Wearing the inside out, 22a/22
anonymous
August 29 2010, 22:16:45 UTC
The days blur together at the edges. Saito's leads have led him to a run-down corner in Burma where Eames had already left. It's the subsequent tracking from place to place that's tricky. He flies all over the world, visits countless dream dens and bars and motels - but mostly dream dens - only to be just a couple hours too late.
Cobb calls him with news that Turner's company had literally been destroyed overnight, that the man's predicament he'd been left in was treated at a hospital with an amputation, and that James and Phillipa now have a puppy and are asking when uncle Arthur and Eames will come visit and play with them.
"I told them," Cobb says, "very, very soon."
Arthur traces the rain sluicing down the window with his fingertips, allowing himself to smile for the first time in a long while. It feels...strange. "That's good," he tells him, "because I think I'm figuring out a pattern with Eames."
He's right. The next day he travels to Rocinha, makes a couple of calls. That evening, the man nods at him when he slips into the dream den. The place is lit up by paper lights, tiny, studded stars in a small, cramped room.
Eames is sleeping.
Arthur's knees touch the metal edge of the cot; he feels the breath whoosh out of him as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Eames looks...awful. Exhausted. Arthur reaches out, cupping his cheek, fingers running down his pained expression, carding through his hair. He kisses his forehead.
Then he settles down into the cot next to him, pulling out an IV line.
--
He's on the abandoned streets of a large metallic city, the backdrop an amber sky. Frowning, he looks around. Somehow, he'd been expecting something more imaginative. But his thoughts are quickly interrupted when he spots Eames standing at an intersection, his back to him.
A car suddenly whizzes down the street, headed straight for Eames. Arthur's running and pulling him out of the way before he even realizes it. It's pure instinct.
Eames doesn't seem fazed. He turns to face him, and Arthur nearly winces because oh god, even though he's wearing a crisp, three-piece suit and his hair is neatly gelled, his face is still as pale and tired as it was in the dream den. His heart jumps, he's reaching for him with words ready on his lips-
but Eames pulls out a gun and shoves it into his hands. "Go ahead," he says. He backs away, holding his arms out.
Arthur stares, one part of him comprehending, one traitorous part hoping to never do so. (Eames is sleeping...) Turner's memories, the obsession with dream dens...
Oh.
"Eames," he finally says, dropping the gun. "I'm not a projection."
Eames drops his arms. The sky darkens, the buildings bend. "Yes, you are," he says harshly, but Arthur can see the sudden change in his eyes, the mess of emotions flitting across his face - fear, anger, nervousness, guilt...hope.
"Eames," he says again, because seeing him like this, unsmiling and nearly falling apart, is killing him. He takes a step forward.
Then there's a flash of metal and Arthur's tackling him, wrestling the gun out of his grasp. It starts raining, ruining both their suits as they grapple. The buildings groan and collapse, turning into sand. Arthur finally grabs hold of the gun and throws it off to the side. "I know about Turner," he shouts, before Eames can dream up something else. "I know what he made you do...I know. I know everything. I understand. It's okay. I forgive you, I-"
A disgusted look flashes across his face, and Arthur's suddenly shoved back onto the concrete, the breath knocked out of him, his head ringing.
Wearing the inside out, 22b/22 END
anonymous
August 29 2010, 22:19:06 UTC
There is an awful silence, amidst the heavy assault of rain.
He lifts his head up, wincing. Eames is standing, frozen, one hand over his mouth. "Oh god..." He can barely make the words out. "Arthur...I didn't mean...are you okay?"
"Of course. Have you forgotten all the things that've happened to me during jobs?" Arthur says, jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. He pushes himself up as smoothly as he can, but Eames doesn't smile. His face has gone brittle, and he approaches him, hands raised awkwardly. Arthur realizes, then, that he's afraid to touch him. So he takes Eames' arms and wraps them around his waist, putting his own arms around Eames' shoulders. Eames is tense, unmoving, and there's a moment where he's afraid he'll pull away, but then the rain thins, stopping, the sky tinging pink.
Something seems to snap, and Eames finally pulls him close, arms tightening. He buries his face in Arthur's neck and breathes deeply. They stand like that for a while. "He didn't want anything logical," he murmurs. "He just wanted to see our relationship disintegrate...nothing more. I'm sorry, I tried everything, I couldn't risk you-"
"I know," Arthur says, simply. "He's been taken care of. Cobb, Saito and I - we made sure of it."
Eames laughs at that, a short, broken bark, and turns away, still a bit uncomfortable.
"Come back home," Arthur says, staring sadly at his back. "Please. We all want you back."
He doesn't reply, but they're suddenly standing on a high rooftop, peering down dizzily at the street below. "I don't know," Eames says slowly, "if I'll ever be able to forgive myself."
Arthur tugs on his arm, turning him around, and catches a brief glimpse of blue-green eyes before he presses their lips together, deeply, passionately. Eames groans, eyes falling shut, and returns the kiss, pushing his tongue into Arthur's mouth as one hand cups his cheek. When the kiss finally breaks, they're both gasping for breath, lips swollen. Eames has a bit more color in his face, and Arthur thinks that's good; a start.
He knows things won't go back to the way they were in a blink of an eye, or a day, or a week, or even a month. He knows Eames is most likely addicted to this kind of dreaming, of punishment. He knows Eames is creeping back to life, his nervous system all awry, he's wearing the inside out. But he's coming round.
They look down at the street, arms wrapped around each other. "I'll be right next to you when we wake up," Arthur promises. He smiles, putting everything into it. (I love you, I love you, I love you.)
Eames kisses his nose. (I love you too. My dear Arthur.)
They fall.
--
Arthur wakes, staring up at the paper lights fluttering above him, rustling in the breeze trickling through the den. He turns his head; he can tell immediately that Eames is awake, but determinedly keeping his eyes shut, jaw tight. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his poker chip, running his fingers along it, again and again and again. Like a drowning man clutching onto some driftwood.
Arthur reaches over and puts his hand over Eames' free one. His eyes open, and he slowly cranes his head to the right.
They simply stare at each other, Eames's gaze roaming down Arthur, his carefully gelled hair, impeccable suit, expensive shoes, before flickering back up to his smiling face.
"James and Phillipa got a puppy," Arthur says. It's stupid, but it's the first thing that comes into his head and tumbles out of his mouth before he can help it.
You know, I'll think about a sequel. I had originally planned to just leave the story there, but if I can get my muse going, I will definitely try to write it. School's starting in a few weeks, though, so updates would be much slower.
AND I WOULD TOTALLY LOVE IT IF YOU ALSO TOOK A SHOT AT THE PROMPT!! As the person who originally prompted this, that would just be...orgasmic. Seeing someone else's take on it. And with more hurt/comfort than mine, y/y?
Thank you to everyone else, also, for all the comments! I'm amazed I actually stuck with this fic and didn't abandon it halfway through, like I usually do when I try to write. <3
Re: Wearing the inside out, 22b/22 ENDcaediAugust 30 2010, 03:28:19 UTC
I only just found this yesterday, but am ridiculously glad I did cause I'm not sure I could have handled waiting for updates (no matter how quick)-- seriously last night before I went to bed all I could think about was "hope there is an update when I wake up!" and there is, and it's fantastic. This is absolutely amazing, the slow build up of angst at the beginning, and the inevitable break up oh god T_T all leading to this brilliant ending ♥ AND OH GOD, ARTHUR IN THE PART 21 WAS AWESOME, GAH. Thanks so much for writing this, obviously would adore to read any sequel-- LOVE IT ♥
Worn Thin, Part 1/?thedummie2September 1 2010, 02:39:24 UTC
“Darling, you're ruining the moment.”
Arthur stares Eames down, tightly gripping Eames' wrists against the wall. Arthur will not believe that Eames did this to him. He can't. When he looks hard into the forger's eyes, he sees nothing but indifference. After spending several seconds staring-trying, praying-for clues, Arthur lets Eames' wrists go. Arthur swallows past the lump forming in his throat and turns, reaching for his coat.
“Surely, pet, you don't want to miss the show.”
Arthur snaps, and with all the force he can muster, he punches Eames hard.
Not even waiting for a reaction, he grabs his coat and rushes towards the door. Without a second thought, he slams it behind him.
+ Eames braces himself against the wall, trying to concentrate on the very real pain vibrating through his jaw.
He closes his eyes and tries to focus on breathing in, but before he can get a breath out, he feels Alex's breath brush against his ear.
“My, my. You are good.”
Eames stiffens, and sure enough, the man's lips are brushing against his neck. Suddenly, the lips turn bruising, and Eames tenses more.
“But I can tell that you're still very much in love with him.”
Eames feels Alex's hands roughly shove him face down against the carpet. He feels the tip of Alex's cock rest against his asshole, and Eames panics, violently trying to buck him away.
Alex pins him down with his body weight and grabs his wrists, pulling them away from his sides. The man bites his left shoulder roughly, and Eames lets out a small hiss.
“We're going to have to fix that, darling.” +
Before
Eames blinks wearily, trying to get a hold of his surroundings.
“Mr. Eames, you're awake.”
Eames looks up, but instead of seeing his captor, he sees darkness. Eames knows that voice, and he smirks.
“This is so unimaginative for you, Alex. Whatever happened to your skills?”
Instead of hearing an answer, bright light floods the field of view in front of him. He squints, and finally, when his eyes adjust, he opens them wider. His heart stops.
In front of him, Arthur is tied to a chair, bleeding profusely and unconscious.
“I see I have your attention.”
At that moment, Alex walks into view. Eames tries to see anything in Alex's gait that might indicate that this is a dream, but Alex has gotten much better, and Eames can't tell. All he knows is the very real feeling of his heart pounding wildly against his chest at the sight of his Arthur, bloody and beaten up. Eames stares Alex in the eyes, smirking. Alex smirks back and shakes his head in an amused manner.
“Eames, don't fool me. I've been following you for some time, and my, I can't believe it took you two this long to get together.”
Eames forces a laugh.
“Why Alex, I haven't a clue as to what you're talking about.”
Alex raises an eyebrow at that and pulls out a gun, pointing it towards Arthur's head. Eames feels his heart stop. Alex's smirk grows wider.
“He's pretty, isn't he, Eames?”
Alex circles around Arthur, not putting the gun down for a second. Crouching, he leans in and unfastens Arthur's belt.
That snaps Eames out of his fear, and before he can stop himself, he feels himself lash out.
“Don't you bloody dare touch him.”
Eames pales as Alex turns the gun towards him, realizing that he had just given himself away.
Alex's laughter is the last thing he hears before he feels the bullet impact with his skull.
Re: Wearing the inside out, 22b/22 END
anonymous
September 4 2010, 09:28:38 UTC
♥
I like how in the beginning it was building toward Arthur angst but then he was like "wait a minute, I'm a badass QGMF' and then Cobb's like "Pho Sho man" and then Saito's like "word" and then they all did the bamf secret handshake and took care of buisness like the suave motherfuckers they are. (Clearly I am a master of the English language)
Loved it. I may try my hand at this promt as well, if you don't mind. Haven't written in a long time, so no promises, but I want to.
Captcha says "ramble lathon". That should be part of the fanfiction olympics.
Cobb calls him with news that Turner's company had literally been destroyed overnight, that the man's predicament he'd been left in was treated at a hospital with an amputation, and that James and Phillipa now have a puppy and are asking when uncle Arthur and Eames will come visit and play with them.
"I told them," Cobb says, "very, very soon."
Arthur traces the rain sluicing down the window with his fingertips, allowing himself to smile for the first time in a long while. It feels...strange. "That's good," he tells him, "because I think I'm figuring out a pattern with Eames."
He's right. The next day he travels to Rocinha, makes a couple of calls. That evening, the man nods at him when he slips into the dream den. The place is lit up by paper lights, tiny, studded stars in a small, cramped room.
Eames is sleeping.
Arthur's knees touch the metal edge of the cot; he feels the breath whoosh out of him as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Eames looks...awful. Exhausted. Arthur reaches out, cupping his cheek, fingers running down his pained expression, carding through his hair. He kisses his forehead.
Then he settles down into the cot next to him, pulling out an IV line.
--
He's on the abandoned streets of a large metallic city, the backdrop an amber sky. Frowning, he looks around. Somehow, he'd been expecting something more imaginative. But his thoughts are quickly interrupted when he spots Eames standing at an intersection, his back to him.
A car suddenly whizzes down the street, headed straight for Eames. Arthur's running and pulling him out of the way before he even realizes it. It's pure instinct.
Eames doesn't seem fazed. He turns to face him, and Arthur nearly winces because oh god, even though he's wearing a crisp, three-piece suit and his hair is neatly gelled, his face is still as pale and tired as it was in the dream den. His heart jumps, he's reaching for him with words ready on his lips-
but Eames pulls out a gun and shoves it into his hands. "Go ahead," he says. He backs away, holding his arms out.
Arthur stares, one part of him comprehending, one traitorous part hoping to never do so. (Eames is sleeping...) Turner's memories, the obsession with dream dens...
Oh.
"Eames," he finally says, dropping the gun. "I'm not a projection."
Eames drops his arms. The sky darkens, the buildings bend. "Yes, you are," he says harshly, but Arthur can see the sudden change in his eyes, the mess of emotions flitting across his face - fear, anger, nervousness, guilt...hope.
"Eames," he says again, because seeing him like this, unsmiling and nearly falling apart, is killing him. He takes a step forward.
Then there's a flash of metal and Arthur's tackling him, wrestling the gun out of his grasp. It starts raining, ruining both their suits as they grapple. The buildings groan and collapse, turning into sand. Arthur finally grabs hold of the gun and throws it off to the side. "I know about Turner," he shouts, before Eames can dream up something else. "I know what he made you do...I know. I know everything. I understand. It's okay. I forgive you, I-"
A disgusted look flashes across his face, and Arthur's suddenly shoved back onto the concrete, the breath knocked out of him, his head ringing.
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He lifts his head up, wincing. Eames is standing, frozen, one hand over his mouth. "Oh god..." He can barely make the words out. "Arthur...I didn't mean...are you okay?"
"Of course. Have you forgotten all the things that've happened to me during jobs?" Arthur says, jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. He pushes himself up as smoothly as he can, but Eames doesn't smile. His face has gone brittle, and he approaches him, hands raised awkwardly. Arthur realizes, then, that he's afraid to touch him. So he takes Eames' arms and wraps them around his waist, putting his own arms around Eames' shoulders. Eames is tense, unmoving, and there's a moment where he's afraid he'll pull away, but then the rain thins, stopping, the sky tinging pink.
Something seems to snap, and Eames finally pulls him close, arms tightening. He buries his face in Arthur's neck and breathes deeply. They stand like that for a while. "He didn't want anything logical," he murmurs. "He just wanted to see our relationship disintegrate...nothing more. I'm sorry, I tried everything, I couldn't risk you-"
"I know," Arthur says, simply. "He's been taken care of. Cobb, Saito and I - we made sure of it."
Eames laughs at that, a short, broken bark, and turns away, still a bit uncomfortable.
"Come back home," Arthur says, staring sadly at his back. "Please. We all want you back."
He doesn't reply, but they're suddenly standing on a high rooftop, peering down dizzily at the street below. "I don't know," Eames says slowly, "if I'll ever be able to forgive myself."
Arthur tugs on his arm, turning him around, and catches a brief glimpse of blue-green eyes before he presses their lips together, deeply, passionately. Eames groans, eyes falling shut, and returns the kiss, pushing his tongue into Arthur's mouth as one hand cups his cheek. When the kiss finally breaks, they're both gasping for breath, lips swollen. Eames has a bit more color in his face, and Arthur thinks that's good; a start.
He knows things won't go back to the way they were in a blink of an eye, or a day, or a week, or even a month. He knows Eames is most likely addicted to this kind of dreaming, of punishment. He knows Eames is creeping back to life, his nervous system all awry, he's wearing the inside out. But he's coming round.
They look down at the street, arms wrapped around each other. "I'll be right next to you when we wake up," Arthur promises. He smiles, putting everything into it. (I love you, I love you, I love you.)
Eames kisses his nose. (I love you too. My dear Arthur.)
They fall.
--
Arthur wakes, staring up at the paper lights fluttering above him, rustling in the breeze trickling through the den. He turns his head; he can tell immediately that Eames is awake, but determinedly keeping his eyes shut, jaw tight. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his poker chip, running his fingers along it, again and again and again. Like a drowning man clutching onto some driftwood.
Arthur reaches over and puts his hand over Eames' free one. His eyes open, and he slowly cranes his head to the right.
They simply stare at each other, Eames's gaze roaming down Arthur, his carefully gelled hair, impeccable suit, expensive shoes, before flickering back up to his smiling face.
"James and Phillipa got a puppy," Arthur says. It's stupid, but it's the first thing that comes into his head and tumbles out of his mouth before he can help it.
Eames smiles, crookedly.
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Also, if possible, I'd like to take a shot at the prompt...maybe?
~Thedummie2
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AND I WOULD TOTALLY LOVE IT IF YOU ALSO TOOK A SHOT AT THE PROMPT!! As the person who originally prompted this, that would just be...orgasmic. Seeing someone else's take on it. And with more hurt/comfort than mine, y/y?
Thank you to everyone else, also, for all the comments! I'm amazed I actually stuck with this fic and didn't abandon it halfway through, like I usually do when I try to write. <3
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Arthur stares Eames down, tightly gripping Eames' wrists against the wall. Arthur will not believe that Eames did this to him. He can't. When he looks hard into the forger's eyes, he sees nothing but indifference. After spending several seconds staring-trying, praying-for clues, Arthur lets Eames' wrists go. Arthur swallows past the lump forming in his throat and turns, reaching for his coat.
“Surely, pet, you don't want to miss the show.”
Arthur snaps, and with all the force he can muster, he punches Eames hard.
Not even waiting for a reaction, he grabs his coat and rushes towards the door. Without a second thought, he slams it behind him.
+
Eames braces himself against the wall, trying to concentrate on the very real pain vibrating through his jaw.
He closes his eyes and tries to focus on breathing in, but before he can get a breath out, he feels Alex's breath brush against his ear.
“My, my. You are good.”
Eames stiffens, and sure enough, the man's lips are brushing against his neck. Suddenly, the lips turn bruising, and Eames tenses more.
“But I can tell that you're still very much in love with him.”
Eames feels Alex's hands roughly shove him face down against the carpet. He feels the tip of Alex's cock rest against his asshole, and Eames panics, violently trying to buck him away.
Alex pins him down with his body weight and grabs his wrists, pulling them away from his sides. The man bites his left shoulder roughly, and Eames lets out a small hiss.
“We're going to have to fix that, darling.”
+
Before
Eames blinks wearily, trying to get a hold of his surroundings.
“Mr. Eames, you're awake.”
Eames looks up, but instead of seeing his captor, he sees darkness. Eames knows that voice, and he smirks.
“This is so unimaginative for you, Alex. Whatever happened to your skills?”
Instead of hearing an answer, bright light floods the field of view in front of him. He squints, and finally, when his eyes adjust, he opens them wider. His heart stops.
In front of him, Arthur is tied to a chair, bleeding profusely and unconscious.
“I see I have your attention.”
At that moment, Alex walks into view. Eames tries to see anything in Alex's gait that might indicate that this is a dream, but Alex has gotten much better, and Eames can't tell. All he knows is the very real feeling of his heart pounding wildly against his chest at the sight of his Arthur, bloody and beaten up. Eames stares Alex in the eyes, smirking. Alex smirks back and shakes his head in an amused manner.
“Eames, don't fool me. I've been following you for some time, and my, I can't believe it took you two this long to get together.”
Eames forces a laugh.
“Why Alex, I haven't a clue as to what you're talking about.”
Alex raises an eyebrow at that and pulls out a gun, pointing it towards Arthur's head. Eames feels his heart stop. Alex's smirk grows wider.
“He's pretty, isn't he, Eames?”
Alex circles around Arthur, not putting the gun down for a second. Crouching, he leans in and unfastens Arthur's belt.
That snaps Eames out of his fear, and before he can stop himself, he feels himself lash out.
“Don't you bloody dare touch him.”
Eames pales as Alex turns the gun towards him, realizing that he had just given himself away.
Alex's laughter is the last thing he hears before he feels the bullet impact with his skull.
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I like how in the beginning it was building toward Arthur angst but then he was like "wait a minute, I'm a badass QGMF' and then Cobb's like "Pho Sho man" and then Saito's like "word" and then they all did the bamf secret handshake and took care of buisness like the suave motherfuckers they are.
(Clearly I am a master of the English language)
Loved it. I may try my hand at this promt as well, if you don't mind. Haven't written in a long time, so no promises, but I want to.
Captcha says "ramble lathon". That should be part of the fanfiction olympics.
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http://thedummie2.livejournal.com/982.html
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