Fear of a Name | Inception | PG13 | Arthur/Eames
Title: fear of a name (increases fear of the thing itself)
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: For the movie.
Summary: Eames wants to know Arthur's last name. On the other hand, if there's one thing Arthur is sure of, his last name is the one thing that Eames will never know.
A/N: This is like, a little warm up to when I post my bigbang on JANUARY 31ST (mark your calendars hahah!), although Arthur/Eames is the B-ship in my big bang. Hope you guys enjoy this little ficlet!
They’re lying together blessedly, blissfully naked. Arthur can feel Eames wrapped around him, arm draped unceremoniously across his waist, fingers tracing outlines of various signatures in the sheets. It’s in this perfect post-coital, pre-obligation moment that the forger, in a horrible fashion that is just so typical for Eames, pops the question.
“Arthur,” Eames murmurs into his ear.
“Mmm,” Arthur responds, staring at the wall ahead of him, wary.
“I know where you went to college,” Eames begins. Arthur’s back stiffens against Eames’s stomach, an unconscious reflex, as if Arthur knows what’s coming. “I know your favorite flavor of ice cream. I know what you bench press. I know how far you can run without stopping.”
Eames tightens his grip around Arthur, as if petrified the point man will escape before his rant is through.
“I know that you love Paris, but you love the United States more. I know you’d die for Dom Cobb. I know your favorite wine, and your favorite tailor. I know that the fingers in your right hand were broken when you were a child, and I know that it wasn’t your fault.” Arthur flexes and clenches his right hand automatically.
Eames pauses. “But I still don’t know your last name.”
Arthur is up in a flash.
“Eames,” Arthur growls in a dangerous voice.
“Darling, it’s been nearly ten months,” Eames pleads. “Be reasonable.”
“Why do you keep on pressing this?” Arthur sighs, shucking his boxers up around his waist.
“Because I want to be with you-fully, completely, and absolutely,” Eames says matter-of-factly.
“This is something you’ve expressed in the past,” Arthur says dryly.
“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t feel the same way,” Eames sighs nonchalantly, opening the drawer to his nightstand and pulling out a pack of cigarettes.
“This-this thing we have,” Arthur starts. “It can never be what you want it to be, Eames.”
“Because of the business we’re in?” Eames asks harshly. He’s holding a cigarette in his right hand now, but it lies there unnoticed. “Because working together is a conflict of interest? Dom and Mal did it for years-“
“And look where it got them!” Arthur shouts, bringing the conversation to a sudden halt.
“There are some things of mine,” Arthur says softly, staring down at his hands, which have wound themselves into his dress shirt, “that you will never touch.” He makes eye contact with Eames.
“I’ll tell you my first name in exchange,” Eames offers after a moment.
“Don’t you-” Arthur stammers. “Don’t you dare. Not ever.”
“Then you’d have to tell me-”
“I am serious, Eames! You tell me your first name, and we’re done. Professionally and… and otherwise.”
There’s a horrible feeling that Arthur’s had in the pit of his stomach, like he’s left the sink on in his apartment, like he’s forgotten a vital piece of information on a case, and that feeling has grown since this whole thing with Eames had begun, and now… now it had gone, replaced with the sudden emptiness that Arthur had been accustomed to before he had become unprofessional-before he had let himself be wooed. Wooed! Like some silly girl, obsessed with finding The One before hitting thirty and the biological clock started to tick. Arthur doubted he would reach thirty-five, and maybe that had lowered his defenses. But it had happened, and after the first time… well, after the first time, Arthur was certain it would never happen again.
It was only after the fourth time that Arthur knew he had to set down some rules.
Well, one rule: don’t get too close. And in Arthur’s mind, he knew exactly where intimacy lay… in a name. Their names, to be precise. They could have as much sex as they liked… it was only when Eames started coming over for movie nights with a bouquet of sad looking lilies, or calling at all hours in the night to tell Arthur about his dreams, or sneaking off with Arthur in the workplace, the workplace, to do… things. When his personal started to get too personal, and when it started to interfere with his work life, Arthur knew he was getting in too deep.
The thing is, he doesn’t know how to get out without breaking at least one heart, and maybe two. So he chooses to stay. Albeit, with rules. Well, rule.
“You can’t be serious, Arthur,” Eames says in a confused voice. Arthur glares at him until Eames darts his eyes toward the window. “And if I ever find out, darling?”
“Well, I’ll be dead, so I won’t give a fuck, will I?” Arthur bites back, and the room is silent.
Somewhere in a vault in Switzerland is a vault that belongs to Arthur. In that vault is a DVD, with the word EAMES written on it in immaculately scripted sharpie. On the disc is Arthur, saying one word… a name. His name. The video is only seven seconds long. Arthur leaves Eames the key to the vault in his will (his lawyer had looked at him questioningly when Arthur had requested that part of his will be revised).
Eames looks at him with an unreadable expression, an unspoken question in his eyes. Arthur knows he’s being unreasonable, but that had never really been in his repertoire: only Flawless Work Ethic and Undying Loyalty to the Boss had lived there before… this had begun.
They both take a moment to breath. Eames extends a hand toward Arthur in submission, and Arthur drops his shirt in an instant, crawling back into bed.
“Okay,” Eames whispers into Arthur’s ear, tucking his body in close. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” Arthur breathes, relaxing into Eames, his eyes burning under locked lids. “Thank you.”
Eames presses a sad, lingering kiss against his shoulder blade. “For you, the world, cherie,” Eames says in the melancholy recognition that Arthur would never, in this lifetime, repeat those words back to Eames and mean it.
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: For the movie.
Summary: Eames wants to know Arthur's last name. On the other hand, if there's one thing Arthur is sure of, his last name is the one thing that Eames will never know.
A/N: This is like, a little warm up to when I post my bigbang on JANUARY 31ST (mark your calendars hahah!), although Arthur/Eames is the B-ship in my big bang. Hope you guys enjoy this little ficlet!
They’re lying together blessedly, blissfully naked. Arthur can feel Eames wrapped around him, arm draped unceremoniously across his waist, fingers tracing outlines of various signatures in the sheets. It’s in this perfect post-coital, pre-obligation moment that the forger, in a horrible fashion that is just so typical for Eames, pops the question.
“Arthur,” Eames murmurs into his ear.
“Mmm,” Arthur responds, staring at the wall ahead of him, wary.
“I know where you went to college,” Eames begins. Arthur’s back stiffens against Eames’s stomach, an unconscious reflex, as if Arthur knows what’s coming. “I know your favorite flavor of ice cream. I know what you bench press. I know how far you can run without stopping.”
Eames tightens his grip around Arthur, as if petrified the point man will escape before his rant is through.
“I know that you love Paris, but you love the United States more. I know you’d die for Dom Cobb. I know your favorite wine, and your favorite tailor. I know that the fingers in your right hand were broken when you were a child, and I know that it wasn’t your fault.” Arthur flexes and clenches his right hand automatically.
Eames pauses. “But I still don’t know your last name.”
Arthur is up in a flash.
“Eames,” Arthur growls in a dangerous voice.
“Darling, it’s been nearly ten months,” Eames pleads. “Be reasonable.”
“Why do you keep on pressing this?” Arthur sighs, shucking his boxers up around his waist.
“Because I want to be with you-fully, completely, and absolutely,” Eames says matter-of-factly.
“This is something you’ve expressed in the past,” Arthur says dryly.
“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t feel the same way,” Eames sighs nonchalantly, opening the drawer to his nightstand and pulling out a pack of cigarettes.
“This-this thing we have,” Arthur starts. “It can never be what you want it to be, Eames.”
“Because of the business we’re in?” Eames asks harshly. He’s holding a cigarette in his right hand now, but it lies there unnoticed. “Because working together is a conflict of interest? Dom and Mal did it for years-“
“And look where it got them!” Arthur shouts, bringing the conversation to a sudden halt.
“There are some things of mine,” Arthur says softly, staring down at his hands, which have wound themselves into his dress shirt, “that you will never touch.” He makes eye contact with Eames.
“I’ll tell you my first name in exchange,” Eames offers after a moment.
“Don’t you-” Arthur stammers. “Don’t you dare. Not ever.”
“Then you’d have to tell me-”
“I am serious, Eames! You tell me your first name, and we’re done. Professionally and… and otherwise.”
There’s a horrible feeling that Arthur’s had in the pit of his stomach, like he’s left the sink on in his apartment, like he’s forgotten a vital piece of information on a case, and that feeling has grown since this whole thing with Eames had begun, and now… now it had gone, replaced with the sudden emptiness that Arthur had been accustomed to before he had become unprofessional-before he had let himself be wooed. Wooed! Like some silly girl, obsessed with finding The One before hitting thirty and the biological clock started to tick. Arthur doubted he would reach thirty-five, and maybe that had lowered his defenses. But it had happened, and after the first time… well, after the first time, Arthur was certain it would never happen again.
It was only after the fourth time that Arthur knew he had to set down some rules.
Well, one rule: don’t get too close. And in Arthur’s mind, he knew exactly where intimacy lay… in a name. Their names, to be precise. They could have as much sex as they liked… it was only when Eames started coming over for movie nights with a bouquet of sad looking lilies, or calling at all hours in the night to tell Arthur about his dreams, or sneaking off with Arthur in the workplace, the workplace, to do… things. When his personal started to get too personal, and when it started to interfere with his work life, Arthur knew he was getting in too deep.
The thing is, he doesn’t know how to get out without breaking at least one heart, and maybe two. So he chooses to stay. Albeit, with rules. Well, rule.
“You can’t be serious, Arthur,” Eames says in a confused voice. Arthur glares at him until Eames darts his eyes toward the window. “And if I ever find out, darling?”
“Well, I’ll be dead, so I won’t give a fuck, will I?” Arthur bites back, and the room is silent.
Somewhere in a vault in Switzerland is a vault that belongs to Arthur. In that vault is a DVD, with the word EAMES written on it in immaculately scripted sharpie. On the disc is Arthur, saying one word… a name. His name. The video is only seven seconds long. Arthur leaves Eames the key to the vault in his will (his lawyer had looked at him questioningly when Arthur had requested that part of his will be revised).
Eames looks at him with an unreadable expression, an unspoken question in his eyes. Arthur knows he’s being unreasonable, but that had never really been in his repertoire: only Flawless Work Ethic and Undying Loyalty to the Boss had lived there before… this had begun.
They both take a moment to breath. Eames extends a hand toward Arthur in submission, and Arthur drops his shirt in an instant, crawling back into bed.
“Okay,” Eames whispers into Arthur’s ear, tucking his body in close. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” Arthur breathes, relaxing into Eames, his eyes burning under locked lids. “Thank you.”
Eames presses a sad, lingering kiss against his shoulder blade. “For you, the world, cherie,” Eames says in the melancholy recognition that Arthur would never, in this lifetime, repeat those words back to Eames and mean it.