Inception ficlet
Here, have some random Inception crack I posted in a meme last night.
*shrugs* Yeah, I don't know what going on in it either.
*goes back to writing Primeval/Inception crossover*
* * *
Eames shifted down a little on the porch bench, following the sun.
His new position co-incidentally put him in a better position to see through to the kitchen, where Arthur was making lunch with his usual thorough efficiency - ‘helped’ by Phillipa and James. Who were actually helping - Arthur made sure of that. He’d taught them enough that both of the children could help with basic tasks while Arthur cooked, and it was always Arthur who cooked while they were sitting the children.
It wasn’t that Eames was useless in the kitchen by any means. He could concoct a fantastic curry, if he did say so himself, and he could make perfect sushi, rather decent Szechuan food including tea-smoked duck, and a whole array of nouvelle cuisine dishes that would have Paul Bocuse weeping into his jus.
But he couldn’t do basic, home-style cooking that young children would eat. Possibly as a consequence of not having had a ‘home’ style upbringing as a young child himself.
So Eames handled the handmade fettuccini with truffle oil and shavings of Parmigiano-Reggiano for the adults and Arthur handled the mac ‘n cheese for the kids. It worked out well.
(Eames also did the baking. As Arthur put it - “I do. NOT. bake.” Eames wasn’t sure what experience his lover had had in the past to be so adamantly against the practice but it was obviously a traumatic one. Oh, well - it meant more scrapings from the mixing bowl for Eames and the children. Mainly for Eames.)
Dom was in no state to rustle up lunch for his offspring himself. Mainly due to the fact the man hadn’t arrived back from his ‘young men’s night’ with Saito till gone four in the morning, when he’d been poured out of a stretch limo into an un-amused Arthur’s arms by the polite Japanese chauffer. Saito had been visible through the open door sprawled out on the back seat, singing “Come on Barbie, let’s go party!” softly and very happily to himself and thrusting his hips in time to the beat.
Eames had helped Arthur lug Dom into the house, tried to stop Dom from launching into his own fortissimo rendition of ‘Barbie Girl’ while firmly staunching giggles and finally helped undress the man enough to get him into bed.
Dom had had red lipstick marks on the arse of his white boxers. Plus a phone number, written in eyeliner. Arthur had squeezed his eyes shut and said in a pained, resolute voice “…I don’t even want to know”.
Eames wanted to know, though. Which was why he grinned over at the abnormally pale, bordering on pastel green Dom and asked “So. Did we have a good time last night?”
Dom kept his eyes closed and replied “Is that the royal ‘we’ you’re using there, Eames?”
His raspy tone made him sound like someone had sandpapered his larynx.
Eames didn’t miss a beat. “Mmm, well I am 16th in line to the throne so I’m permitted to use it on special occasions such as getting all of the embarrassing details from friends who went on 40 hour benders while me and Arthur were watching his kids”
Dom gave him a look that said ‘I wouldn’t take your word for anything if it came personally guaranteed for truth by the Dalai Lama’. Eames gave him a ‘come on, spill’ gesture back.
He wasn’t expecting Dom to hold out. Part of the enjoyment Dom appeared to get from these weekends with Saito was telling what they’d got up to afterwards. (And Eames suspected a lot of that was for the epic ‘Do Not Want’ faces Arthur pulled.)
This time Dom did seem a little more hesitant though. But he spilled the beans eventually.
“Saito bought you a titty bar?!”
Eames couldn’t help the way his voice rose to a delighted shout.
Dom gave him a pained glare and an angry “Christ, Eames! I’ve got a hangover, can you not?” followed by an afterthought of “Oh, and my kids are just the other side of that glass, keep it down”
Eames was now so full of glee he felt like squirming with delight. “Sorry, sorry. But - Dominic”
He gazed soulfully into Dom’s eyes. “Saito bought you a titty bar. The man is awesome.”
Eames basked for a moment in the mind-blowing wonder that was Saito. A man who would buy you strippers and the building they stood in if he felt like it.
Then he asked “So did you get a lapdance from some hot young thing?”
Dom looked uncomfortable.
Eames nearly choked laughing. “You did, didn’t you? Oh Lord, Cobb - you dirty old perve, you! Did she have nice tits?”
Dom was slowly turning red. “Um. Actually? It wasn’t that sort of stripper bar. It was kind of… for male strippers?”
He rubbed his eyebrow and wouldn’t meet Eames’ eyes. “And, um. There was a lapdance but…” Dom sighed “I was the one who gave it”
Eames fell off the bench, struggling for breath. Through his whoops of hysterical laughter he heard the porch door open just as Dom added “I think the guy was quite good looking though. And I did get his number. It was on my shorts when I woke up this morning”
Eames heard Arthur say slowly “I… really don’t want to know, do I?”
He turned back into the house, saying over his shoulder “Please never tell me what you were just talking about. Ever. And come inside - lunch is ready”
*shrugs* Yeah, I don't know what going on in it either.
*goes back to writing Primeval/Inception crossover*
* * *
Eames shifted down a little on the porch bench, following the sun.
His new position co-incidentally put him in a better position to see through to the kitchen, where Arthur was making lunch with his usual thorough efficiency - ‘helped’ by Phillipa and James. Who were actually helping - Arthur made sure of that. He’d taught them enough that both of the children could help with basic tasks while Arthur cooked, and it was always Arthur who cooked while they were sitting the children.
It wasn’t that Eames was useless in the kitchen by any means. He could concoct a fantastic curry, if he did say so himself, and he could make perfect sushi, rather decent Szechuan food including tea-smoked duck, and a whole array of nouvelle cuisine dishes that would have Paul Bocuse weeping into his jus.
But he couldn’t do basic, home-style cooking that young children would eat. Possibly as a consequence of not having had a ‘home’ style upbringing as a young child himself.
So Eames handled the handmade fettuccini with truffle oil and shavings of Parmigiano-Reggiano for the adults and Arthur handled the mac ‘n cheese for the kids. It worked out well.
(Eames also did the baking. As Arthur put it - “I do. NOT. bake.” Eames wasn’t sure what experience his lover had had in the past to be so adamantly against the practice but it was obviously a traumatic one. Oh, well - it meant more scrapings from the mixing bowl for Eames and the children. Mainly for Eames.)
Dom was in no state to rustle up lunch for his offspring himself. Mainly due to the fact the man hadn’t arrived back from his ‘young men’s night’ with Saito till gone four in the morning, when he’d been poured out of a stretch limo into an un-amused Arthur’s arms by the polite Japanese chauffer. Saito had been visible through the open door sprawled out on the back seat, singing “Come on Barbie, let’s go party!” softly and very happily to himself and thrusting his hips in time to the beat.
Eames had helped Arthur lug Dom into the house, tried to stop Dom from launching into his own fortissimo rendition of ‘Barbie Girl’ while firmly staunching giggles and finally helped undress the man enough to get him into bed.
Dom had had red lipstick marks on the arse of his white boxers. Plus a phone number, written in eyeliner. Arthur had squeezed his eyes shut and said in a pained, resolute voice “…I don’t even want to know”.
Eames wanted to know, though. Which was why he grinned over at the abnormally pale, bordering on pastel green Dom and asked “So. Did we have a good time last night?”
Dom kept his eyes closed and replied “Is that the royal ‘we’ you’re using there, Eames?”
His raspy tone made him sound like someone had sandpapered his larynx.
Eames didn’t miss a beat. “Mmm, well I am 16th in line to the throne so I’m permitted to use it on special occasions such as getting all of the embarrassing details from friends who went on 40 hour benders while me and Arthur were watching his kids”
Dom gave him a look that said ‘I wouldn’t take your word for anything if it came personally guaranteed for truth by the Dalai Lama’. Eames gave him a ‘come on, spill’ gesture back.
He wasn’t expecting Dom to hold out. Part of the enjoyment Dom appeared to get from these weekends with Saito was telling what they’d got up to afterwards. (And Eames suspected a lot of that was for the epic ‘Do Not Want’ faces Arthur pulled.)
This time Dom did seem a little more hesitant though. But he spilled the beans eventually.
“Saito bought you a titty bar?!”
Eames couldn’t help the way his voice rose to a delighted shout.
Dom gave him a pained glare and an angry “Christ, Eames! I’ve got a hangover, can you not?” followed by an afterthought of “Oh, and my kids are just the other side of that glass, keep it down”
Eames was now so full of glee he felt like squirming with delight. “Sorry, sorry. But - Dominic”
He gazed soulfully into Dom’s eyes. “Saito bought you a titty bar. The man is awesome.”
Eames basked for a moment in the mind-blowing wonder that was Saito. A man who would buy you strippers and the building they stood in if he felt like it.
Then he asked “So did you get a lapdance from some hot young thing?”
Dom looked uncomfortable.
Eames nearly choked laughing. “You did, didn’t you? Oh Lord, Cobb - you dirty old perve, you! Did she have nice tits?”
Dom was slowly turning red. “Um. Actually? It wasn’t that sort of stripper bar. It was kind of… for male strippers?”
He rubbed his eyebrow and wouldn’t meet Eames’ eyes. “And, um. There was a lapdance but…” Dom sighed “I was the one who gave it”
Eames fell off the bench, struggling for breath. Through his whoops of hysterical laughter he heard the porch door open just as Dom added “I think the guy was quite good looking though. And I did get his number. It was on my shorts when I woke up this morning”
Eames heard Arthur say slowly “I… really don’t want to know, do I?”
He turned back into the house, saying over his shoulder “Please never tell me what you were just talking about. Ever. And come inside - lunch is ready”