Fic: Happily Ever After (Inception: Arthur/Eames PG)
Title: Happily Ever After (aka This Story Has a Lame Title)
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG
Summary: For this prompt: http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/18462.html?thread=41492254#t41492254
Notes: I can't believe I wrote a story WITHOUT PORN IN IT. Also, this is...schmoopy and silly, but it was fun to write. Also, the last bit at the end is from the Keira Knightley version of Pride and Prejudice (secretly my favorite, but shhh).
“Eames, would you care to explain why
we're meeting at the top of the Empire State Building?” Arthur
asked, looking incredibly unimpressed.
Eames had to force himself not to
facepalm. “Arthur, haven't you ever seen An Affair to Remember?”
he asked.
Arthur
frowned as he hovered near the door. “Do I look like
a middle-aged woman?” he asked tartly.
It was
about this time that Eames noticed the slightly greenish tint to
Arthur's skin. That, coupled with the wary looks toward the view of
New York City and the reflexive swallowing, made Eames realize what
Arthur would never want anyone to know.
Mr.
I-can-kill-a-man-in-at-least-seventy-different-ways...the scariest,
most stoic BAMF in the dreaming industry, was afraid of heights.
Eames sighed and shook his head, making his way toward the door.
“Forget it, darling. Let's go eat, shall we?”
And if
Arthur looked visibly relieved, Eames pretended not to notice.
“Eames!
It's fucking three o'clock in the morning! Why are you
standing in the hallway wearing that stupid trenchcoat?”
Arthur's expression was livid. “You know what? Nevermind. What the
fuck are you doing listening to Peter Gabriel?”
Eames
raised an eyebrow as he lowered the boombox blasting “In Your Eyes”
and stared at Arthur. “Uhh...” he said, so charmingly.
Arthur
looked like he was about to shoot Eames in the neck, or maybe garrote
him with the first thing he could get his hands on.
“We're
in a fucking hotel, you stupid bastard. We're on a job! This is so
unprofessional,” Arthur hissed quietly.
Eames
sighed. “I take it you're not a John Cusack fan, then?”
Arthur's
answer was to slam the door in his face.
“I'm
at a loss,” Eames told Ariadne later the next day. They were
currently holding a clandestine meeting cleverly hidden behind her
models for the Rothko job. Arthur was on the other side of the
warehouse tearing some poor schmuck a new one over the phone. In
German.
Yusuf
shrugged. “Sorry, mate. I really thought the Say Anything
bit would work,” he said.
Ariadne
bit her lip and appeared confused. “Either Arthur's totally dense,
or he's woefully unversed in chick flicks.”
“Too
bad he's not a redheaded hooker,” Yusuf quipped. Ariadne snorted
and Eames glowered.
“A
little more help, please,” Eames said. He pinched the bridge of his
nose and tried to think. He'd been trying to make a sweepingly
romantic declaration of love for Arthur ever since he'd found out how
Arthur felt last month. The Derren job in Florence, to be exact.
Arthur
was apparently so inspired by the romantic city that he must have
accidentally filled the dream safe with his own deeply hidden secret
during the practice run. Eames, as the extractor for the job, had
been surprised to find Arthur's elegant black wallet in the safe. He
only knew it was Arthur's because he often lifted it from Arthur's
pocket for a laugh.
Out of
pure curiosity, he'd opened the wallet to find all the typical
identification (a carefully cultivated identity forged by yours
truly). However, the corner of a picture peeked out from one of the
folds. Arthur's real wallet didn't have any pictures in it, so Eames
was compelled to pull it out and see why it was here in the dream if
not in reality.
Imagine
his surprise when he found himself staring down at a picture that
definitely didn't
exist in the real world: Arthur, around 20 years old, in military
BDUs with dog tags hanging around his neck. A cap obscured his eyes,
but there was a bright smile on his face aimed at the man next to
him, a younger version of himself. He was around 23, dressed in his
RAF uniform. He was smiling at the camera.
He
didn't even hear Arthur approach him from behind, but the bullet to
his brain sent him right back to reality.
By the
time he'd come to full awareness of his surroundings, Arthur had
disappeared. He didn't come back for the rest of the day.
“Okay,
this has to work. I
know he's seen Amelie,”
Ariadne said as she shoved a black Zorro mask and cape at Eames.
Eames eyed them suspiciously, but Ariadne pushed him into the
photobooth anyway.
He
dutifully put the mask and cape on before scribbling “I love you”
on a piece of paper. When the booth prompted him, he held up the
makeshift sign and let the flash blind him.
Once
the pictures were taken, he removed the silly getup and climbed out
of the booth. Cobb was just outside, squinting down at Ariadne. “What
are you two doing over here?” he asked suspiciously.
They
froze, unable to explain themselves without giving away their lack of
attention to the job. Just then, the booth beeped and spit out the
strip of pictures. Cobb reached for them before Eames could. He
looked at the embarrassing evidence of their goofing off with a
deadpan expression. “Why, Eames, I didn't know you felt this way,”
he said as he tossed them in a nearby trash bin. “Get back to
work,” he said and walked off.
Arthur
wandered up, looking bemused. “Ari, impressive job on the station.
Everything looks good.”
Ariadne
shot an apologetic look at Eames from the corner of her eye before
she looked back at Arthur. “Thanks,” she said.
Just
as the music started to swell to signal their time running out on the
dream, Arthur smiled delightedly at the photobooth. “Hey, it looks
just like the one in Amelie.”
Eames
wondered how many more failed attempts he could survive without
shaking some bloody sense into
Arthur.
“...or
you could just tell him.”
“Shut
it, Yusuf.”
Eames
sat at the bar in their hotel and thought about that picture in
Arthur's wallet, and then he thought about when it all went wrong...
“Eames, I...”
“Arthur, stop. You know we can't.”
And just like that,
Eames knows what he has to do.
“Why are we
here?” Arthur asked him, looking a little bit confused and a lot
irritated. “We're wasting time --”
They were in
Arthur's room in the barracks. Both he and Arthur were a decade
younger, in uniform, and standing across from each other. “To fix
this,” Eames answered vaguely.
He saw the exact
moment when realization dawned on Arthur's face. He was angry now,
but Eames could see the same hurt in his eyes as he had that day ten
years ago. “I don't want to relive this,” Arthur spat.
Eames stepped
forward and reached a hand up to cup Arthur's smooth cheek.
“Just...say what you were going to say then. Tell me...”
Arthur looked like
he wanted to jerk away, but Eames caged him in just with his close
proximity.
“Why?” Arthur
asked, clearly wishing for a gun to save him from this.
Eames' smile was a
mix of sad regret and tenderness. “Because. Because I'm ready now
to hear what I wouldn't back then,” he answered.
Arthur searched his
eyes and swallowed convulsively. “You're such a bastard sometimes,”
he said tightly, but there wasn't much heat in it.
Eames' smile turned
into a grin. “I know.”
Arthur rolled his
eyes and took a deep breath. “Fine, okay... Eames?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm in love with
you,” he said.
Arthur looked like
he might be sick with nerves, but Eames pulled him in for a kiss
anyway. It was long, wet, and extremely satisfying. When he pulled
away, Arthur looked bemused. Eames stroked his thumb across the wet
expanse of Arthur's lower lip. “Thank you, darling.”
Before Arthur could
say anything, the barracks morphed into a lush field in the English
countryside. Eames wore a billowing white shirt, open at the collar,
and a long dark coat. He also wore tall boots to protect his feet
from the damp grass. Arthur looked miffed when he realized he, too,
was in a long dark coat...but wore a white nightgown beneath it. He
grumbled in warning, obviously not amused.
Eames put a finger
against Arthur's lips. “Shhh.” He cleared his throat, and then,
“You have bewitched me body and soul...”
Arthur cut him off
by socking him in the shoulder. “You asshat, that's not even in the
actual book!” he protested.
Eames chuckled and
dipped his head down to brush another kiss against Arthur's lips. “I
love you,” he said seriously when he pulled away.
Arthur laughed happily.
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG
Summary: For this prompt: http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/18462.html?thread=41492254#t41492254
Notes: I can't believe I wrote a story WITHOUT PORN IN IT. Also, this is...schmoopy and silly, but it was fun to write. Also, the last bit at the end is from the Keira Knightley version of Pride and Prejudice (secretly my favorite, but shhh).
“Eames, would you care to explain why
we're meeting at the top of the Empire State Building?” Arthur
asked, looking incredibly unimpressed.
Eames had to force himself not to
facepalm. “Arthur, haven't you ever seen An Affair to Remember?”
he asked.
Arthur
frowned as he hovered near the door. “Do I look like
a middle-aged woman?” he asked tartly.
It was
about this time that Eames noticed the slightly greenish tint to
Arthur's skin. That, coupled with the wary looks toward the view of
New York City and the reflexive swallowing, made Eames realize what
Arthur would never want anyone to know.
Mr.
I-can-kill-a-man-in-at-least-seventy-different-ways...the scariest,
most stoic BAMF in the dreaming industry, was afraid of heights.
Eames sighed and shook his head, making his way toward the door.
“Forget it, darling. Let's go eat, shall we?”
And if
Arthur looked visibly relieved, Eames pretended not to notice.
“Eames!
It's fucking three o'clock in the morning! Why are you
standing in the hallway wearing that stupid trenchcoat?”
Arthur's expression was livid. “You know what? Nevermind. What the
fuck are you doing listening to Peter Gabriel?”
Eames
raised an eyebrow as he lowered the boombox blasting “In Your Eyes”
and stared at Arthur. “Uhh...” he said, so charmingly.
Arthur
looked like he was about to shoot Eames in the neck, or maybe garrote
him with the first thing he could get his hands on.
“We're
in a fucking hotel, you stupid bastard. We're on a job! This is so
unprofessional,” Arthur hissed quietly.
Eames
sighed. “I take it you're not a John Cusack fan, then?”
Arthur's
answer was to slam the door in his face.
“I'm
at a loss,” Eames told Ariadne later the next day. They were
currently holding a clandestine meeting cleverly hidden behind her
models for the Rothko job. Arthur was on the other side of the
warehouse tearing some poor schmuck a new one over the phone. In
German.
Yusuf
shrugged. “Sorry, mate. I really thought the Say Anything
bit would work,” he said.
Ariadne
bit her lip and appeared confused. “Either Arthur's totally dense,
or he's woefully unversed in chick flicks.”
“Too
bad he's not a redheaded hooker,” Yusuf quipped. Ariadne snorted
and Eames glowered.
“A
little more help, please,” Eames said. He pinched the bridge of his
nose and tried to think. He'd been trying to make a sweepingly
romantic declaration of love for Arthur ever since he'd found out how
Arthur felt last month. The Derren job in Florence, to be exact.
Arthur
was apparently so inspired by the romantic city that he must have
accidentally filled the dream safe with his own deeply hidden secret
during the practice run. Eames, as the extractor for the job, had
been surprised to find Arthur's elegant black wallet in the safe. He
only knew it was Arthur's because he often lifted it from Arthur's
pocket for a laugh.
Out of
pure curiosity, he'd opened the wallet to find all the typical
identification (a carefully cultivated identity forged by yours
truly). However, the corner of a picture peeked out from one of the
folds. Arthur's real wallet didn't have any pictures in it, so Eames
was compelled to pull it out and see why it was here in the dream if
not in reality.
Imagine
his surprise when he found himself staring down at a picture that
definitely didn't
exist in the real world: Arthur, around 20 years old, in military
BDUs with dog tags hanging around his neck. A cap obscured his eyes,
but there was a bright smile on his face aimed at the man next to
him, a younger version of himself. He was around 23, dressed in his
RAF uniform. He was smiling at the camera.
He
didn't even hear Arthur approach him from behind, but the bullet to
his brain sent him right back to reality.
By the
time he'd come to full awareness of his surroundings, Arthur had
disappeared. He didn't come back for the rest of the day.
“Okay,
this has to work. I
know he's seen Amelie,”
Ariadne said as she shoved a black Zorro mask and cape at Eames.
Eames eyed them suspiciously, but Ariadne pushed him into the
photobooth anyway.
He
dutifully put the mask and cape on before scribbling “I love you”
on a piece of paper. When the booth prompted him, he held up the
makeshift sign and let the flash blind him.
Once
the pictures were taken, he removed the silly getup and climbed out
of the booth. Cobb was just outside, squinting down at Ariadne. “What
are you two doing over here?” he asked suspiciously.
They
froze, unable to explain themselves without giving away their lack of
attention to the job. Just then, the booth beeped and spit out the
strip of pictures. Cobb reached for them before Eames could. He
looked at the embarrassing evidence of their goofing off with a
deadpan expression. “Why, Eames, I didn't know you felt this way,”
he said as he tossed them in a nearby trash bin. “Get back to
work,” he said and walked off.
Arthur
wandered up, looking bemused. “Ari, impressive job on the station.
Everything looks good.”
Ariadne
shot an apologetic look at Eames from the corner of her eye before
she looked back at Arthur. “Thanks,” she said.
Just
as the music started to swell to signal their time running out on the
dream, Arthur smiled delightedly at the photobooth. “Hey, it looks
just like the one in Amelie.”
Eames
wondered how many more failed attempts he could survive without
shaking some bloody sense into
Arthur.
“...or
you could just tell him.”
“Shut
it, Yusuf.”
Eames
sat at the bar in their hotel and thought about that picture in
Arthur's wallet, and then he thought about when it all went wrong...
“Eames, I...”
“Arthur, stop. You know we can't.”
And just like that,
Eames knows what he has to do.
“Why are we
here?” Arthur asked him, looking a little bit confused and a lot
irritated. “We're wasting time --”
They were in
Arthur's room in the barracks. Both he and Arthur were a decade
younger, in uniform, and standing across from each other. “To fix
this,” Eames answered vaguely.
He saw the exact
moment when realization dawned on Arthur's face. He was angry now,
but Eames could see the same hurt in his eyes as he had that day ten
years ago. “I don't want to relive this,” Arthur spat.
Eames stepped
forward and reached a hand up to cup Arthur's smooth cheek.
“Just...say what you were going to say then. Tell me...”
Arthur looked like
he wanted to jerk away, but Eames caged him in just with his close
proximity.
“Why?” Arthur
asked, clearly wishing for a gun to save him from this.
Eames' smile was a
mix of sad regret and tenderness. “Because. Because I'm ready now
to hear what I wouldn't back then,” he answered.
Arthur searched his
eyes and swallowed convulsively. “You're such a bastard sometimes,”
he said tightly, but there wasn't much heat in it.
Eames' smile turned
into a grin. “I know.”
Arthur rolled his
eyes and took a deep breath. “Fine, okay... Eames?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm in love with
you,” he said.
Arthur looked like
he might be sick with nerves, but Eames pulled him in for a kiss
anyway. It was long, wet, and extremely satisfying. When he pulled
away, Arthur looked bemused. Eames stroked his thumb across the wet
expanse of Arthur's lower lip. “Thank you, darling.”
Before Arthur could
say anything, the barracks morphed into a lush field in the English
countryside. Eames wore a billowing white shirt, open at the collar,
and a long dark coat. He also wore tall boots to protect his feet
from the damp grass. Arthur looked miffed when he realized he, too,
was in a long dark coat...but wore a white nightgown beneath it. He
grumbled in warning, obviously not amused.
Eames put a finger
against Arthur's lips. “Shhh.” He cleared his throat, and then,
“You have bewitched me body and soul...”
Arthur cut him off
by socking him in the shoulder. “You asshat, that's not even in the
actual book!” he protested.
Eames chuckled and
dipped his head down to brush another kiss against Arthur's lips. “I
love you,” he said seriously when he pulled away.
Arthur laughed happily.