Aren't Like Other Fans - Inception - PG-13
Title: Aren't Like Other Fans
Author: anamuan
Fandom, Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 882 words.
Rating: PG-13
Note: Written for mesmorizee for this prompt post. Title is a reference to this commercial. Hockey fans aren't like other fans. (we're better).
One thing Eames will never, ever really understand about Arthur is the hockey. Oh, he should probably. Theoretically, Eames can make it work, make it make sense. Hockey's a game of skill and teamwork. It's fast, and can be brutal. All of those make sense to Eames as reasons why Arthur could enjoy the sport, even as a spectator. Eames can see the appeal of the sport.
What Eames doesn't really get is the fan part. Arthur is a hockey fan. Hockey fans...aren't like other fans. Watching Arthur watch hockey is one of the most tense, most riveting experiences of Eames's life, even if he still doesn't understand most of the things Arthur yells at the screen during.
Arthur doesn't take jobs during the playoffs, as a general rule. If he's already on one when the playoffs start, he disappears for hours during the actual games--phone off, no email, just falls off the face of the planet as far as work is concerned. He finds himself a bar showing the game, or barring that, an internet stream holed up in his hotel room. In 2009, he actually rescheduled a snatch-and-grab so it wouldn't interfere with his ability to watch the Blackhawks cream the Calgary Flames.
The first time Arthur kissed him, the Hawks won. Arthur kissed him every day there was a game after that for four months, even in public, even during work hours but absolutely refused to participate in any PDA on days that the Blackhawks weren't playing because it wasn't professional. At the time, Eames hadn't known to check the game schedule, so he was just really, really confused. One day Arthur was pressing him up against walls on main thoroughfares and getting them chastised by the police for public indecency (which they weren't doing. yet.), and the next, a hand left to linger too long on Arthur's shoulder got him dirty looks.
The first time they had sex, the Blackhawks lost. Abysmally. Arthur refused to sleep with him on game days until the next season, just in case. On the other hand, the sex they had in the weeks following the 2010 Stanley Cup win is still some of Eames's favourite.
Arthur hadn't jumped him right after the game because, Eames rather suspects, Arthur was too keyed up about the Stanley Cup, fuck, we won the Stanley Cup to think about anything else for a little while. They'd left their car in the parking lot to help tear up Chicago for a while, and then they'd taken a taxi home, and then Arthur had climbed on Eames's dick and fucked him until Eames had practically passed out. It was, frankly, the most enthusiastic sex of Eames's life (which isn't too shabby normally and includes adrenaline-fueled, we're-actually-alive sex more frequently than is probably healthy). Eames was on tenterhooks when they were waiting to find out if they qualified for the playoffs in 2011, and crushed when they lost in game 7 of the first round, if only because it meant they wouldn't be getting a repeat of the year before.
Arthur has season tickets. Of course he does, because what's the point of having all this money if he can't get good seats? He's hardly ever in town to actually go, since international mind crime is more of a year-round sport than even hockey (which Eames would have thought would be more relegated to the actual winter than it is), but Arthur just sells the tickets back to the franchise on a game-by-game basis. Then, if he is in town, he doesn't have to try to scramble for tickets last minute and risk missing a game he could have seen in person in United Center.
The first time Arthur had taken Eames to a game, everyone had started cheering and screaming and clapping as the anthem started. Everyone, including Arthur. Arthur, who was wearing a Blackhawks jersey and a matching team cap and had explained to Eames at great length what a 'jersey foul' was and why it was to be avoided at all costs. Staid, deadly Arthur of the slacks and waistcoats and patterned ties, Arthur of the fine appreciation of post-WWII impressionistic art, in a hockey jersey, yelling his bloody head off like a loon until the puck hit ice.
Arthur grows a playoff beard. Eames isn't exactly sure what to make of the superstition/tradition, but Arthur isn't any harder on the eyes with a little bit of scruff. It gets further and further from 'scruff' and closer and closer to 'lumberjack' the longer the Blackhawks are in the playoffs, naturally, which isn't bad exactly, but does take some considerable getting used to. And as soon as Eames has really acclimatized himself to it, it's June, and hockey's endless season is finally over, and Arthur shaves it all off. This also takes getting used to, but it's easier, because at least he looks like the Arthur Eames has known professionally all these years.
Arthur tells him to be grateful he's not a Redwings fan, or they'd be carrying gigantic octopi to every game during playoff season as a matter of course. Eames sighs, and counts his blessings, and makes sure to go behind the couch instead of in front of the telly. There's a game on.
Author: anamuan
Fandom, Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 882 words.
Rating: PG-13
Note: Written for mesmorizee for this prompt post. Title is a reference to this commercial. Hockey fans aren't like other fans. (we're better).
One thing Eames will never, ever really understand about Arthur is the hockey. Oh, he should probably. Theoretically, Eames can make it work, make it make sense. Hockey's a game of skill and teamwork. It's fast, and can be brutal. All of those make sense to Eames as reasons why Arthur could enjoy the sport, even as a spectator. Eames can see the appeal of the sport.
What Eames doesn't really get is the fan part. Arthur is a hockey fan. Hockey fans...aren't like other fans. Watching Arthur watch hockey is one of the most tense, most riveting experiences of Eames's life, even if he still doesn't understand most of the things Arthur yells at the screen during.
Arthur doesn't take jobs during the playoffs, as a general rule. If he's already on one when the playoffs start, he disappears for hours during the actual games--phone off, no email, just falls off the face of the planet as far as work is concerned. He finds himself a bar showing the game, or barring that, an internet stream holed up in his hotel room. In 2009, he actually rescheduled a snatch-and-grab so it wouldn't interfere with his ability to watch the Blackhawks cream the Calgary Flames.
The first time Arthur kissed him, the Hawks won. Arthur kissed him every day there was a game after that for four months, even in public, even during work hours but absolutely refused to participate in any PDA on days that the Blackhawks weren't playing because it wasn't professional. At the time, Eames hadn't known to check the game schedule, so he was just really, really confused. One day Arthur was pressing him up against walls on main thoroughfares and getting them chastised by the police for public indecency (which they weren't doing. yet.), and the next, a hand left to linger too long on Arthur's shoulder got him dirty looks.
The first time they had sex, the Blackhawks lost. Abysmally. Arthur refused to sleep with him on game days until the next season, just in case. On the other hand, the sex they had in the weeks following the 2010 Stanley Cup win is still some of Eames's favourite.
Arthur hadn't jumped him right after the game because, Eames rather suspects, Arthur was too keyed up about the Stanley Cup, fuck, we won the Stanley Cup to think about anything else for a little while. They'd left their car in the parking lot to help tear up Chicago for a while, and then they'd taken a taxi home, and then Arthur had climbed on Eames's dick and fucked him until Eames had practically passed out. It was, frankly, the most enthusiastic sex of Eames's life (which isn't too shabby normally and includes adrenaline-fueled, we're-actually-alive sex more frequently than is probably healthy). Eames was on tenterhooks when they were waiting to find out if they qualified for the playoffs in 2011, and crushed when they lost in game 7 of the first round, if only because it meant they wouldn't be getting a repeat of the year before.
Arthur has season tickets. Of course he does, because what's the point of having all this money if he can't get good seats? He's hardly ever in town to actually go, since international mind crime is more of a year-round sport than even hockey (which Eames would have thought would be more relegated to the actual winter than it is), but Arthur just sells the tickets back to the franchise on a game-by-game basis. Then, if he is in town, he doesn't have to try to scramble for tickets last minute and risk missing a game he could have seen in person in United Center.
The first time Arthur had taken Eames to a game, everyone had started cheering and screaming and clapping as the anthem started. Everyone, including Arthur. Arthur, who was wearing a Blackhawks jersey and a matching team cap and had explained to Eames at great length what a 'jersey foul' was and why it was to be avoided at all costs. Staid, deadly Arthur of the slacks and waistcoats and patterned ties, Arthur of the fine appreciation of post-WWII impressionistic art, in a hockey jersey, yelling his bloody head off like a loon until the puck hit ice.
Arthur grows a playoff beard. Eames isn't exactly sure what to make of the superstition/tradition, but Arthur isn't any harder on the eyes with a little bit of scruff. It gets further and further from 'scruff' and closer and closer to 'lumberjack' the longer the Blackhawks are in the playoffs, naturally, which isn't bad exactly, but does take some considerable getting used to. And as soon as Eames has really acclimatized himself to it, it's June, and hockey's endless season is finally over, and Arthur shaves it all off. This also takes getting used to, but it's easier, because at least he looks like the Arthur Eames has known professionally all these years.
Arthur tells him to be grateful he's not a Redwings fan, or they'd be carrying gigantic octopi to every game during playoff season as a matter of course. Eames sighs, and counts his blessings, and makes sure to go behind the couch instead of in front of the telly. There's a game on.