(Untitled)
heroically mentioned this to me, and now I want it too.
Inception AU where Eames is the pianist of a jazz band in a swanky hotel and Arthur is the business man from out of town.
AND THEN THERE'S SEX.
Possibly the repeated kind, with Arthur finding all kinds of excuses to be sent back to Eames neck of the woods. <3
Inception AU where Eames is the pianist of a jazz band in a swanky hotel and Arthur is the business man from out of town.
AND THEN THERE'S SEX.
Possibly the repeated kind, with Arthur finding all kinds of excuses to be sent back to Eames neck of the woods. <3
AND THEN Arthur goes home, and on the plane he turns the CD case over in his hands, absently meditating on Duke's face, and then stops himself and is like "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Arthur. You are in too deep, there is no way he meant it, you're probs never going to see him again, or fine, but anyway not for months, all right? Back down, please."
Except here's the thing, Arthur's twenty-eight and he's never had a proper relationship since that thing with Al back in college, and no one at the office knows he's gay and he hasn't had action in god knows how long, and so yes, yes, it's stupid and dangerous to get himself into this guy's pants because Eames looks so much as if he means it, too, as if he's into Arthur back, as if this isn't just a one-off, well, two-off thing and for all Arthur knows Eames is one of those open-relationship types who has a boyfriend or a girlfriend back home or, worse, is just a sort of slutty performer type who does this with everybody who catches his eye. And Arthur is so, so available, and apparently imprints like none other, and he really wants this. Except this doesn't exist. Like, at all, he tells himself. Sternly.
So when he gets home he doesn't immediately listen to the CD. He holds out a whole day and then plugs in ... and then three minutes in can't actually sit through any more of it. "This," he says loudly, because someone needs to say it, "is elevator music." It feels a little good to know he means it, because that means he hasn't totally taken leave of his senses over some devastatingly attractive hotel pianist and his amazing lips and his stupid fuckable smile as he leans a shoulder against a hallway wall and has a thumb hooked into his pants and stands there waiting for Arthur to get there god damn it.
Of course five hours later there he is again, squinting his eyes closed and trying, trying to hear something, anything in this music. Finally he gives up, pulls one of the headphones out so he doesn't have to deal with it in more than one ear, and pads around the house, unpacking and trying not to think about the ways to Chicago.
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