Prompt Post No. 14
Welcome to Round 14 of the Inception Kink Meme. This post will be closed to new prompts once it reaches five thousand comments.
New Prompting System
- Prompt post will temporarily close to new prompts at 2000 comments.
- Forty-eight hours later, post will reopen to new prompts and temporarily close again when 4000 comments are reached.
- Forty-eight hours ( Read more... )
“I thought ‘A Room With a View’ was clever,” he says. “Though ‘He’s Old Enough to Drink Scotch’ is also a valid option.”
“Shut up, Yusuf,” Eames says, but doesn’t bother hanging up because he’s at the bit where the heroine meets the hero’s throbbing member and he hates that bit, every time. Lady caves disgust him in a vague and childish way, and the phrase “throbbing member” disgusts him equally.
“Can you explain the appeal of vaginas to me?” Eames asks Yusuf.
“Ah, is your novel reaching it’s climax?” Yusuf asks, and Eames can hear him making a badum-ching sound by banging on something in the background. “Well, young padawan--”
“Ugh,” Eames cuts him off. “That question was rhetorical. Why do I even talk to you?”
“Because I’m your best friend?” Yusuf offers, and Eames doesn’t have anything to say to that, because of course Yusuf is right.
“It’s not the climax of the novel, anyway,” Eames says. “I’m only about halfway.”
“Halfway!” Yusuf exclaims. “That’s great! You should come out for drinks tonight.”
“Go back to sleep, Yusuf,” Eames says.
“Maybe for your next novel you should go back to gay smut,” Yusuf suggests. “I think you were happier when you were writing gay smut.”
“But it made less money.”
“But it got better reviews. What did Out write about you?”
“Please don’t. Please don’t quote that review.”
“A modern ‘Pride and Prejudice’ for the LGBT community,” Yusuf continues. “That’s it.”
Eames groans into the phone.
“And then you sold out,” Yusuf says. “Although under a psuedonym.”
“Shut up shut up shut up,” Eames says.
“‘I can’t believe the queer community is so desperate for gay smut that they compared ‘Dream a Little Bigger’ to Jane Austen,’” Yusuf says in bad imitation of an upper-crust British accent. “That’s what you said.”
“I hate you,” Eames says, and hangs up, which is how his phone conversations with Yusuf tend to end.
Eames gets dressed in jeans and a wife-beater, because he’s not going to make the boxer mistake again but it is hot, damnit, and goes out to smoke a cigarette on the fire escape, fuck everything. Arthur’s there, in his office, and Eames looks at the curve of the other man’s back until the cigarette’s gone, and then he drops it into a dumpster below and goes inside.
The phone rings, and it’s a number he doesn’t recognize.
“Charles Eames,” he says.
“Eames!” it’s Cobb. “Do you have air conditioning over there?”
“No,” Eames says. “But I don’t usually have air conditioning.”
“Damnit. I was going to ask if I could bring my laptop over. It’s fucking hot in here. I think it’s a brown out.”
“Can’t you open one of your multitude of windows?”
“Ugh, I wish,” Cobb says. “Only incrementally.”
“Sounds like shitty architecture to me,” Eames says, and Cobb laughs.
“Come see me when you win a Pritzker, and then we’ll talk. Anyway, some of us have real jobs. Later Eames.”
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