[Inception fic] Killing Kittens for the Greater Good [2/6]
Part two.
The bar was called Pasiv, which was a rotten name for a bar, really, but all right. Arthur chose not to question it.
Arthur stepped inside and looked around. It was clean, relatively speaking, dark, about half-filled and playing music he didn't mind. So far, so good. He had dressed casually for the occasion, leaving the waistcoat and tie at home.
Well. Casually for him, at any rate.
Arthur tugged his suit straight and made his way to the bar, signalling the bartender with a raised hand and an even look.
He ordered a gin and tonic and settled down.
His mouth was a little dry and he swallowed hard, waiting for his drink. His stomach felt weird, almost like. . .
Oh, god.
Fuck. He had butterflies. He might just have to kill himself.
Arthur hadn't felt this nervous or this eager in a long time. Dammit, Eames.
He downed his drink when it came, praying for liquid courage, and waited for Eames. He was late.
For ten minutes Arthur rapped his fingers on the bar-top, before rolling his eyes with no one there to see and heading off for the restroom.
He rinsed his hands in the cold water of the sink and then stared at himself sternly in the mirror. Calm down, Arthur, he told his mirror-self. He pushed his way past the line forming at the restroom door and examined the bar. Still no sign of Eames.
Butterflies still fluttering angrily in his stomach, Arthur headed for the back door. He could use a cigarette.
The night air was cool on his face and Arthur hadn't realized how flushed he was. He leaned against the brick wall and with practiced ease lit his cigarette, savouring the first drag. The smoke floated up past him to lie invisible against the dark sky.
"Hey," a voice called out behind him, and Arthur turned, trying to smother his relief that Eames hadn't stood him up and hold onto his anger.
It wasn't Eames, though.
The man was burlier than Eames, wearing a scarred leather jacket. He had roughly the same build and expression as a hungry grizzly bear. Arthur decided to think of him as Teddy.
His eyes glittered in the dim light, as he looked Arthur up and down.
Arthur sighed.
"Can I help you?" he asked politely.
"Oh, I sure hope so," Teddy said. He took a step closer.
Mentally, Arthur added "back-alleys of bars" to his list of places not to frequent. Right next to "Target," "prison,""piranha-infested rivers," and "that one sushi place on third street."
"What's a pretty thing like you doing out here all by yourself?"
Arthur blinked. "Did you get that line from a porn film?"
Teddy's eyes narrowed.
"No, you did, didn't you? Big-Ass Bad Girls 4, I think it was. Not as good as Big-Ass Bad Girls 3, really, but what can you expect?"
Teddy looked taken aback.
"I have to watch a lot of porn for my job," Arthur explained helpfully.
Teddy shook himself, smirked and took another step forward, right into Arthur's personal space. "Dirty little thing, aren't you?"
Arthur leaned back instinctively and the brick wall pressed up against him.
"If I could offer some constructive criticism?" Arthur asked, and pressed on before Teddy could object. "First off, no. Just no. There's a bar, right behind you. Perfect place to meet new people. Maybe shave, take a shower, do something with your hair. . . I'm sure you'd be quite the catch. Harassing people in alleyways and giving them cheesy porn lines? I'm sorry, you're just never going to find love that way."
Teddy snarled, placing his large hands on Arthur's chest and shoving him harder into the wall. Arthur could smell his breath, scotch and nicotine, hot against his face. His heart pounded in his chest.
Teddy started to say something, something that started with, "You fucking little slut, I'm going to--" but Arthur cut him off.
"Second piece of advice," he said mildly. "Don't fuck with me."
He drove his knee up into Teddy's solar plexus, grabbed one of his hands as he bent over with a moan, and twisted. Teddy dropped to his knees.
Arthur shoved him away from himself with a kick, jolting his twisted arm so that Teddy yelled. Teddy couldn't really go anywhere in the wrist-lock Arthur had him in, but Arthur held on and punched him in the face once anyways. Okay, twice. Just for the principle of the thing.
"Listen," Arthur said, hissing into Teddy's ear. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to turn around and walk -- no, run -- right out of this alley without looking back. Because I have a date, tonight, all right? And I don't have time to deal with you. And because I don't ever want to see your stupid fucking face anywhere near me again. So run, Teddy. Run away."
Blood was running down from Teddy's nose into his mouth. He glared up at Arthur.
"Get out of here," Arthur said, letting him go and pushing him away harshly. Teddy stumbled on the dirty asphalt, slowly bringing himself to his feet.
He met Arthur's eyes and hesitated at what he found there. With an it's-not-fucking-worth-it shrug, he turned to go.
He made it about a step before his stupidity caught up with him and he turned back to Arthur. He glowered at Arthur, his crumpled suit and his bloody knuckles, and started back towards him.
Arthur shrugged and pulled his hands up into ready fists.
There was a tap on Teddy's shoulder.
He spun around, and got a lasting first impression with Eames' fist.
"What's a fat fuck like you doing out here all by yourself?" he asked, then followed through with another punch, and Teddy shrieked as his nose broke, hands flying up to his face.
"Sonofabitch!" he yelped, dragging himself up, and this time when he hauled ass out of the alley he didn't look back.
"Wanker!" Eames called after him as he disappeared around the corner. He shook his fist out with a wince.
"Sorry I'm late, darling," he said, turning back to Arthur.
Arthur waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, it's all right. No problem."
And then he added, "I know what porn you've been using."
**
Eames stepped towards Arthur, reaching a hand up towards his face and then drawing it back.
"You all right, love?" he asked.
Arthur shrugged.
"Fine," his breath was harsh in the muted noise of the city. "How did you know I was out here?"
"I asked the bartender if there was a well-dressed man with a perfect arse who looked like his date was late. He said you went back here for a smoke."
Arthur nodded then scanned the alley floor. "Damn. I dropped my cigarette."
"I'll buy you another pack," Eames said. "Arthur -- your hands are shaking."
Arthur looked down at his hands. So they were. Trembling violently and he couldn't have lit another cigarette if he'd wanted to.
"Oh," he said.
"Let's get you cleaned up," Eames said, putting a hand lightly on Arthur's shoulder. He steered him inside, through the drunken dancing crowd, and into the restroom. Arthur felt light-headed.
"Here," Eames said, turning on the taps and guiding Arthur's hand under the stream. "Your knuckles are a mess."
Arthur couldn't find anything to say.
"So, by the time I got there, you seemed to be handling yourself well-enough," Eames said casually as he cleaned Arthur's hands.
Arthur swallowed and pulled his thoughts together, piecing them together along the lines of Eames' prompting. "My workplace is the designated area for hundreds of men to come and jack off, Mr. Eames. I took some self-defense classes pretty early."
"Are you going to call me Mr. Eames all night? Because that's. . . actually, that's kind of kinky."
Arthur gave him a small smile. He felt a little more grounded, now. Like someone had snagged the world out under his feet but now had graciously put it back. There had been a roaring in his ears that he only noticed now that it was gone. "Do you want me to call you by your first name?"
"No," Eames said quickly. "That's all right. I knew I should've lied on those forms. I've never forgiven my mother."
Arthur turned back to the mirror and slowly smoothed out his suit. He ran a hand through his gelled hair. He looked okay. Mostly. His eyes were a little wild.
"So," Eames said conversationally. "Do you wanna go to a hospital?"
"Ah, no," Arthur declined. "No. I've a better idea. Why don't we go back out there, and you can buy me a stiff drink?"
"Sounds good," Eames said, and then gave a half bow. "Lead the way."
**
"So," Arthur said, his third drink in. Well, four, if you counted the gin and tonic before Eames had arrived. Any buzz he might've had from that had evaporated pretty quickly, though. "What do you do? Besides masturbate, that is."
"I'm a make-up artist," he said, than added belatedly, "Don't laugh."
"I won't laugh," Arthur assured. "I already know. I read it on your forms. I laughed then."
"Read my forms a lot, do you, Arthur dear?"
"Only when I must."
"Suure. Anyways, it's not exactly the paramount of manliness though, is it?" Eames said.
Arthur shrugged. "I'm a receptionist."
"Yeah. We did pretty good back there though, didn't we? Gave 'im the old one-two. Mild-mannered receptionist by day, kicker of rapey-bastard's arses by night."
Arthur closed his eyes. His fingertips flattened against the glass as he squeezed harder. "Buy me another drink."
"All right, love, all right."
Arthur tried to muse over this drink slower than the first four, giving the ice time to melt. Eames watched him quietly.
"So, what's a day in the life of make-up artist like?" Arthur asked, filling the silence.
"I make people look like someone they're not," Eames shrugged. "Been doing stage productions mostly, lately. Gotta make things larger than life. S'fun."
Arthur nodded. "It sounds like it. It sounds. . . interesting."
"Not that your job is all doldrums itself, darling. Sperm! Who doesn't love working with sperm?"
The brunette sitting on a bar-stool next to them gave them a scandalized look, grabbed her purse and walked away.
"I helped a man the other day who wanted to freeze his dad's sperm," Arthur said. "That was neat."
"Sounds kinky."
"He's dying."
"Still sounds kinky."
"You would say that."
"Why is it that I'm always the filthy one, when you're the one who works in the designated wanking work place?"
"You're the one that visits the designated wanking place every Tuesday. With punctuality."
"I'm just doing my part to help the world. Killing kittens for the greater good."
"This is a charity thing, then?"
"Oh, absolutely, darling."
"You're so philanthropic."
"I'm assuming that's some kind of sex thing."
"Eames?" Arthur said. He pressed his still half-full glass against his forehead. He didn't feel drunk. The world just felt wrong around him. "Take me home."
**
On the street, they hailed a cab. Arthur shivered a little in the cool night.
Eames' hand rubbed up and down his back. "Cold?"
Arthur shrugged.
"C'mon," Eames said when a cab pulled up, and he opened the door for Arthur.
Arthur quietly told the driver his apartment address, then shot a glance at his date.
"You can stalk me properly now," he said. "You know where I live."
Eames nodded. "Looking forward to it. You got any tree-branches outside your window?"
Arthur shook his head. "No, but the lock on the front entrance is useless. You can just walk right in."
"You should get that fixed," Eames said. "All sorts of crazies out there."
"Yeah, I know." Arthur said.
Twenty minutes later, the cab idled on the curb as Eames walked Arthur to his front door.
"Pity you don't put out on the first date," Eames said when they reached the door. The black paint on it was cracking. "I've been thinking of this night every Tuesday for over a year."
Arthur, paused, hand on the doorknob. "Do you want to come up?"
Eames gave him a little smile and thought about the Pasiv alleyway and Arthur's trembling hands. "Nah. Gotta save some mystery or you'll never ask me to come back."
"Good night, then," Arthur said. "And thank you."
"Sleep well, darling," Eames turned to go, walking down Arthur's front steps.
"Eames!" Arthur called out quietly. "Wait. There's just one more thing."
"Oh, yeah?" Eames asked, turning back.
"Yeah," Arthur confirmed. He took a step down from where he was standing above Eames and leaned the rest of the way, reached out and slid his hands over Eames' jaw. He grasps his face lightly, stubble rasping against his fingers. He tilted Eames' head up and he could feel the warmth of his breath against his skin before their lips met. Dry and smooth and Arthur licked both their lips reflexively. Eames tasted like alcohol and he kissed slowly and so softly and Arthur forgot to breathe, for just a moment.
Arthur pulled away with a sigh.
"Good night, love. Sweet dreams."
The bar was called Pasiv, which was a rotten name for a bar, really, but all right. Arthur chose not to question it.
Arthur stepped inside and looked around. It was clean, relatively speaking, dark, about half-filled and playing music he didn't mind. So far, so good. He had dressed casually for the occasion, leaving the waistcoat and tie at home.
Well. Casually for him, at any rate.
Arthur tugged his suit straight and made his way to the bar, signalling the bartender with a raised hand and an even look.
He ordered a gin and tonic and settled down.
His mouth was a little dry and he swallowed hard, waiting for his drink. His stomach felt weird, almost like. . .
Oh, god.
Fuck. He had butterflies. He might just have to kill himself.
Arthur hadn't felt this nervous or this eager in a long time. Dammit, Eames.
He downed his drink when it came, praying for liquid courage, and waited for Eames. He was late.
For ten minutes Arthur rapped his fingers on the bar-top, before rolling his eyes with no one there to see and heading off for the restroom.
He rinsed his hands in the cold water of the sink and then stared at himself sternly in the mirror. Calm down, Arthur, he told his mirror-self. He pushed his way past the line forming at the restroom door and examined the bar. Still no sign of Eames.
Butterflies still fluttering angrily in his stomach, Arthur headed for the back door. He could use a cigarette.
The night air was cool on his face and Arthur hadn't realized how flushed he was. He leaned against the brick wall and with practiced ease lit his cigarette, savouring the first drag. The smoke floated up past him to lie invisible against the dark sky.
"Hey," a voice called out behind him, and Arthur turned, trying to smother his relief that Eames hadn't stood him up and hold onto his anger.
It wasn't Eames, though.
The man was burlier than Eames, wearing a scarred leather jacket. He had roughly the same build and expression as a hungry grizzly bear. Arthur decided to think of him as Teddy.
His eyes glittered in the dim light, as he looked Arthur up and down.
Arthur sighed.
"Can I help you?" he asked politely.
"Oh, I sure hope so," Teddy said. He took a step closer.
Mentally, Arthur added "back-alleys of bars" to his list of places not to frequent. Right next to "Target," "prison,""piranha-infested rivers," and "that one sushi place on third street."
"What's a pretty thing like you doing out here all by yourself?"
Arthur blinked. "Did you get that line from a porn film?"
Teddy's eyes narrowed.
"No, you did, didn't you? Big-Ass Bad Girls 4, I think it was. Not as good as Big-Ass Bad Girls 3, really, but what can you expect?"
Teddy looked taken aback.
"I have to watch a lot of porn for my job," Arthur explained helpfully.
Teddy shook himself, smirked and took another step forward, right into Arthur's personal space. "Dirty little thing, aren't you?"
Arthur leaned back instinctively and the brick wall pressed up against him.
"If I could offer some constructive criticism?" Arthur asked, and pressed on before Teddy could object. "First off, no. Just no. There's a bar, right behind you. Perfect place to meet new people. Maybe shave, take a shower, do something with your hair. . . I'm sure you'd be quite the catch. Harassing people in alleyways and giving them cheesy porn lines? I'm sorry, you're just never going to find love that way."
Teddy snarled, placing his large hands on Arthur's chest and shoving him harder into the wall. Arthur could smell his breath, scotch and nicotine, hot against his face. His heart pounded in his chest.
Teddy started to say something, something that started with, "You fucking little slut, I'm going to--" but Arthur cut him off.
"Second piece of advice," he said mildly. "Don't fuck with me."
He drove his knee up into Teddy's solar plexus, grabbed one of his hands as he bent over with a moan, and twisted. Teddy dropped to his knees.
Arthur shoved him away from himself with a kick, jolting his twisted arm so that Teddy yelled. Teddy couldn't really go anywhere in the wrist-lock Arthur had him in, but Arthur held on and punched him in the face once anyways. Okay, twice. Just for the principle of the thing.
"Listen," Arthur said, hissing into Teddy's ear. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to turn around and walk -- no, run -- right out of this alley without looking back. Because I have a date, tonight, all right? And I don't have time to deal with you. And because I don't ever want to see your stupid fucking face anywhere near me again. So run, Teddy. Run away."
Blood was running down from Teddy's nose into his mouth. He glared up at Arthur.
"Get out of here," Arthur said, letting him go and pushing him away harshly. Teddy stumbled on the dirty asphalt, slowly bringing himself to his feet.
He met Arthur's eyes and hesitated at what he found there. With an it's-not-fucking-worth-it shrug, he turned to go.
He made it about a step before his stupidity caught up with him and he turned back to Arthur. He glowered at Arthur, his crumpled suit and his bloody knuckles, and started back towards him.
Arthur shrugged and pulled his hands up into ready fists.
There was a tap on Teddy's shoulder.
He spun around, and got a lasting first impression with Eames' fist.
"What's a fat fuck like you doing out here all by yourself?" he asked, then followed through with another punch, and Teddy shrieked as his nose broke, hands flying up to his face.
"Sonofabitch!" he yelped, dragging himself up, and this time when he hauled ass out of the alley he didn't look back.
"Wanker!" Eames called after him as he disappeared around the corner. He shook his fist out with a wince.
"Sorry I'm late, darling," he said, turning back to Arthur.
Arthur waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, it's all right. No problem."
And then he added, "I know what porn you've been using."
**
Eames stepped towards Arthur, reaching a hand up towards his face and then drawing it back.
"You all right, love?" he asked.
Arthur shrugged.
"Fine," his breath was harsh in the muted noise of the city. "How did you know I was out here?"
"I asked the bartender if there was a well-dressed man with a perfect arse who looked like his date was late. He said you went back here for a smoke."
Arthur nodded then scanned the alley floor. "Damn. I dropped my cigarette."
"I'll buy you another pack," Eames said. "Arthur -- your hands are shaking."
Arthur looked down at his hands. So they were. Trembling violently and he couldn't have lit another cigarette if he'd wanted to.
"Oh," he said.
"Let's get you cleaned up," Eames said, putting a hand lightly on Arthur's shoulder. He steered him inside, through the drunken dancing crowd, and into the restroom. Arthur felt light-headed.
"Here," Eames said, turning on the taps and guiding Arthur's hand under the stream. "Your knuckles are a mess."
Arthur couldn't find anything to say.
"So, by the time I got there, you seemed to be handling yourself well-enough," Eames said casually as he cleaned Arthur's hands.
Arthur swallowed and pulled his thoughts together, piecing them together along the lines of Eames' prompting. "My workplace is the designated area for hundreds of men to come and jack off, Mr. Eames. I took some self-defense classes pretty early."
"Are you going to call me Mr. Eames all night? Because that's. . . actually, that's kind of kinky."
Arthur gave him a small smile. He felt a little more grounded, now. Like someone had snagged the world out under his feet but now had graciously put it back. There had been a roaring in his ears that he only noticed now that it was gone. "Do you want me to call you by your first name?"
"No," Eames said quickly. "That's all right. I knew I should've lied on those forms. I've never forgiven my mother."
Arthur turned back to the mirror and slowly smoothed out his suit. He ran a hand through his gelled hair. He looked okay. Mostly. His eyes were a little wild.
"So," Eames said conversationally. "Do you wanna go to a hospital?"
"Ah, no," Arthur declined. "No. I've a better idea. Why don't we go back out there, and you can buy me a stiff drink?"
"Sounds good," Eames said, and then gave a half bow. "Lead the way."
**
"So," Arthur said, his third drink in. Well, four, if you counted the gin and tonic before Eames had arrived. Any buzz he might've had from that had evaporated pretty quickly, though. "What do you do? Besides masturbate, that is."
"I'm a make-up artist," he said, than added belatedly, "Don't laugh."
"I won't laugh," Arthur assured. "I already know. I read it on your forms. I laughed then."
"Read my forms a lot, do you, Arthur dear?"
"Only when I must."
"Suure. Anyways, it's not exactly the paramount of manliness though, is it?" Eames said.
Arthur shrugged. "I'm a receptionist."
"Yeah. We did pretty good back there though, didn't we? Gave 'im the old one-two. Mild-mannered receptionist by day, kicker of rapey-bastard's arses by night."
Arthur closed his eyes. His fingertips flattened against the glass as he squeezed harder. "Buy me another drink."
"All right, love, all right."
Arthur tried to muse over this drink slower than the first four, giving the ice time to melt. Eames watched him quietly.
"So, what's a day in the life of make-up artist like?" Arthur asked, filling the silence.
"I make people look like someone they're not," Eames shrugged. "Been doing stage productions mostly, lately. Gotta make things larger than life. S'fun."
Arthur nodded. "It sounds like it. It sounds. . . interesting."
"Not that your job is all doldrums itself, darling. Sperm! Who doesn't love working with sperm?"
The brunette sitting on a bar-stool next to them gave them a scandalized look, grabbed her purse and walked away.
"I helped a man the other day who wanted to freeze his dad's sperm," Arthur said. "That was neat."
"Sounds kinky."
"He's dying."
"Still sounds kinky."
"You would say that."
"Why is it that I'm always the filthy one, when you're the one who works in the designated wanking work place?"
"You're the one that visits the designated wanking place every Tuesday. With punctuality."
"I'm just doing my part to help the world. Killing kittens for the greater good."
"This is a charity thing, then?"
"Oh, absolutely, darling."
"You're so philanthropic."
"I'm assuming that's some kind of sex thing."
"Eames?" Arthur said. He pressed his still half-full glass against his forehead. He didn't feel drunk. The world just felt wrong around him. "Take me home."
**
On the street, they hailed a cab. Arthur shivered a little in the cool night.
Eames' hand rubbed up and down his back. "Cold?"
Arthur shrugged.
"C'mon," Eames said when a cab pulled up, and he opened the door for Arthur.
Arthur quietly told the driver his apartment address, then shot a glance at his date.
"You can stalk me properly now," he said. "You know where I live."
Eames nodded. "Looking forward to it. You got any tree-branches outside your window?"
Arthur shook his head. "No, but the lock on the front entrance is useless. You can just walk right in."
"You should get that fixed," Eames said. "All sorts of crazies out there."
"Yeah, I know." Arthur said.
Twenty minutes later, the cab idled on the curb as Eames walked Arthur to his front door.
"Pity you don't put out on the first date," Eames said when they reached the door. The black paint on it was cracking. "I've been thinking of this night every Tuesday for over a year."
Arthur, paused, hand on the doorknob. "Do you want to come up?"
Eames gave him a little smile and thought about the Pasiv alleyway and Arthur's trembling hands. "Nah. Gotta save some mystery or you'll never ask me to come back."
"Good night, then," Arthur said. "And thank you."
"Sleep well, darling," Eames turned to go, walking down Arthur's front steps.
"Eames!" Arthur called out quietly. "Wait. There's just one more thing."
"Oh, yeah?" Eames asked, turning back.
"Yeah," Arthur confirmed. He took a step down from where he was standing above Eames and leaned the rest of the way, reached out and slid his hands over Eames' jaw. He grasps his face lightly, stubble rasping against his fingers. He tilted Eames' head up and he could feel the warmth of his breath against his skin before their lips met. Dry and smooth and Arthur licked both their lips reflexively. Eames tasted like alcohol and he kissed slowly and so softly and Arthur forgot to breathe, for just a moment.
Arthur pulled away with a sigh.
"Good night, love. Sweet dreams."