Prompt Post No. 17
Welcome to Round 17 of the Inception Kink Meme.
Prompting System
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“We should go to Ikea,” Eames says, and Yusuf raises his eyebrows. He’s yet to master raising them independent of one another, so he looks somewhere between sardonic and surprised.
“Or we could not,” Eames continues.
“I just never took you for a fan of Scandinavian design,” Yusuf replies, and then he proceeds to set his suitcase on the floor and unzip it. It contains, unexpectedly, clothes.
“When in Rome--”
“Fuck in the bathhouses?” Yusuf interjects. “Because you know how I hate to let you down.”
Yusuf is kneeling on the floor, now, extracting (no pun intended) two layers of clothes from his suitcase before peeling open a false bottom and phials of chemicals. He lines them up on the ground, then blinks at them sleepily.
“We need furniture,” Eames says.
“Should’ve known that Annelise would skimp,” Yusuf mutters, his focus still on the aligned phials. Eames himself had the PASIV in his carry-on, nestled safely in one of his jumpers, the sleeves tied tight around the bundle.
“Maybe Arthur can get something more out of her when she gets here,” Eames says, and Yusuf snorts.
“Yeah, sure,” he says. “You do know what this was probably in exchange for, don’t you?”
Eames actually doesn’t. He can feel his forehead wrinkling in consternation.
“You look constipated,” Yusuf says, straightening up. “Here’s a hint, gratis--Annelise and Arthur were at the same party last New Year’s.”
“She kissed him?” Eames asks. There’s a rumor that Arthur turns kisses into favors, either because he thinks it’s such a privilege to lock lips with him or because he considers it sexual harassment, though it seems to be the former, given the pricey bottle of wine he weaseled out of Ariadne for the kiss he initiated on the inception job. She says it was just a gift, but Eames didn’t get a bottle of wine, so, clearly.
“Got it in one,” Yusuf replies, targeting him with a languid finger gun.
“Everyone knows that you owe Arthur something if he so much as gives you mouth-to-mouth,” Eames says.
“And some people think that they’ll be the one he doesn’t want anything from,” Yusuf says, sparing Eames a significant glance.
Eames has nothing to say to that; he and Arthur never kissed.
“If kisses were fishes--” he says instead, and lets the sentence trail off and swim away from him.
Yusuf just shrugs, and then he moves to get up off the floor.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go to Ikea.”
The warehouse has three stories, which makes it large enough to serve as living as well as working quarters, which only partially explains how Yusuf ropes Eames into putting up walls on the top floor, dividing the large space into four private sleeping quarters. There’s a rumor in the dreamsharing industry that Eames used to work in construction; this is patently false. He was raised by an academic and a librarian and he’s terrible with his hands, but Yusuf has disappeared and he left Eames with some wood and some nails, a hammer and an electric drill, so here he is.
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