Fanfiction - Inception - Baby, It's Cold Outside, 1/1
Hi! So, this past year has proven that while suffering may help to inspire some great works of art, having a bad year does not by itself make me into a productive or particularly skilled writer. I didn't do Nanowrimo formally this year, but I did decide to try to write ficlets prompted by random words for each day of November. (Fortunately, the OED has a word of the day function, which got me through most of the month.) I'm... not so much done those, but they did get me writing again, so we'll see if I can keep that up for a while. This wasn't part of Nanowrimo, but I did start writing it because I had writing on the brain, and was stuck at work, so in a way my project worked.
Summary: Cozy room, freezing storm, what else to do?
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-15
Author's Notes: I work retail, so this song has worked its way through familiar, annoying, and painful all the way to background noise again. Also, Glee did an adorable cover of it last year or sometime, I forget when.
Disclaimer: I don't own Inception, or any recognisable characters from it.
Baby, It's Cold Outside
Arthur opened his eyes. He was sitting on a plush, red chaise-lounge, comfortably buried in voluptuous cushions. The room suited its furniture -- there was dark-stained wood on the floor and up the walls, more burgundy in every luxurious textilte available, a half-bar on one wall and a fireplace on another. He was holding a glass, so he brought it to his mouth for a curious taste.
"I think that was the most expensive brandy I've ever had," Eames said conversationally.
"Did you steal it?"
"Saito indulged me, after that little caper in Brussels," the thief admitted with a laugh. Ah. Caper was not the word Arthur would have chosen, but he knew the night Eames meant.
"I'll have to thank him for putting it in your head, then," he mused, and took another sip. "By the way: what am I doing here?"
"Dreaming with me, of course." Eames leaned forwards at the look on his face, his expression terribly earnest. "Darling, you can't convince me you weren't miserable, holed up in that sauna of a safehouse over Christmas. So I thought up a nice, northern winter scene, complete with chalet. Yusuf wanted to see if he could make a cocktail that decreased the influence of outside environment, anyway, so it's not as if it's a waste of time."
He hadn't noticed that he was anything other than comfortably warm, but he'd put that down to the cashmere sweater and crackling fire of the dream. He turned his head sharply, expecting to find a window. Through its glass was a frigid looking forest, snow and sleet liberally intermixed in the sky. At the far horizon a grouping of lights suggested a village, probably where the bulk of their projections were. He'd have to remember this forest maze; the canopy blocked even an aerial view of its layout, though it looked off, so he was sure he could improve it.
"If the point is the temperatures, shouldn't we be out there?" he asked, and had to hide a snicker as Eames mugged horror at him.
"But, baby, it's cold outside."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, and it's hot in Newcastle. So I should be heading out now."
He stood, but before he could get to the door he felt an arm around his waist, a hand gripping his. He let himself be turned, but he was still determined to at least pretend annoyance with his capture.
"It's up to your knees out there," the forger cautioned. "Wet and miserable, too. Wouldn't it be much more fun to stay here, and let me try to distract you from the weather?"
He narrowed his eyes.
"Are you quoting song lyrics at me?"
"What?"
"Baby, it's cold outside. It's up to your knees out there. They're lines from a carol, aren't they?"
"Quite possibly, given Ariadne was playing some cliched Christmas movie when we went under," Eames admitted cheerfully. "Are you feeling an urge to tell me you really can't stay?"
He scowled.
"Yes. And to ask for half a drink more. Which is stupid, since I never finished the last one."
"Curious." From the look on the forger's face, he really should've expected what came next. "Darling, will you let me play against the experiment, and try to distract you a different way?"
"From the biting cold that's not here?"
"Mm. We could waltz," Eames suggested, smiling at him in a way that strongly suggested he'd rather they danced horizontally."
"You waltz?"
"We have a cozy room, fine brandy, and a raging storm outside. If I've ever been in a dream that called for waltzing, this is it."
"This I have to see," he challenged, and got himself twirled into position for his trouble.
Eames was, he had to acknowledge, a very distracting dance partner. Arthur could feel their bodies pressed tightly together, their fingers twined as closely as dream-flesh allowed. He was treated to a conversation carried on in innuendo and outright flattery, dwelling on how delicious he looked, and how much his partner wanted to taste his lips, throat, fingertips. He wasn't sure if the room had changed dimensins but there was enough space between chairs to move, especially as close as they were. Eames spun him around, twice and twice again, fast enough he didn't object to being dipped onto the chaise he'd started on.
"I want to taste every inch of you," Eames said hoarsely, and bent over him for a kiss.
Arthur grabbed him, just as hungry for it. Eames' mouth was incredible, hot and strong, and he bit his way in. Hard, eager weight on top of him, grinding down, and god that felt good. He was achingly hard, so hard that if it hadn't been a dream he'd have wondered when that had started. Eames was hard too, though, and that seemed more important. He groped one-handed at his lover's shirtbuttons. Eames already had both hands under his sweater, teeth sending shocks of pleasure from his neck.
"Love, one detail," he gasped, bringing a pistol up in his free hand. Eames froze with a look of comic betrayal. "Right now, are bodies are lying in a sweltering warehouse, in as little clothing as we could get away with, while Ariadne and Yusuf monitor our reactions. I will not wake up sticky and embarrasssed in front of them."
"Ah. Can I plead for a raincheck then, darling?"
He grinned.
"Well, you can plead."
Eames rolled his eyes.
"Tease."
He cocked the gun.
"Hang onto this dreamscape, though. We won't always have witnessess."
When they came to, Eames shot him an impatient look and Arthur smirked. He gave it a week before he was kidnapped to someplace snowy, and he was already looking forward to it.