fics: 11 songfic drabbles [eames/arthur]
Title: 11 songfic drabbles
Author/Artist: icrashcars
Rating: ranging from G to PG-13
Warnings: Implied sex, angst, death in a few. Nothing too explicit.
Word Count: Approx. 1500 in total.
Summary: Eleven drabble-ish Eames/Arthur songfics.
Disclaimer/Author's note:
I have fallen head over heels in love with this fandom. It's inexplicable. However, most of... or I'd say 99.9% of my love for you all has manifested in my spending literally whole days lurking around the various lj comms, tumblrs, etc. I feel like a fool. XD
BUT. SOMETHING TOO MUCH OF THIS. I've already ranted enough in a previous post.
I did these a few weeks ago after seeing someone else doing a challenge like it, and it's just been chilling in my rarely-used fic folder--I don't write much at all anymore. And today I think the fandom has finally caused my brain to implode and impulsively post this. I've done another ten since then too, but those... hm.
I'm not sure how much of these will make sense unless you live in my brain, which is a little worrying. You know how that can be? When you write things, and then realize that a lot of the stuff one might need to get it, like backstory or motivation, or just plain understanding the weird metaphors you're attempting to create just isn't there? I hope I managed to... not do that.
But I'm still shaking in my boots here while posting this. D8
The challenge was to put your ipod/music to shuffle, and write until the end of the song.
I did just ten at first, but then an eleventh, because one of them I obviously went waaaaay over the time for.
1. Dead Wrong - The Fray
It was ten years ago. Ten whole years ago Eames stood on Arthur’s doorstep, soaking from the rain, bags under his eyes, and an apology that may have been the most sincere string of words to ever fall from his mouth in his entire life.
There were two things Eames’ expected were Arthur’s options. They were both relatively simple.
Arthur managed to choose neither of them.
2. Covered - Uh Huh Her
Just a second before, the sun had been hot in the sky-gleaming, bright, and hot against Arthur’s back through the thick material of his jacket.
It can’t have been more than a minute passed since then, and the sky has morphed completely: pale grey clouds over clear indigo.
Eames is beside him, clasping his hand. They’re looking out at the sea from a beach-he swears it was the road behind his childhood home just a moment ago-and the waves are washing against their toes.
Bare toes. As bare as Arthur’s back suddenly becomes-Eames’ hands stroking his skin softly to the time of the surf.
3. Where Is My Mind? - The Pixies
It’s a lazy day in the office. Cobb hooked up all the fans they could find around the place, power cables running into a tangled maze throughout the warehouse, but after an hour, Eames’ shirt lies discarded on the desk, Cobb and Yusuf have stripped down to their loose wifebeaters, and Ariadne-being the one who thought ahead-gloats that she was smart enough to have come to work already wearing shorts and no sleeves.
Arthur caves at exactly noon; he earns a gleeful grin-leer-from Eames as he undoes the top few buttons of his white collared shirt, and rolls up both arms to the elbow.
4. Where Would You Like Them Left? - Blaqk Audio
Hair loose, shirt completely unbuttoned. Both fluttering in the wind.
Distracting flares of white and black in the corner of Eames’ eye.
Thighs suddenly against his lap, hips push against his own.
He welcomes it, hand trailing up tense muscles to hook around the corner of a sharp jaw. Arthur gasps.
Jeans unzipped, trousers on the ground.
Hands guiding a slim waist.
Rhythm, rhythm, rhythm.
end.
5. My Apocalypse - Escape the Fate
He’s screaming-he’s on the ground, on his knees, hands full of blood and tears and regret-and he’s screaming.
Answered by a silence full of things he doesn’t have to hear to know.
what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done
Years pass, but he’s aged three days.
what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done what have I done?
He lets himself stay another two.
Follows under.
6. 2 Ghosts I - Nine Inch Nails
Floating.
He walks in a circle. The circle became a square sometime years ago.
The square became a box, and the box a building.
When the building becomes his home, he knows-
When the building becomes his home he forgets his name.
His name is thick lines across the front of his home--strangely styled engraved decorations that he doesn’t remember creating there.
They make his home stand out from the rest of the buildings. He erases them.
When all of his other buildings tower over the first, the box expands-makes room for as many more as Arthur can manage.
When his box is finally opened, Arthur’s already disintegrated himself for his creations-pencil dust and eraser shavings that scatter at the breeze from the lid.
The box lies open and wrecked in a square-a new piece of drafting paper on the desk every morning; a picture frame for two on a dusty bookshelf in Paris; the outlines of a red die nicked from a Vegas club years ago, lungs aching from laughter and head spinning from too much bass and booze and clumsy fingers in the dark.
On the square there’s a single circle-an eye looking down the barrel of one-too-many a gun; the lens of a camera that captures a smile before either can comprehend they’re being watched; a battered poker chip found on the floor of a hotel in Rio after falling, limbs of two entangled, out of bed.
The single circle on the square is just one short. One eye short for two sockets, both staring down a gun without another to point in the opposite direction. One real smile in a dusty picture frame, captured by a lens that was hoping for a couple-
but the totems are forgotten.
One is tossed in a drawer beside a bed to wait, only to be taken out on the rainiest of days when the London air is dark and damp and heavy with more reasons to be lonely.
The other is lost, maybe left in the pocket of a suit hanging in a closet that never existed; maybe dropped and encrusted into the balustrade of an impossible stairwell.
Or it could be lying forgotten under a bed, on the carpet of a locked hotel room. Lying with its invariable-variable pointing to the ceiling like a pair of desperate eyes, cloudy-white with use and age, searching for the thing that used to be here-
The thing that made it the way it was: One short. One of a pair. Half of a whole.
7. Kennedy - Kill Hannah
Arthur is out of the airport before anyone on the team has a chance to make sure they’ve still got their limbs in all the right places. Everyone except for Eames, that is.
When Arthur tells the bellboy at the hotel not to bother escorting him to his room, that’s when Eames knows Arthur knows he’s been following him.
It’s after midnight. The hotel room is dark, but there’s a light from the study that can be seen through from the bedroom. The glow makes Arthur’s flushed face even more vibrant, all sharp angles of shadow and tinted shades of red.
Eames traces the blush to the spot between the man’s collarbones, first with his fingers, then his tongue.
Arthur holds on, nails digging into ink and flesh across wide shoulders like he’s holding on for his life.
Eames just kisses his mouth and makes sure he’d be caught even if he did let go.
8. Meds - Placebo
There’s a frustrated groan, and then the unmistakeable sound of belts clanking, clothing pushed aside.
From then on it’s a haze of confusion-the bitter taste of regret before it’s even happened, the feeling of flesh rubbed raw on foreign carpets, a silence in the after that stings straight to a place in his heart that he didn’t expect to feel this early.
He already knows Eames will be gone in the morning.
9. Auf Kurs - Oomph!
Why do you always have to take things so seriously, Arthur? I fucking love you, but… I honestly can’t stand it when you’re like this.
Arthur wipes his hand over the cool marble, a bit of grass falling to one side. His mouth is set in a straight line, his clothes are pressed and precise, not one thought or cell out of place.
Unbreakable as the tombstone he’s crouching in front of.
When he cries nothing changes. The rain continues to run down Arthur’s face, streaking his cheeks and hitting the cold rock in front of him, washing away any trace of a breakdown.
10. The Con - Tegan and Sara
They met under a job of Cobb’s supervision. They fought like kids. Flew out after the job and went their separate ways, as did the rest of that team.
It took seven more jobs together; at least a hundred inappropriate remarks and or actions in the workplace; a couple apologetic boxes of new white Oxfords along with a desk-drawer-sized bleach pen; enough ‘let me buy you a drink’ propositions to equate to six bottles of red wine; two heartfelt declarations of sincerity that almost got them busted in the middle of a job; and finally a bunch of handpicked roses with all their thorns removed before Arthur at last gave in and went on a proper date with Eames.
Arthur still insists that the roses were absolutely not what made him cave.
Eames just laughs and says he loves the fact that Arthur’s a hopeless romantic.
11. Breathe Me - Sia
Eames catches him before his knees can hit the asphalt. It feels like slow motion, all in a single devastating breath while everything else stops around them. Arthur’s eyes are closed, head falling forward and hands to his sides as gravity takes him. The knife is deep in the middle of his back.
Eames can feel the tremors running through the strong body in his arms. He pushes the stray hairs from Arthur’s tightly shut eyes before he wrenches the blade up and against the man’s heart. Lungs aching, he holds onto Arthur’s body even as it shudders from the force of the act.
Eames searches, finds no pulse, and can finally breathe.
Comments/criticism of any sort would be amazing. :)
Author/Artist: icrashcars
Rating: ranging from G to PG-13
Warnings: Implied sex, angst, death in a few. Nothing too explicit.
Word Count: Approx. 1500 in total.
Summary: Eleven drabble-ish Eames/Arthur songfics.
Disclaimer/Author's note:
I have fallen head over heels in love with this fandom. It's inexplicable. However, most of... or I'd say 99.9% of my love for you all has manifested in my spending literally whole days lurking around the various lj comms, tumblrs, etc. I feel like a fool. XD
BUT. SOMETHING TOO MUCH OF THIS. I've already ranted enough in a previous post.
I did these a few weeks ago after seeing someone else doing a challenge like it, and it's just been chilling in my rarely-used fic folder--I don't write much at all anymore. And today I think the fandom has finally caused my brain to implode and impulsively post this. I've done another ten since then too, but those... hm.
I'm not sure how much of these will make sense unless you live in my brain, which is a little worrying. You know how that can be? When you write things, and then realize that a lot of the stuff one might need to get it, like backstory or motivation, or just plain understanding the weird metaphors you're attempting to create just isn't there? I hope I managed to... not do that.
But I'm still shaking in my boots here while posting this. D8
The challenge was to put your ipod/music to shuffle, and write until the end of the song.
I did just ten at first, but then an eleventh, because one of them I obviously went waaaaay over the time for.
1. Dead Wrong - The Fray
It was ten years ago. Ten whole years ago Eames stood on Arthur’s doorstep, soaking from the rain, bags under his eyes, and an apology that may have been the most sincere string of words to ever fall from his mouth in his entire life.
There were two things Eames’ expected were Arthur’s options. They were both relatively simple.
Arthur managed to choose neither of them.
2. Covered - Uh Huh Her
Just a second before, the sun had been hot in the sky-gleaming, bright, and hot against Arthur’s back through the thick material of his jacket.
It can’t have been more than a minute passed since then, and the sky has morphed completely: pale grey clouds over clear indigo.
Eames is beside him, clasping his hand. They’re looking out at the sea from a beach-he swears it was the road behind his childhood home just a moment ago-and the waves are washing against their toes.
Bare toes. As bare as Arthur’s back suddenly becomes-Eames’ hands stroking his skin softly to the time of the surf.
3. Where Is My Mind? - The Pixies
It’s a lazy day in the office. Cobb hooked up all the fans they could find around the place, power cables running into a tangled maze throughout the warehouse, but after an hour, Eames’ shirt lies discarded on the desk, Cobb and Yusuf have stripped down to their loose wifebeaters, and Ariadne-being the one who thought ahead-gloats that she was smart enough to have come to work already wearing shorts and no sleeves.
Arthur caves at exactly noon; he earns a gleeful grin-leer-from Eames as he undoes the top few buttons of his white collared shirt, and rolls up both arms to the elbow.
4. Where Would You Like Them Left? - Blaqk Audio
Hair loose, shirt completely unbuttoned. Both fluttering in the wind.
Distracting flares of white and black in the corner of Eames’ eye.
Thighs suddenly against his lap, hips push against his own.
He welcomes it, hand trailing up tense muscles to hook around the corner of a sharp jaw. Arthur gasps.
Jeans unzipped, trousers on the ground.
Hands guiding a slim waist.
Rhythm, rhythm, rhythm.
end.
5. My Apocalypse - Escape the Fate
He’s screaming-he’s on the ground, on his knees, hands full of blood and tears and regret-and he’s screaming.
Answered by a silence full of things he doesn’t have to hear to know.
what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done
Years pass, but he’s aged three days.
what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done what have I done?
He lets himself stay another two.
Follows under.
6. 2 Ghosts I - Nine Inch Nails
Floating.
He walks in a circle. The circle became a square sometime years ago.
The square became a box, and the box a building.
When the building becomes his home, he knows-
When the building becomes his home he forgets his name.
His name is thick lines across the front of his home--strangely styled engraved decorations that he doesn’t remember creating there.
They make his home stand out from the rest of the buildings. He erases them.
When all of his other buildings tower over the first, the box expands-makes room for as many more as Arthur can manage.
When his box is finally opened, Arthur’s already disintegrated himself for his creations-pencil dust and eraser shavings that scatter at the breeze from the lid.
The box lies open and wrecked in a square-a new piece of drafting paper on the desk every morning; a picture frame for two on a dusty bookshelf in Paris; the outlines of a red die nicked from a Vegas club years ago, lungs aching from laughter and head spinning from too much bass and booze and clumsy fingers in the dark.
On the square there’s a single circle-an eye looking down the barrel of one-too-many a gun; the lens of a camera that captures a smile before either can comprehend they’re being watched; a battered poker chip found on the floor of a hotel in Rio after falling, limbs of two entangled, out of bed.
The single circle on the square is just one short. One eye short for two sockets, both staring down a gun without another to point in the opposite direction. One real smile in a dusty picture frame, captured by a lens that was hoping for a couple-
but the totems are forgotten.
One is tossed in a drawer beside a bed to wait, only to be taken out on the rainiest of days when the London air is dark and damp and heavy with more reasons to be lonely.
The other is lost, maybe left in the pocket of a suit hanging in a closet that never existed; maybe dropped and encrusted into the balustrade of an impossible stairwell.
Or it could be lying forgotten under a bed, on the carpet of a locked hotel room. Lying with its invariable-variable pointing to the ceiling like a pair of desperate eyes, cloudy-white with use and age, searching for the thing that used to be here-
The thing that made it the way it was: One short. One of a pair. Half of a whole.
7. Kennedy - Kill Hannah
Arthur is out of the airport before anyone on the team has a chance to make sure they’ve still got their limbs in all the right places. Everyone except for Eames, that is.
When Arthur tells the bellboy at the hotel not to bother escorting him to his room, that’s when Eames knows Arthur knows he’s been following him.
It’s after midnight. The hotel room is dark, but there’s a light from the study that can be seen through from the bedroom. The glow makes Arthur’s flushed face even more vibrant, all sharp angles of shadow and tinted shades of red.
Eames traces the blush to the spot between the man’s collarbones, first with his fingers, then his tongue.
Arthur holds on, nails digging into ink and flesh across wide shoulders like he’s holding on for his life.
Eames just kisses his mouth and makes sure he’d be caught even if he did let go.
8. Meds - Placebo
There’s a frustrated groan, and then the unmistakeable sound of belts clanking, clothing pushed aside.
From then on it’s a haze of confusion-the bitter taste of regret before it’s even happened, the feeling of flesh rubbed raw on foreign carpets, a silence in the after that stings straight to a place in his heart that he didn’t expect to feel this early.
He already knows Eames will be gone in the morning.
9. Auf Kurs - Oomph!
Why do you always have to take things so seriously, Arthur? I fucking love you, but… I honestly can’t stand it when you’re like this.
Arthur wipes his hand over the cool marble, a bit of grass falling to one side. His mouth is set in a straight line, his clothes are pressed and precise, not one thought or cell out of place.
Unbreakable as the tombstone he’s crouching in front of.
When he cries nothing changes. The rain continues to run down Arthur’s face, streaking his cheeks and hitting the cold rock in front of him, washing away any trace of a breakdown.
10. The Con - Tegan and Sara
They met under a job of Cobb’s supervision. They fought like kids. Flew out after the job and went their separate ways, as did the rest of that team.
It took seven more jobs together; at least a hundred inappropriate remarks and or actions in the workplace; a couple apologetic boxes of new white Oxfords along with a desk-drawer-sized bleach pen; enough ‘let me buy you a drink’ propositions to equate to six bottles of red wine; two heartfelt declarations of sincerity that almost got them busted in the middle of a job; and finally a bunch of handpicked roses with all their thorns removed before Arthur at last gave in and went on a proper date with Eames.
Arthur still insists that the roses were absolutely not what made him cave.
Eames just laughs and says he loves the fact that Arthur’s a hopeless romantic.
11. Breathe Me - Sia
Eames catches him before his knees can hit the asphalt. It feels like slow motion, all in a single devastating breath while everything else stops around them. Arthur’s eyes are closed, head falling forward and hands to his sides as gravity takes him. The knife is deep in the middle of his back.
Eames can feel the tremors running through the strong body in his arms. He pushes the stray hairs from Arthur’s tightly shut eyes before he wrenches the blade up and against the man’s heart. Lungs aching, he holds onto Arthur’s body even as it shudders from the force of the act.
Eames searches, finds no pulse, and can finally breathe.
Comments/criticism of any sort would be amazing. :)