ficlet: wake up slow
Wake Up Slow
Inception fic
Arthur/Eames
written for this prompt at the kink meme (I'd really like some Arthur/Eames established relationship!)
They’re already on route away from the airport when Eames asks, “So, which hotel are we headed to this time?”
Arthur doesn’t look over at him. “We’re not going to a hotel.” His voice is even and calm, but he drums his fingers across the briefcase on his lap, just once, more of a twitch than anything.
“We’re not?” They always go to a hotel. There a handful that they use frequently, places where they know they can hole themselves up for a few days, sometimes even weeks, until one of them has a job to do. Eames suspects that there is even a pattern to the hotels, that Arthur has a system all worked out, right down to the rooms he requests. (Once Eames had complained that they weren’t in a penthouse suite, with all the money they had from their most recent job, and Arthur had fixed him with a steady look and said, “I doubt you’ll be terribly concerned with the view.”)
“No,” Arthur says, “I’ve rented an apartment.”
“Your own apartment, hey?” Eames says carefully, testing.
“It’s ours,” Arthur says, and now he finally does turn to look at Eames. “If you’d like.”
Eames studies him for a moment. Arthur has perhaps the best poker face he’s ever seen, but Eames has been reading his tells for years. “I would,” he says, and grins when Arthur ducks his head to hide a smile.
***
Even after all this time, it’s still strange for Eames to see Arthur so relaxed, the way he looks first thing in the morning. He seems so much smaller in just a loose t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, standing in the middle of the kitchen and surveying the empty countertop. He looks lost.
“’Morning,” Eames says, walking up behind him and sliding an arm around Arthur’s stomach, feeling the muscles tense as his fingers brush Arthur’s hip. He presses a kiss to Arthur’s neck just to feel him relax. “You planning on making me breakfast like a good little housewife?”
He expects Arthur to laugh him off, but instead Arthur takes a step away from him to start the coffee, turning around to lean against the counter. “What would you like?” he asks, and that’s a concession if Eames ever heard one.
He offers one of his own. “Whatever you’d like to make.”
When they sit down for pancakes Eames asks, nonchalantly, “How long are you staying?” He’s simply curious.
“A while,” Arthur responds. “I need a break.”
“Too stressful an experience for you?”
“Somewhat,” Arthur responds, and Eames just knows that Arthur will be kicking himself for his incomplete background search on Fischer for weeks.
“Occasionally when things don’t go according to plan, it makes it that much more exciting,” Eames chastises.
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Of course you would find the risk to be exhilarating.”
“Oh, come now, don’t pretend that jerry-rigging that elevator contraption didn’t turn you on a little.” Eames smiles knowingly, head cocked to the side, and Arthur simply arches an eyebrow at him.
“I did a good job,” he says, shrugging slightly, and Eames lets out a tiny huff of a laugh.
“Of course you did,” Eames responds, “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“And you got to play with explosives, so it’s really no wonder that you’re so insufferable,” Arthur says, and refills Eames’ mug, pushing the small pitcher of milk to Eames’ side of the table.
Eames grins. “I do love explosives.”
“When are you leaving?” Arthur asks, and Eames honestly has no idea. He hadn’t lined anything up because he hadn’t been sure if he’d be alive for anything after the Inception gig.
“A week,” he says. “Maybe a bit less.” Arthur nods. “I can stay longer, if you’ll miss me too much.”
“Oh, don’t stay on my account,” Arthur says, smirking, and Eames is reminded that Arthur gives as good as he gets, when he actually gives in.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Eames says. “I have places to go and people to be, you know.”
Arthur smiles at that, and Eames is absurdly proud of himself for a moment. “Petty crime to perpetrate, people to pickpocket, et cetera,” Arthur says, and Eames scoffs.
“Please, a little more credit. Just because that’s all you can imagine doing with my talents doesn’t mean I don’t have much more potential than that.”
“I can imagine many other uses for your talents,” Arthur murmurs, and Eames doesn’t hesitate before abandoning his breakfast.
***
In the end neither of them takes a job for a few months, and when they do, they take one together.
Inception fic
Arthur/Eames
written for this prompt at the kink meme (I'd really like some Arthur/Eames established relationship!)
They’re already on route away from the airport when Eames asks, “So, which hotel are we headed to this time?”
Arthur doesn’t look over at him. “We’re not going to a hotel.” His voice is even and calm, but he drums his fingers across the briefcase on his lap, just once, more of a twitch than anything.
“We’re not?” They always go to a hotel. There a handful that they use frequently, places where they know they can hole themselves up for a few days, sometimes even weeks, until one of them has a job to do. Eames suspects that there is even a pattern to the hotels, that Arthur has a system all worked out, right down to the rooms he requests. (Once Eames had complained that they weren’t in a penthouse suite, with all the money they had from their most recent job, and Arthur had fixed him with a steady look and said, “I doubt you’ll be terribly concerned with the view.”)
“No,” Arthur says, “I’ve rented an apartment.”
“Your own apartment, hey?” Eames says carefully, testing.
“It’s ours,” Arthur says, and now he finally does turn to look at Eames. “If you’d like.”
Eames studies him for a moment. Arthur has perhaps the best poker face he’s ever seen, but Eames has been reading his tells for years. “I would,” he says, and grins when Arthur ducks his head to hide a smile.
***
Even after all this time, it’s still strange for Eames to see Arthur so relaxed, the way he looks first thing in the morning. He seems so much smaller in just a loose t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, standing in the middle of the kitchen and surveying the empty countertop. He looks lost.
“’Morning,” Eames says, walking up behind him and sliding an arm around Arthur’s stomach, feeling the muscles tense as his fingers brush Arthur’s hip. He presses a kiss to Arthur’s neck just to feel him relax. “You planning on making me breakfast like a good little housewife?”
He expects Arthur to laugh him off, but instead Arthur takes a step away from him to start the coffee, turning around to lean against the counter. “What would you like?” he asks, and that’s a concession if Eames ever heard one.
He offers one of his own. “Whatever you’d like to make.”
When they sit down for pancakes Eames asks, nonchalantly, “How long are you staying?” He’s simply curious.
“A while,” Arthur responds. “I need a break.”
“Too stressful an experience for you?”
“Somewhat,” Arthur responds, and Eames just knows that Arthur will be kicking himself for his incomplete background search on Fischer for weeks.
“Occasionally when things don’t go according to plan, it makes it that much more exciting,” Eames chastises.
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Of course you would find the risk to be exhilarating.”
“Oh, come now, don’t pretend that jerry-rigging that elevator contraption didn’t turn you on a little.” Eames smiles knowingly, head cocked to the side, and Arthur simply arches an eyebrow at him.
“I did a good job,” he says, shrugging slightly, and Eames lets out a tiny huff of a laugh.
“Of course you did,” Eames responds, “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“And you got to play with explosives, so it’s really no wonder that you’re so insufferable,” Arthur says, and refills Eames’ mug, pushing the small pitcher of milk to Eames’ side of the table.
Eames grins. “I do love explosives.”
“When are you leaving?” Arthur asks, and Eames honestly has no idea. He hadn’t lined anything up because he hadn’t been sure if he’d be alive for anything after the Inception gig.
“A week,” he says. “Maybe a bit less.” Arthur nods. “I can stay longer, if you’ll miss me too much.”
“Oh, don’t stay on my account,” Arthur says, smirking, and Eames is reminded that Arthur gives as good as he gets, when he actually gives in.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Eames says. “I have places to go and people to be, you know.”
Arthur smiles at that, and Eames is absurdly proud of himself for a moment. “Petty crime to perpetrate, people to pickpocket, et cetera,” Arthur says, and Eames scoffs.
“Please, a little more credit. Just because that’s all you can imagine doing with my talents doesn’t mean I don’t have much more potential than that.”
“I can imagine many other uses for your talents,” Arthur murmurs, and Eames doesn’t hesitate before abandoning his breakfast.
***
In the end neither of them takes a job for a few months, and when they do, they take one together.