Prompt Post No. 11
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There are many things that Arthur is good at and there are the few that he fucking excels in.
He's good at playing poker. (Or he has a good poker face, but it's the same thing really.) He's good at square dancing. (Don't ask.) He's good with children. Well, Cobb's children at any rate.
However, he's great at unearthing a person's life history and dirtiest secrets. He's great at hand-to-hand combat. He's great with preparation, with planning a heist, with establishing backup plans to any possible outcome. He could spend days just perfecting one tiny detail. (His psychiatrist thinks he has a touch of OCD, but has yet to provide any shred of proof. Arthur doesn't understand why Cobb makes him see this hack. He suspects there is weed involved when Cobb has his own sessions.)
And when even the backup plans for his backup plans fall to pieces, he has his wits and his quick thinking and his imagination to rely on. Screw Eames and whatever he has to say about Arthur's supposed lack of it. Just because Arthur can't look at a paper clip, an apple core, and a soda cap and MacGyver a plan out of his ass does not mean he has no imagination, thank you very much.
When things go to hell, no matter how bleak the situation, you can count on Arthur to have your back (or shoot it, if needs must) and get the team out safely-ish. Hello, he freaking engineered a kick in zero-g. He has flair, dammit.
Oh, and he's brilliant at advanced physics too.
Anyway, anyone who is anyone in the dream-sharing business has a good memory. It's kind of a prerequisite if you want to go anywhere and like, not die. And Arthur's one of the best; his mind is sharp as a tack and he has the memory of an elephant.
Somehow, having a good memory, excellent observational skills (especially when the subject happens to be a certain forger and his various, rather intriguing tattoos), and an interest in lingerie for men has led Arthur to this moment.
He's sitting on the leather couch in his apartment, surfing xdress.com and wearing only his black dress socks and his favorite pair of red boy shorts when he notices a swirl of ink on a broad shoulder. A rather familiar swirl of ink on a suspiciously familiar tanned shoulder. The beer he's sipping nearly goes up his nose when realization hits.
"Oh, my God," Arthur breathed. "Eames models male lingerie."
Then: "I have to know if they photoshopped his cock."
lol, isn't Arthur such a classy guy in his down time?
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Anyway, OP, I hope it's good for you. I know it didn't exactly go with your prompt.
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MOAR? *wibbles*
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Because that's how LJ does links when you're anon. Not your fault, authornon. *pats*
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