With my memories I lit the fire (1/1)
Title: With my memories I lit the fire
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Arthur is afraid of a dream coming true, while Eames is afraid of it staying a dream. ( Three times Eames kissed Arthur, and one time Arthur kissed him. )
AN: I just felt like taking a quick break from the sadness that is the kink meme-fill I'm currently working on.
ONE
Eames is leaning languidly against the luggage cart.
To him, this job did not hold anything of life-changing importance, and having no attachment made it easy to give things up, to run at any given moment. He has often felt the need to run, but never quite as strong as this.
Now that it's done however, he feels a strange kind of satisfaction.
It's a job well done.
Unlike Cobb or Ariadne, nothing changed for Eames, and still he has got the strange feeling of having forgotten something, of having left something down in the dream.
Arthur, who is standing by the baggage carousel, suddenly turns around to smile at him.
"We did it," he says, smile wide and honest.
Eames' eyes widen as he takes a step forward.
That's it.
His lips find the corner of Arthur's mouth impulsively.
A couple of metres away from them, following the surprised gasp of a few people, Cobb turns around just in time to see Eames go down, Arthur's fist still in mid-air.
TWO
Eames doesn't really like using the blonde. The high-heels are killing him even in the dream, and every time he uses her he thinks of this impersonation as below his standards, a trick as cheap as her looks, but this time there is no way he could have resisted the temptation of using her.
It just works every time.
Arthur is sitting in a dimly-lit bar, swirling a drink in his glass, something mundane, clean cut and simple, no fruit, no straw, no funny umbrella. He is sitting there as if he ended up at the spot by accident, not paying particular attention to anything, and so Eames just stands there and takes the sight in.
He exhales slowly, all breath leaving his lungs in a heavy, drawn out sigh.
It's been years since he saw Arthur.
Blond turns brunette, someone a little smaller, a little less feigned elegance.
"Would you mind me joining you?" Eames says, and hates how this is not him even though it's perfectly like him.
"We're on different sides now, Mr. Eames," Arthur says, and his eyes are steely while something as scandalous as a smirk tugs the left corner of his mouth upwards.
Eames is almost offended how easily he was recognised, the best forger of all, called out by a point man who hadn't even done his homework right last time they met each other.
The forger is already pressing cold metal against the other's stomach, but so is the point man.
Eames feels that Arthur gives it a few seconds, their lips pressed together. Just a few seconds, then the clicks of two guns. A few unbelievably satisfying seconds.
(Let's not do this again, Eames says to Arthur, the pools of their blood slowly mixing, and Arthur chuckles faintly. Yeah, he says, let's not.)
THREE
"Let's go home, darling."
Another airport, another done job. Shapes that keep shifting, names, places, information. Dates, difficulty.
Eames didn't think it would come so soon, the day he would start to feel tired.
"I don't live here," Arthur answers calmly. That's right, Eames thinks, and it feels a lot like waking up, they are in London.
"I do," he says slowly, "That's enough."
This city is not a romantic place. The noise, the crowded spaces, they can be off-putting. It's just a city, but Eames knows it well. He knows where they could go and buy Arthur new ties, and where you an get the best scrambled eggs in the morning. Somehow it's okay.
He catches Arthur by the wrist and pushes into his space, and when they kiss this time, there is no fist connecting with his jaw.
It's alright. They have never needed romantic places anyway.
ONE
Arthur looks at Eames' sleeping form on the hotel floor. It's too early to admit to it, the feeling that they've all had at some point, the feeling of not being able to tell the difference between dream and reality.
Whatever Eames chose to believe in, he is firmly grounded in it, and in quiet moments like this Arthur thinks that it would be nice to lean into him and just believe, whatever it was he chose to believe.
Arthur swears to himself that on the day he stops being afraid of admittance, he will tell Eames everything. He can feel that day approaching, like the final seconds before the kick.
That's it.
A chaste kiss to a sleeping man's lips.
"Sweet dreams, Mr. Eames."
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Arthur is afraid of a dream coming true, while Eames is afraid of it staying a dream. ( Three times Eames kissed Arthur, and one time Arthur kissed him. )
AN: I just felt like taking a quick break from the sadness that is the kink meme-fill I'm currently working on.
ONE
Eames is leaning languidly against the luggage cart.
To him, this job did not hold anything of life-changing importance, and having no attachment made it easy to give things up, to run at any given moment. He has often felt the need to run, but never quite as strong as this.
Now that it's done however, he feels a strange kind of satisfaction.
It's a job well done.
Unlike Cobb or Ariadne, nothing changed for Eames, and still he has got the strange feeling of having forgotten something, of having left something down in the dream.
Arthur, who is standing by the baggage carousel, suddenly turns around to smile at him.
"We did it," he says, smile wide and honest.
Eames' eyes widen as he takes a step forward.
That's it.
His lips find the corner of Arthur's mouth impulsively.
A couple of metres away from them, following the surprised gasp of a few people, Cobb turns around just in time to see Eames go down, Arthur's fist still in mid-air.
TWO
Eames doesn't really like using the blonde. The high-heels are killing him even in the dream, and every time he uses her he thinks of this impersonation as below his standards, a trick as cheap as her looks, but this time there is no way he could have resisted the temptation of using her.
It just works every time.
Arthur is sitting in a dimly-lit bar, swirling a drink in his glass, something mundane, clean cut and simple, no fruit, no straw, no funny umbrella. He is sitting there as if he ended up at the spot by accident, not paying particular attention to anything, and so Eames just stands there and takes the sight in.
He exhales slowly, all breath leaving his lungs in a heavy, drawn out sigh.
It's been years since he saw Arthur.
Blond turns brunette, someone a little smaller, a little less feigned elegance.
"Would you mind me joining you?" Eames says, and hates how this is not him even though it's perfectly like him.
"We're on different sides now, Mr. Eames," Arthur says, and his eyes are steely while something as scandalous as a smirk tugs the left corner of his mouth upwards.
Eames is almost offended how easily he was recognised, the best forger of all, called out by a point man who hadn't even done his homework right last time they met each other.
The forger is already pressing cold metal against the other's stomach, but so is the point man.
Eames feels that Arthur gives it a few seconds, their lips pressed together. Just a few seconds, then the clicks of two guns. A few unbelievably satisfying seconds.
(Let's not do this again, Eames says to Arthur, the pools of their blood slowly mixing, and Arthur chuckles faintly. Yeah, he says, let's not.)
THREE
"Let's go home, darling."
Another airport, another done job. Shapes that keep shifting, names, places, information. Dates, difficulty.
Eames didn't think it would come so soon, the day he would start to feel tired.
"I don't live here," Arthur answers calmly. That's right, Eames thinks, and it feels a lot like waking up, they are in London.
"I do," he says slowly, "That's enough."
This city is not a romantic place. The noise, the crowded spaces, they can be off-putting. It's just a city, but Eames knows it well. He knows where they could go and buy Arthur new ties, and where you an get the best scrambled eggs in the morning. Somehow it's okay.
He catches Arthur by the wrist and pushes into his space, and when they kiss this time, there is no fist connecting with his jaw.
It's alright. They have never needed romantic places anyway.
ONE
Arthur looks at Eames' sleeping form on the hotel floor. It's too early to admit to it, the feeling that they've all had at some point, the feeling of not being able to tell the difference between dream and reality.
Whatever Eames chose to believe in, he is firmly grounded in it, and in quiet moments like this Arthur thinks that it would be nice to lean into him and just believe, whatever it was he chose to believe.
Arthur swears to himself that on the day he stops being afraid of admittance, he will tell Eames everything. He can feel that day approaching, like the final seconds before the kick.
That's it.
A chaste kiss to a sleeping man's lips.
"Sweet dreams, Mr. Eames."