he’s breathing heavily, having just outrun an entire security team. He’s sweating and his hair is falling all over his forehead.
Eames has never been more turned on.
He grabs the front of Arthur’s shirt and pulls him in, pressing their lips together.
Arthur hauls off and punches Eames square in the mouth.
The taste of blood is sharp and Eames rubs the side of his face, smiling to himself.
Oh, that was totally worth it.
v.
“So, it’s a nice night,” Eames says, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking up at Arthur.
“Shut up and come here,” Arthur says, hooking his hands in the ugly fabric of Eames’ favorite tweed jacket. There is nothing shy or reserved about the way Arthur kisses him this time. Arthur’s lips are firm and his tongue demands entrance, licking into Eames’ mouth. Eames grabs a fist full of Arthur’s hair and pulls him closer, biting at his lower lip. There’s a dull thump as they back up into Arthur’s front door and Eames leans into him until their hips are flush, slowly grinding together.
He could be happy--insanely, ecstatically, fantastically happy--right here, but he knows that there’s so much more waiting for him on the other side of the door. Considering how successful this official first date has gone, Eames is certain that a score is within reach.
He pulls back slightly, sliding his fingers through Arthur’s hair, rucking it up in the back and pushing other strands out of place. Arthur is always incredibly composed and Eames longs to undo all that.
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in,” Eames says, his voice a low purr, ghosting his lips along the shell of Arthur’s ear.
“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Arthur says, but reaches around to fish his keys out of his pocket.
“Because I’m British, and charming, and I put out like a slut on prom night as they say.”
Arthur laughs and Eames leans in again before either of them has a chance to open the door. Their mouths fall open easily and their tongues slide together. Arthur rocks his hips just slightly and it spreads tingles through Eames’ whole body. If he could have Arthur right here he would, but he figures it would be better for the neighbors if they took things to a more private location. Plus, he’s never been inside Arthur’s place before, so he’s anxious to see what’s behind the door.
“Inside, now,” he says, firmly this time and Arthur nods, turning just enough so that he can actually get his key in the lock and open the door.
It’s dark inside, but it doesn’t matter, because Arthur takes his hand and leads him through the apartment, to what he assumes is the bedroom, before stopping.
“Mr. Eames,” he says, “do come in.”
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Eames/Arthur
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: Fake. Not for profit. No harm, no foul.
Fill for round 5 of the inception_kink meme. From this prompt: Eames likes to kiss. A Lot.
i.
The job goes nothing as planned, and the sound of bullets is still fresh in Arthur's mind. Pain is throbbing through his shoulder, the sling and painkillers doing little to help the situation. The warehouse is dark and the soft hum of the computers is the only sound. Arthur knows that he should call a cab to take him back to his apartment, but even the thought of moving is causing more pain to shoot through his body and he figures he’s safe here for now. He keeps a blanket in the bottom drawer of his desk for this sort of thing.
He’s got files and blueprints spread out over his desk for now, trying to pinpoint exactly where the plan veered off course. If he can get there, he might be able to find a way to salvage the job, to deliver before anyone comes after them.
He’s startled when he hears a loud cough from somewhere over his shoulder.
“Shit,” he says, jumping a little and jarring his shoulder. “Fuck.”
“Sorry, love,” comes Eames’ familiar drawl. “Didn’t think anyone was still around.”
They don’t exactly have offices in this place, so Arthur figures it would have been wise to check the place before settling in to work.
“Just me, I guess,” Arthur says, pushing back in his chair, swiveling around to face Eames.
“You gave us quite a scare,” Eames says, inching forward into the circle of light created by Arthur’s desk lamp.
“It’s the last time I trust anyone else to do the background check for the real world security. Who doesn’t think to jam the security signals for a silent alarm. That was just careless.”
Eames nods, stepping closer so he’s right in front of Arthur’s chair. He crouches down, resting one hand on the arm of the chair.
“How’s the shoulder, that’s a particularly nasty one.”
Arthur’s pretty sure that he’ll have a scar, but nothing worse than he got in his military days. Neither one of them wants to admit that they were scared shitless when they woke up to a team of heavily armed guys, narrowly escaping with all their limbs in tact. Cobb had chewed them out the whole ride back to the warehouse, all the while, holding a stained cloth to the wound on Arthur’s shoulder. Eames had been silent the whole ride. At one point, just before he passed out, Arthur had reached over and taken Eames’ hand, giving it a firm squeeze.
“Should heal up fine, just hurts like a bitch at this point.” He reaches up and hooks his fingers in his tie, attempting to pull it loose, but it gets stuck and he drops his hand in frustration.
“Here, let me,” Eames says, his hand hovering just over Arthur’s throat.
Arthur gives a nod of consent and Eames leans forward, hooking his fingers around the knot of Arthur’s tie. He doesn’t pull immediately, instead he very gingerly leans forward, using his other hand as leverage against Arthur’s chair. He stops when he’s about an inch away, and looks over Arthur’s face before licking his lips and closing the distance between them. He loosens Arthur’s tie then, and Arthur shivers as Eames’ fingers brush over his throat.
He lets out a heavy sigh as Eames pulls back, the pain in his shoulder momentarily forgotten.
ii.
Eames should have known that Arthur would be light on his feet.
The current job is a standard extraction, a two man job really, but Eames decided to tag along for the sole fact that the scene is a masquerade ball and he couldn’t resist the chance to step out in a Tux. He’s wearing a plane white mask that ties around the back with a black ribbon and is currently on the arm of a blonde in a Sapphire ballgown. Every now and then he’ll pass by Arthur who’s wearing gold to match the mark’s dress.
He listens for the rich timber of Arthur’s laugh as he changes to partner with a brunette in a red-feathered mask and dress.
Halfway through the night he sees Arthur slip off the floor with the mark and signals to Cobb who’s waiting just off the dance floor. He heads to the bar then, to wait for the exchange. He checks his watch, expensive and understated, admiring Arthur’s taste and attention to detail. They’re ahead of schedule at this point. Eames knocks back a vodka tonic, keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity and once again signals to Cobb when he sees Arthur re-enter the ballroom. The mark is nowhere to be seen as Eames approaches Arthur.
“May I have this dance?” he says, extending his arm to Arthur, quirking up an eyebrow.
It’s strange that he can’t really see Arthur’s eyes and he figures Arthur will once again be all business, but he smiles and takes Eames’ arm.
“You lead,” he says.
On the dance floor, Eames slides an arm around Arthur’s waist and pulls him close, leading them into the music. It’s a simple waltz and Arthur follows him easily.
“How’d it go?” Eames says, his lips close to Arthur’s ear.
“She put up a fight, but we got it,” Arthur says.
“Nothing untoward happened, I hope.”
“I was a perfect gentleman.”
“Of course, darling,” Eames says, pushing against Arthur’s side to spin him around.
“How much time do we have left?” Arthur asks when Eames pulls him back in again.
“About ten minutes, better make it count,” Eames says, tightening his arm around Arthur and gracefully dipping him down towards the floor.
He leans forward, giving Arthur a playful smirk as he presses their lips together. He feels Arthur’s hand tighten on the back of his neck as their lips move slowly. He scrapes his teeth against Arthur’s bottom lip as they pull apart just as music ends. Arthur is breathing heavily and Eames takes in the way that he licks his lips. He’s overwhelmed by the urge to kiss Arthur again, and slides his hand up to cup the side of Arthur’s face, fingers brushing against the edge of his mask.
As he leans in, the band starts up again, but Eames realizes it’s actually the opening bars of the cue for the kick.
He smiles as he trails his thumb over Arthur’s bottom lip. “Gotta get ready for the kick.”
“See you on the other side,” Arthur says with a smile before disappearing into the crowd.
iii.
It was Ariadne who started the tradition of spending Friday nights at a local bar called The Drunk Tank. They’ve been caravanning around the world since their first job together, but the sun and fun of Los Angeles was the only thing that stuck long enough to call home. Now they all have apartments and Ariadne has school and Cobb has his kids, it’s a comfortable spot to be in. Eames likes the comfort of the routine to combat the haphazard nature of doing jobs all over the world and going in and out of dreams.
There’s a standing 8 o’clock invitation for the whole team, and who actually shows up varies from week to week.
This week, Ariadne and Arthur are going shot for shot when Eames arrives. Cobb’s off on a side job, Saito is back to being multi billionaire bad ass, and Yusuf is back visiting with family, so Eames figures it’ll just be the three of them tonight.
“Look who finally showed up,” Ariadne says, dropping her shot glass down on the top of the bar, signalling to the bartender. “You better start now if you’re going to catch up.”
Eames shakes his head slightly, leaning past Ariadne and Arthur to speak to the bartender.
“Whiskey, neat,” he says, preferring to start slow, well, slower.
“Boo,” Ariadne says, lightly knocking Eames' shoulder. “There goes the plan to see Eames, the drunken college girl come out.”
Eames laughs and shakes his head, “That was one time and it was an accident.”
“But it’s on film,” Arthur adds, and Eames turns to glare at him. It doesn’t last long, because Arthur’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes already look a little sleepy and he’s got this amazing smile that reminds Eames of like puppies and birthday cakes or something.
“Cheers,” Eames says and holds up his drink. Ariadne and Arthur both raise a glass and they all drink.
Like every other week, the night goes from there. Soon enough, Ariadne declares the two of them boring and goes off with someone from one of her grad classes. Eames slides over so he’s sitting on the stool next to Arthur.
He drops an arm over Arthur’s shoulder and says, “Of all the gin joints, you had to walk into mine.”
Eames smiles when Arthur all but snorts with laughter, and his grin spreads when Arthur leans into his side. The combination of alcohol and body heat is making Eames’ head spin, and the sight of Arthur absently licking his lips sends sparks of electricity shooting through Eames' body and he leans in even closer. Arthur is wearing his own special brand of casual wear--tight jeans, button down shirt, skinny tie--and Eames is just itching to kiss him.
He runs through the catalog of kisses they’ve shared thus far. He remembers the feel of Arthur’s lips, somehow soft, yet firm. He remembers the wetness of his mouth, slick and warm. And most of all, he remembers the feeling of Arthur opening up to him, losing himself in the moment. This attraction between them has been simmering for months now and it’s putting Eames on edge. Going all the way might change them, change the team, change the way they work on missions.
For now, Eames doesn’t care about all that, he just wants to kiss Arthur.
So he does as much. Sliding his hand along Arthur’s waist, moving forward so their lips are pressed lightly together. He supposes that he catches Arthur off guard, because he makes a surprised noise and kind of flails his hands around, but they settle on Eames’ shoulders all the same. Eames smiles into the kiss and moves his lips slowly, stroking his fingers just over the waistband of Arthur’s pants.
“What are you doing?” Arthur says, with more curiosity than malice in his voice.
“Nothing,” Eames says, a playful tone in his own voice, nipping at Arthur’s lower lip. His bottom lip is slightly swollen, and Eames drags his tongue across it.
Eames can feel it when Arthur breathes out slowly, shaking his head.
“This is a bad idea, Mr. Eames.”
“Rubbish, absolute rubbish.”
Eames leans in for another kiss, and Arthur doesn’t move away immediately, which Eames takes as a good sign.
Everything is going great until Ariadne pops out of nowhere.
“Woo, get a room loverboys.”
Eames laughs, but Arthur jumps away, running his hands down the front of his shirt, smoothing out some unseen wrinkle.
“I think this is great,” she says, throwing her arm around Eames’ shoulders.
“I’m leaving,” Arthur says on cue, grabbing his jacket and throwing a wave over his shoulder as he makes a hasty retreat.
“I almost had him that time,” Eames says, pouting out his bottom lip.
“I know, dear,” Ariadne says, patting Eames on the head.
iv.
Arthur is mad. Arthur is really mad. Some might even say furious.
There is a deep furrow running across the middle of Arthur’s forehead and he’s breathing heavily, having just outrun an entire security team. He’s sweating and his hair is falling all over his forehead.
Eames has never been more turned on.
He grabs the front of Arthur’s shirt and pulls him in, pressing their lips together.
Arthur hauls off and punches Eames square in the mouth.
The taste of blood is sharp and Eames rubs the side of his face, smiling to himself.
Oh, that was totally worth it.
v.
“So, it’s a nice night,” Eames says, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking up at Arthur.
“Shut up and come here,” Arthur says, hooking his hands in the ugly fabric of Eames’ favorite tweed jacket. There is nothing shy or reserved about the way Arthur kisses him this time. Arthur’s lips are firm and his tongue demands entrance, licking into Eames’ mouth. Eames grabs a fist full of Arthur’s hair and pulls him closer, biting at his lower lip. There’s a dull thump as they back up into Arthur’s front door and Eames leans into him until their hips are flush, slowly grinding together.
He could be happy--insanely, ecstatically, fantastically happy--right here, but he knows that there’s so much more waiting for him on the other side of the door. Considering how successful this official first date has gone, Eames is certain that a score is within reach.
He pulls back slightly, sliding his fingers through Arthur’s hair, rucking it up in the back and pushing other strands out of place. Arthur is always incredibly composed and Eames longs to undo all that.
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in,” Eames says, his voice a low purr, ghosting his lips along the shell of Arthur’s ear.
“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Arthur says, but reaches around to fish his keys out of his pocket.
“Because I’m British, and charming, and I put out like a slut on prom night as they say.”
Arthur laughs and Eames leans in again before either of them has a chance to open the door. Their mouths fall open easily and their tongues slide together. Arthur rocks his hips just slightly and it spreads tingles through Eames’ whole body. If he could have Arthur right here he would, but he figures it would be better for the neighbors if they took things to a more private location. Plus, he’s never been inside Arthur’s place before, so he’s anxious to see what’s behind the door.
“Inside, now,” he says, firmly this time and Arthur nods, turning just enough so that he can actually get his key in the lock and open the door.
It’s dark inside, but it doesn’t matter, because Arthur takes his hand and leads him through the apartment, to what he assumes is the bedroom, before stopping.
“Mr. Eames,” he says, “do come in.”