Fic: Inception
Title: Deposition
Author: Kita
Rating: R for sex
Fandom: Inception
Summary: Deposition is the opposite of sublimation. Arthur/Eames-ish.
A/N: Spoilers for the movie, obviously. No warnings needed.
Thanks to A for the beta.
The first time, Arthur ties Eames to a hotel bed.
Spreads him wide, and fucks him with scalpel like precision. Until he’s wet and open, gasping Arthur’s name.
There’s an apple on the bedside table, so Arthur stuffs it into Eames’ mouth.
Sometimes, Arthur leaves him there for room service to find.
Sometimes, the maid finds him first, and she hitches up her little skirt to ride Eames’ cock before letting him loose.
Sometimes, there’s more than one maid.
Eames crafts excellent bed time stories. Occasionally they even make Dom smile.
Arthur can’t remember which of them actually happened.
*
Arthur dreams of falling.
Arms flailing like windmills, he grabs for walls that never materialize. The air is thick with the stench of his own sweat, but he doesn’t know how long he’s been here.
This is a real dream, without sedatives or architects.
Without a kick to pull him up.
There is nothing except endless falling.
*
“Your problem,” Eames drawls, “is that you don’t know how to relax.”
Big arms over his head, fingers curled tightly around the iron headboard. He’ll have a hard time unclenching those fists, later. It’ll make for entertaining curses, which he will lob at Arthur like poorly aimed grenades.
“I dunno,” Arthur says, shoving his dick inside Eames up to the last inch.
Eames’ hips rise off the mattress. His eyes don’t close, though. They never do.
“Right now, I’m finding nailing you through this bed to be exceptionally relaxing.”
“You haven’t even taken off your suit.”
“You like the suit.”
Eames wriggles his ass so Arthur’s zipper scratches along sensitive skin. He’ll be marked, later. He likes that too.
“I really do. You look like a little boy playing dress up in it.”
Arthur wraps a hand around Eames’ cock and tugs. “I *will* gag you again.”
“And I,” Eames says, breathless and certain, “will let you.”
*
In dreams or out of them, Eames carries guns wider than he is. He isn’t compensating for anything; Arthur’s seen the proof. Eames just likes weapons which can’t miss.
Dream bigger, he says to Arthur every chance he gets.
Arthur’s long awaited the day in which Eames will drive an Abrams down the middle of one of Dom’s jobs. Now, of course, that will never happen.
They all know how this one is going to end.
*
“When it’s done, we should go away somewhere.”
Eames has a mouth made for cock sucking. It takes Arthur a second to realize he’s using it for speech. He pinches that fat bottom lip and palms Eames’ thigh up higher. They both groan as the angle shifts.
“You’re trying to talk me into a vacation with you again,” Arthur manages after a bit. “The answer is still no.”
“Imagine the possibilities. The glories of Ancient Rome, or - oh- Prague in the Spring time.”
“I am not sharing a dream alone with you. I don’t need you wandering around free range inside of my head.”
Eames shifts all of his own weight onto his shoulders, clenches his muscles, makes Arthur’s eyes flutter shut.
“It’s much too late to worry about that, now isn’t it?” he says.
*
So Arthur kisses the girl.
The hotel lobby is ridiculously shiny and Ariadne looks like something out of a school boy fantasy: the uptight librarian with a saucy secret. For a second, she even kisses him back.
It could be a scene from a movie.
Except if it was a movie the hero would get the girl, and Arthur does not delude himself. Dom has always played the tortured, mysterious routine with a weary sort of grace that Arthur has neither the patience nor the desire to perfect. Every job, every dream, revolves around Dom.
They’re all a little bit in love with him.
But Dom will be gone soon, and it’s been been years since Arthur’s had to wake up alone.
Ariadne is smarter than Arthur. They don’t kiss again.
*
Dom comes to him on the anniversary of Mal’s death. Drunk out of his mind, with his shirt undone and a five o'clock shadow at least three days old. He looks broken. He looks helpless.
"Tell me why I'm doing this, Arthur. Tell me because I can't remember. Jesus, I can't -"
Arthur sits him down on the bed though he’d rather smack the shit out of him. All this work, all this *time*. If Dom gives up now- what's a point man without an infantry to guard?
He presses his mouth to Dom's. The kiss is hot. Desperate. Alive.
Dom hasn’t been with anyone since Mal died. Arthur damn sure doesn’t want to be the first.
Instead, Arthur tucks him into bed. Piles him like a kid under every blanket he owns, and then sits there all night, just watching Dom sleep.
*
Arthur is standing on top of a building.
A breeze kicks up, makes the back of his neck itch. He’s never dreamed this bit before. He looks down at his bare toes, wiggling over the ledge. It’s a long way down.
“How terribly dramatic.”
Arthur turns his head.
Eames is here, a half-eaten apple in one hand. He takes another bite, then holds it out for Arthur to take.
“Oh, for Chrissake,” Arthur mutters.
Eames shrugs. “You’re a very funny man.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is transparent.”
“I’m not looking for anything, darling. This is your dream.”
“So, if I jump...”
“Leap of faith,” Eames says. Echoes of Dom in his voice, but that’s all it is. Just echoes.
Arthur takes a step, arms flailing like windmills. And is caught by his shirt collar, two big hands hauling him back onto the flat of the roof.
“Idiot,” Eames says. Then kisses Arthur on the mouth, wet and open, gasping.
The apple keeps falling.
-End
Author: Kita
Rating: R for sex
Fandom: Inception
Summary: Deposition is the opposite of sublimation. Arthur/Eames-ish.
A/N: Spoilers for the movie, obviously. No warnings needed.
Thanks to A for the beta.
The first time, Arthur ties Eames to a hotel bed.
Spreads him wide, and fucks him with scalpel like precision. Until he’s wet and open, gasping Arthur’s name.
There’s an apple on the bedside table, so Arthur stuffs it into Eames’ mouth.
Sometimes, Arthur leaves him there for room service to find.
Sometimes, the maid finds him first, and she hitches up her little skirt to ride Eames’ cock before letting him loose.
Sometimes, there’s more than one maid.
Eames crafts excellent bed time stories. Occasionally they even make Dom smile.
Arthur can’t remember which of them actually happened.
*
Arthur dreams of falling.
Arms flailing like windmills, he grabs for walls that never materialize. The air is thick with the stench of his own sweat, but he doesn’t know how long he’s been here.
This is a real dream, without sedatives or architects.
Without a kick to pull him up.
There is nothing except endless falling.
*
“Your problem,” Eames drawls, “is that you don’t know how to relax.”
Big arms over his head, fingers curled tightly around the iron headboard. He’ll have a hard time unclenching those fists, later. It’ll make for entertaining curses, which he will lob at Arthur like poorly aimed grenades.
“I dunno,” Arthur says, shoving his dick inside Eames up to the last inch.
Eames’ hips rise off the mattress. His eyes don’t close, though. They never do.
“Right now, I’m finding nailing you through this bed to be exceptionally relaxing.”
“You haven’t even taken off your suit.”
“You like the suit.”
Eames wriggles his ass so Arthur’s zipper scratches along sensitive skin. He’ll be marked, later. He likes that too.
“I really do. You look like a little boy playing dress up in it.”
Arthur wraps a hand around Eames’ cock and tugs. “I *will* gag you again.”
“And I,” Eames says, breathless and certain, “will let you.”
*
In dreams or out of them, Eames carries guns wider than he is. He isn’t compensating for anything; Arthur’s seen the proof. Eames just likes weapons which can’t miss.
Dream bigger, he says to Arthur every chance he gets.
Arthur’s long awaited the day in which Eames will drive an Abrams down the middle of one of Dom’s jobs. Now, of course, that will never happen.
They all know how this one is going to end.
*
“When it’s done, we should go away somewhere.”
Eames has a mouth made for cock sucking. It takes Arthur a second to realize he’s using it for speech. He pinches that fat bottom lip and palms Eames’ thigh up higher. They both groan as the angle shifts.
“You’re trying to talk me into a vacation with you again,” Arthur manages after a bit. “The answer is still no.”
“Imagine the possibilities. The glories of Ancient Rome, or - oh- Prague in the Spring time.”
“I am not sharing a dream alone with you. I don’t need you wandering around free range inside of my head.”
Eames shifts all of his own weight onto his shoulders, clenches his muscles, makes Arthur’s eyes flutter shut.
“It’s much too late to worry about that, now isn’t it?” he says.
*
So Arthur kisses the girl.
The hotel lobby is ridiculously shiny and Ariadne looks like something out of a school boy fantasy: the uptight librarian with a saucy secret. For a second, she even kisses him back.
It could be a scene from a movie.
Except if it was a movie the hero would get the girl, and Arthur does not delude himself. Dom has always played the tortured, mysterious routine with a weary sort of grace that Arthur has neither the patience nor the desire to perfect. Every job, every dream, revolves around Dom.
They’re all a little bit in love with him.
But Dom will be gone soon, and it’s been been years since Arthur’s had to wake up alone.
Ariadne is smarter than Arthur. They don’t kiss again.
*
Dom comes to him on the anniversary of Mal’s death. Drunk out of his mind, with his shirt undone and a five o'clock shadow at least three days old. He looks broken. He looks helpless.
"Tell me why I'm doing this, Arthur. Tell me because I can't remember. Jesus, I can't -"
Arthur sits him down on the bed though he’d rather smack the shit out of him. All this work, all this *time*. If Dom gives up now- what's a point man without an infantry to guard?
He presses his mouth to Dom's. The kiss is hot. Desperate. Alive.
Dom hasn’t been with anyone since Mal died. Arthur damn sure doesn’t want to be the first.
Instead, Arthur tucks him into bed. Piles him like a kid under every blanket he owns, and then sits there all night, just watching Dom sleep.
*
Arthur is standing on top of a building.
A breeze kicks up, makes the back of his neck itch. He’s never dreamed this bit before. He looks down at his bare toes, wiggling over the ledge. It’s a long way down.
“How terribly dramatic.”
Arthur turns his head.
Eames is here, a half-eaten apple in one hand. He takes another bite, then holds it out for Arthur to take.
“Oh, for Chrissake,” Arthur mutters.
Eames shrugs. “You’re a very funny man.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is transparent.”
“I’m not looking for anything, darling. This is your dream.”
“So, if I jump...”
“Leap of faith,” Eames says. Echoes of Dom in his voice, but that’s all it is. Just echoes.
Arthur takes a step, arms flailing like windmills. And is caught by his shirt collar, two big hands hauling him back onto the flat of the roof.
“Idiot,” Eames says. Then kisses Arthur on the mouth, wet and open, gasping.
The apple keeps falling.
-End