Inception and Nutella
I just saw Inception for the fourth time with the lovely castor and in honor of that, I present you with a silly little Inception fic!
This is dedicated to my dear friend, theforger8807 , for her awesome brain and the fact that she calls me the Arthur to her Eames, which - after some text message exchanges about the delectable pastries she was eating last night and my lack of said pastries - led to us giggling over the image of Arthur wallowing and eating Nutella and then spilling some on himself.
Hence, this fluff. Enjoy! \o/
Title: Besmirched
Pairing: Arthur/Eames bromance; PG
Summary: Arthur is caught being sloppy; Eames is rather gleeful.
- - -
Eames can tell it is going to be a good day as soon as he walks into their Parisian warehouse and sees Arthur glowering at what appears to be a stain on his shirt.
“Oh dear!” Eames drawls, leaning casually against the door, and grins when Arthur stiffens at his voice. “It seems you’ve spilled something.”
“Don’t even start, Eames,” Arthur says with a glare that would have anyone else trembling in their boots. He reaches for a paper towel and starts to dab carefully at the stain. “I’ve had a terrible morning.”
“Is that Nutella?” Eames asks.
Arthur just scowls, but Eames can see the little brown jar on his desk, and beside it a spoon partially covered with the hazelnut-chocolate spread.
“I didn’t have time for a proper breakfast,” Arthur says, still frowning at the stain on his shirt, and if Eames did not know any better he would swear Arthur sounds sulky. “Cobb called earlier and while I was reaching for the phone, well…” He trails off, apparently rather embarrassed.
“You lost control of your spoon?” Eames provides, and Arthur glances sidelong at him.
“Sort of.”
“Imagine,” Eames says, his voice bright with wonder, “the immaculate Arthur, besmirched by a condiment.”
“Please, sound giddier, Eames,” Arthur says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m not sure the true extent of your glee is coming across.”
Eames rolls his eyes and moves over to Arthur’s desk, picking up the Nutella jar and swiping a finger around the edge. “Don’t worry, darling,” he says, pausing to lick his finger clean. “We’ll get you cleaned up before anyone else sees you in such disarray.”
Arthur frowns. “But I don’t have any extra shirts here.”
“You won’t need one.” Eames removes his jacket and slings it over a nearby chair, then slips out of the sweater he donned earlier that morning in preparation for the drafty warehouse and holds it out, now clad only in a thin white undershirt.
Arthur stares blankly at the offered sweater. “You’re joking.”
“I’m offended, Arthur, I really am. Here I am, literally giving you the shirt off my back, and you -”
“It’s orange.”
“So? I’ve seen you wear orange before.”
“Yes, but on a tie, not a sweater.”
“It’s either the orange sweater or a Nutella-stained shirt. Your choice.”
Arthur’s lips press together in a firm line and he finally snatches the sweater from Eames’ hand, although he looks a bit ill when he slips it on.
“There we are,” Eames says as he pulls his jacket on. “And if anyone asks, you can say I forced it on you so you wouldn’t catch pneumonia in this drafty place.”
Arthur cocks an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that explanation is much better.”
Eames shrugs and sprawls into one of the lawn chairs, already opening a file on their current mark. “Suit yourself,” he says.
Arthur turns back to his desk and shuffles through some papers, then pauses.
“Thanks,” he says, and Eames grins at him over the file.
“About time,” he says, “and you’re welcome.”
- - -
Now I'm off to write some more, because the fourth viewing of Inception made my plot bunnies happy.
So long, ducklings! Leave a comment if you like. ♥
This is dedicated to my dear friend, theforger8807 , for her awesome brain and the fact that she calls me the Arthur to her Eames, which - after some text message exchanges about the delectable pastries she was eating last night and my lack of said pastries - led to us giggling over the image of Arthur wallowing and eating Nutella and then spilling some on himself.
Hence, this fluff. Enjoy! \o/
Title: Besmirched
Pairing: Arthur/Eames bromance; PG
Summary: Arthur is caught being sloppy; Eames is rather gleeful.
- - -
Eames can tell it is going to be a good day as soon as he walks into their Parisian warehouse and sees Arthur glowering at what appears to be a stain on his shirt.
“Oh dear!” Eames drawls, leaning casually against the door, and grins when Arthur stiffens at his voice. “It seems you’ve spilled something.”
“Don’t even start, Eames,” Arthur says with a glare that would have anyone else trembling in their boots. He reaches for a paper towel and starts to dab carefully at the stain. “I’ve had a terrible morning.”
“Is that Nutella?” Eames asks.
Arthur just scowls, but Eames can see the little brown jar on his desk, and beside it a spoon partially covered with the hazelnut-chocolate spread.
“I didn’t have time for a proper breakfast,” Arthur says, still frowning at the stain on his shirt, and if Eames did not know any better he would swear Arthur sounds sulky. “Cobb called earlier and while I was reaching for the phone, well…” He trails off, apparently rather embarrassed.
“You lost control of your spoon?” Eames provides, and Arthur glances sidelong at him.
“Sort of.”
“Imagine,” Eames says, his voice bright with wonder, “the immaculate Arthur, besmirched by a condiment.”
“Please, sound giddier, Eames,” Arthur says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m not sure the true extent of your glee is coming across.”
Eames rolls his eyes and moves over to Arthur’s desk, picking up the Nutella jar and swiping a finger around the edge. “Don’t worry, darling,” he says, pausing to lick his finger clean. “We’ll get you cleaned up before anyone else sees you in such disarray.”
Arthur frowns. “But I don’t have any extra shirts here.”
“You won’t need one.” Eames removes his jacket and slings it over a nearby chair, then slips out of the sweater he donned earlier that morning in preparation for the drafty warehouse and holds it out, now clad only in a thin white undershirt.
Arthur stares blankly at the offered sweater. “You’re joking.”
“I’m offended, Arthur, I really am. Here I am, literally giving you the shirt off my back, and you -”
“It’s orange.”
“So? I’ve seen you wear orange before.”
“Yes, but on a tie, not a sweater.”
“It’s either the orange sweater or a Nutella-stained shirt. Your choice.”
Arthur’s lips press together in a firm line and he finally snatches the sweater from Eames’ hand, although he looks a bit ill when he slips it on.
“There we are,” Eames says as he pulls his jacket on. “And if anyone asks, you can say I forced it on you so you wouldn’t catch pneumonia in this drafty place.”
Arthur cocks an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that explanation is much better.”
Eames shrugs and sprawls into one of the lawn chairs, already opening a file on their current mark. “Suit yourself,” he says.
Arthur turns back to his desk and shuffles through some papers, then pauses.
“Thanks,” he says, and Eames grins at him over the file.
“About time,” he says, “and you’re welcome.”
- - -
Now I'm off to write some more, because the fourth viewing of Inception made my plot bunnies happy.
So long, ducklings! Leave a comment if you like. ♥