fic: 028. freestyle & 030. holidays
( freestyle ) G, 653 words, Arthur/Cobb, Eames
College!AU, Cobb tells Eames about the two loves of his life.
"Do you ever feel conflicted?" asks Cobb, lying back against his bed, hand up in the air as if staring at the back of it will solve all his problems.
"I'm too good to feel conflicted," replies Eames, nose deep in his sketch book. "Why? Are you?"
Cobb sits up straight at the question, suddenly panicked, and looks at Eames. "No! Why? Do I sound conflicted?" He hopes he doesn't, or does he? Oh god, if he does then everybody can tell, and if everybody can tell that means-
"Hey, Cobb. Hello? We were having a conversation?" asks Eames, the sound of his pencil working has stopped and he's staring at Cobb with his beryl-coloured eyes. Cobb looks away, because it's so intense. And also because it means Eames is figuring him out and then he'll be in trouble faster than the speed of lightning if he does.
Speaking of which- how fast is the speed of lightning anyway?
"You're feeling guilty," says Eames, falling into him, sketchbook smacking Cobb in the hip. They wrestle around on the bed, trying to find the best position for the both of them and it ends up with Cobb's back pressed against the wall and Eames facing him, their legs slotted together. The sketchbook is now pressed against Cobb's chest, Eames is back to drawing and Cobb lets out a sigh, tilts his head up.
"Slightly guilty. But it's not like I did anything wrong."
"Words of a guilty man," muses Eames and Cobb clicks his tongue.
"I'm conflicted. I've found the love of my life-"
"Oh yes, Mademoiselle Mallorie Miles," quips Eames in French lilt and Cobb clicks his tongue again.
"-and then yesterday, I met the other love of my life."
"What?" Eames stops drawing and grasps Cobb's jaw, pulling it down so that their eyes meet. "You cannot have two loves of your life."
Cobb laughs nervously. "Why not?"
"First off, it sounds disgusting. 'Loves of my life'? No. Do not want. Secondly, we live in monogamous times, mate-"
"Did I mention that he's a guy?"
"-what, no! Third! Gays! When did you start going for sausage and beans! Our world doesn’t do well in tolerating homosexuality! What- so you’re polygamous, homosexual-"
"Bisexual."
"You know I don't believe in labels, sugar. We've been roommates for years and you've never asked me to pop your backdoor cherry-"
"Eames," blanches Cobb, pulling away and putting a hand over Eames' mouth. "Shut up and let me tell my story."
Eames pulls his hand away. "But you always have a story to tell, remember Robert Fischvidfshjgla."
"I thought we agreed not to mention the R word!" shouts Cobb, both hands now over Eames' mouth and his eyes narrowed. "Anyway! There's this guy that Professor Miles intro'd me to- Arthur." Cobb smiles fondly at the thought and looks down when Eames starts shouting at his hand, tongue dragging wetly over his palm. When that plan doesn't work, Eames wrestles them around until he's pinning Cobb's wrists onto the bed, glaring down at him while he straddles Cobb's hips.
"Please tell me you did not say Arthur."
"You know Arthur?!"
"He's that weird kid. Young. Suits. Has got a bit of a long face."
"You know the length of his face?"
Eames grabs his sketch book, flips it to the middle and slaps the page into Cobb's face. He pulls it back after a few hits so that Cobb can see perfectly, a drawing of Arthur staring at him. He grasps it with both hands, sitting up so fast that Eames slides hard back onto the mattress.
"You drew Arthur. When did you draw this? How did you draw this?" questions Cobb, slack jawed at the drawing. It's beautiful, gorgeous. He knew Eames was good at drawing but he didn't think he was this good. "You are amazing. Let me have this."
"No," says Eames, taking back the book.
( holidays ) R, 880 words, Arthur/Cobb/Eames
Eames gives Arthur a gift on Christmas Day, and Arthur doesn't realise what it is until he sees Cobb.
If you think this ficlet is a cocktease, wait until you read the next one.
"Arthur, wake up!"
Arthur blinks awake immediately. Unlike Eames, who is a bundle of energy by his bedside, he hadn't forfeit his military habits.
"What is it?" he slurs, sitting up, tongue still thick in his mouth. Though his mind is fully conscious, his body plays slow in catching up. Arthur makes a note to hone it back to it's usual speed- all this break time is spoiling it.
"Christmas!" shouts Eames, pressing a kiss to his temple. He pushes a mug into Arthur's right hand, a box in Arthur's left. "I bring you gifts of the morning." He sits back on his haunches as he watches Arthur blink down.
Arthur moves the mug to his mouth while he puts the box in his lap, fingers pulling the top off. He takes a huge gulp of the hot coffee, made perfect to his requirements, and looks down at the contents of the box.
"What?" he questions, holding up the nondescript object. It fits in his palm, rectangular in shape with rounded corners. On it's surface are numbers ranging from 1 to 5 and off, with a small switch by it's side to slide up and down the options.
Eames just grins, wide and feral. "It's yours, darling. I hope you like it!" He bounces again, obviously on a coffee high, and Arthur pushes the switch up to 1. He expects Eames to react, to jump or yelp or leer, but nothing. Eames still looks very excited and Arthur narrows his eyes.
He drains the last of his coffee, passing the mug back to Eames and flicks the switch up to the 4. The only reaction he gets from Eames is the widening of his grin. Arthur blinks down at the remote and checks the back for batteries, nods when there is.
"So?" asks Eames, looking ready to burst, "How do you like it?"
Arthur blinks at him. "It's lovely, Eames, thank you."
He expects for Eames to be indignant at his lack of reaction or joy to the present but Eames is still grinning. Arthur hopes it splits open his face and then he'll learn to stop being such a conniving annoyance. He puts the remote, still on 4, on the bedside table.
"I'm gonna," starts Arthur, moving to get up, tilting his head towards their ensuite bathroom and Eames nods, getting up on the balls of his feet.
"Nick is making cookies," he blurts as Arthur gets to the door, stripping away his clothes in the process. He looks over his shoulder at Eames, and nods. Eames flounces away and Arthur gets up the spray of the shower.
He smiles fondly at Eames' use of the name, Nick. Dominick never liked that aspect of his name, always preferred to be called Dom. Whenever he introduced himself as Dominick, and someone caught whiff of the K at the end, he'd scowl.
That's part of the reason why he started using his last name as a definite name.
Of course that didn't stop Eames from gleefully calling him Nick when they were in private. Dominick scowled less when it was Eames cajoling him, but scowled more at Arthur when he insists on still using his full name to address him even in private.
Old habits die hard.
When he's done with his morning routine, Arthur contemplates on how he should dress. Since it's Christmas day, there was no reason he should be wearing suits. There is that Christmas party later, at night, but for now...
Arthur slides on grey sweat pants, the material worn thin yet still comfortable, forgoing the briefs. He has a feeling he won't be needing them when it's still light out today. He pulls on a white shirt and frowns at the loose fit then laughs when he realises it's Dominick's.
Well.
Arthur makes for the door when he spots the remote on the table. He wonders if he should take it, and shrugs. He moves to grab it, slipping into the pocket of his pants and steps out, into the living room.
He's greeted with the sight of Eames crowding Dominick from behind, a hand splayed over Dominick's ass.
Arthur clears his throat and Eames gives him a glance, eyes so dark that it momentarily stuns him to the one spot. The moment passes though and Eames pulls away from Dominick to greet Arthur.
"Up and running, I see," he says then gestures Arthur closer, "There's more coffee over here, so come and get it."
Arthur takes the bribe and moves close, sitting at the counter. Eames puts a fresh mug in front of him and pulls Dominick to face him.
It hits him like a tonne of bricks when he catches the red flush staining Dominick's face, the way he clutches helplessly at the v-neck shirt he's wearing and the straining bulge in his shorts, a wet spot staining the front.
Eames chuckles. "You sure took long to get ready. I think Nick's about to burst."
"Arthur," chokes out Dominick and he groans when Eames cups his dick.
"Kept him at 4 for what- twenty minutes? I'm surprised he hasn't begged yet."
Arthur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the remote.
"Surprise!" shouts Eames, hand cupping Dominick’s balls, fingers undoubtedly pushing against the toy.
College!AU, Cobb tells Eames about the two loves of his life.
"Do you ever feel conflicted?" asks Cobb, lying back against his bed, hand up in the air as if staring at the back of it will solve all his problems.
"I'm too good to feel conflicted," replies Eames, nose deep in his sketch book. "Why? Are you?"
Cobb sits up straight at the question, suddenly panicked, and looks at Eames. "No! Why? Do I sound conflicted?" He hopes he doesn't, or does he? Oh god, if he does then everybody can tell, and if everybody can tell that means-
"Hey, Cobb. Hello? We were having a conversation?" asks Eames, the sound of his pencil working has stopped and he's staring at Cobb with his beryl-coloured eyes. Cobb looks away, because it's so intense. And also because it means Eames is figuring him out and then he'll be in trouble faster than the speed of lightning if he does.
Speaking of which- how fast is the speed of lightning anyway?
"You're feeling guilty," says Eames, falling into him, sketchbook smacking Cobb in the hip. They wrestle around on the bed, trying to find the best position for the both of them and it ends up with Cobb's back pressed against the wall and Eames facing him, their legs slotted together. The sketchbook is now pressed against Cobb's chest, Eames is back to drawing and Cobb lets out a sigh, tilts his head up.
"Slightly guilty. But it's not like I did anything wrong."
"Words of a guilty man," muses Eames and Cobb clicks his tongue.
"I'm conflicted. I've found the love of my life-"
"Oh yes, Mademoiselle Mallorie Miles," quips Eames in French lilt and Cobb clicks his tongue again.
"-and then yesterday, I met the other love of my life."
"What?" Eames stops drawing and grasps Cobb's jaw, pulling it down so that their eyes meet. "You cannot have two loves of your life."
Cobb laughs nervously. "Why not?"
"First off, it sounds disgusting. 'Loves of my life'? No. Do not want. Secondly, we live in monogamous times, mate-"
"Did I mention that he's a guy?"
"-what, no! Third! Gays! When did you start going for sausage and beans! Our world doesn’t do well in tolerating homosexuality! What- so you’re polygamous, homosexual-"
"Bisexual."
"You know I don't believe in labels, sugar. We've been roommates for years and you've never asked me to pop your backdoor cherry-"
"Eames," blanches Cobb, pulling away and putting a hand over Eames' mouth. "Shut up and let me tell my story."
Eames pulls his hand away. "But you always have a story to tell, remember Robert Fischvidfshjgla."
"I thought we agreed not to mention the R word!" shouts Cobb, both hands now over Eames' mouth and his eyes narrowed. "Anyway! There's this guy that Professor Miles intro'd me to- Arthur." Cobb smiles fondly at the thought and looks down when Eames starts shouting at his hand, tongue dragging wetly over his palm. When that plan doesn't work, Eames wrestles them around until he's pinning Cobb's wrists onto the bed, glaring down at him while he straddles Cobb's hips.
"Please tell me you did not say Arthur."
"You know Arthur?!"
"He's that weird kid. Young. Suits. Has got a bit of a long face."
"You know the length of his face?"
Eames grabs his sketch book, flips it to the middle and slaps the page into Cobb's face. He pulls it back after a few hits so that Cobb can see perfectly, a drawing of Arthur staring at him. He grasps it with both hands, sitting up so fast that Eames slides hard back onto the mattress.
"You drew Arthur. When did you draw this? How did you draw this?" questions Cobb, slack jawed at the drawing. It's beautiful, gorgeous. He knew Eames was good at drawing but he didn't think he was this good. "You are amazing. Let me have this."
"No," says Eames, taking back the book.
( holidays ) R, 880 words, Arthur/Cobb/Eames
Eames gives Arthur a gift on Christmas Day, and Arthur doesn't realise what it is until he sees Cobb.
If you think this ficlet is a cocktease, wait until you read the next one.
"Arthur, wake up!"
Arthur blinks awake immediately. Unlike Eames, who is a bundle of energy by his bedside, he hadn't forfeit his military habits.
"What is it?" he slurs, sitting up, tongue still thick in his mouth. Though his mind is fully conscious, his body plays slow in catching up. Arthur makes a note to hone it back to it's usual speed- all this break time is spoiling it.
"Christmas!" shouts Eames, pressing a kiss to his temple. He pushes a mug into Arthur's right hand, a box in Arthur's left. "I bring you gifts of the morning." He sits back on his haunches as he watches Arthur blink down.
Arthur moves the mug to his mouth while he puts the box in his lap, fingers pulling the top off. He takes a huge gulp of the hot coffee, made perfect to his requirements, and looks down at the contents of the box.
"What?" he questions, holding up the nondescript object. It fits in his palm, rectangular in shape with rounded corners. On it's surface are numbers ranging from 1 to 5 and off, with a small switch by it's side to slide up and down the options.
Eames just grins, wide and feral. "It's yours, darling. I hope you like it!" He bounces again, obviously on a coffee high, and Arthur pushes the switch up to 1. He expects Eames to react, to jump or yelp or leer, but nothing. Eames still looks very excited and Arthur narrows his eyes.
He drains the last of his coffee, passing the mug back to Eames and flicks the switch up to the 4. The only reaction he gets from Eames is the widening of his grin. Arthur blinks down at the remote and checks the back for batteries, nods when there is.
"So?" asks Eames, looking ready to burst, "How do you like it?"
Arthur blinks at him. "It's lovely, Eames, thank you."
He expects for Eames to be indignant at his lack of reaction or joy to the present but Eames is still grinning. Arthur hopes it splits open his face and then he'll learn to stop being such a conniving annoyance. He puts the remote, still on 4, on the bedside table.
"I'm gonna," starts Arthur, moving to get up, tilting his head towards their ensuite bathroom and Eames nods, getting up on the balls of his feet.
"Nick is making cookies," he blurts as Arthur gets to the door, stripping away his clothes in the process. He looks over his shoulder at Eames, and nods. Eames flounces away and Arthur gets up the spray of the shower.
He smiles fondly at Eames' use of the name, Nick. Dominick never liked that aspect of his name, always preferred to be called Dom. Whenever he introduced himself as Dominick, and someone caught whiff of the K at the end, he'd scowl.
That's part of the reason why he started using his last name as a definite name.
Of course that didn't stop Eames from gleefully calling him Nick when they were in private. Dominick scowled less when it was Eames cajoling him, but scowled more at Arthur when he insists on still using his full name to address him even in private.
Old habits die hard.
When he's done with his morning routine, Arthur contemplates on how he should dress. Since it's Christmas day, there was no reason he should be wearing suits. There is that Christmas party later, at night, but for now...
Arthur slides on grey sweat pants, the material worn thin yet still comfortable, forgoing the briefs. He has a feeling he won't be needing them when it's still light out today. He pulls on a white shirt and frowns at the loose fit then laughs when he realises it's Dominick's.
Well.
Arthur makes for the door when he spots the remote on the table. He wonders if he should take it, and shrugs. He moves to grab it, slipping into the pocket of his pants and steps out, into the living room.
He's greeted with the sight of Eames crowding Dominick from behind, a hand splayed over Dominick's ass.
Arthur clears his throat and Eames gives him a glance, eyes so dark that it momentarily stuns him to the one spot. The moment passes though and Eames pulls away from Dominick to greet Arthur.
"Up and running, I see," he says then gestures Arthur closer, "There's more coffee over here, so come and get it."
Arthur takes the bribe and moves close, sitting at the counter. Eames puts a fresh mug in front of him and pulls Dominick to face him.
It hits him like a tonne of bricks when he catches the red flush staining Dominick's face, the way he clutches helplessly at the v-neck shirt he's wearing and the straining bulge in his shorts, a wet spot staining the front.
Eames chuckles. "You sure took long to get ready. I think Nick's about to burst."
"Arthur," chokes out Dominick and he groans when Eames cups his dick.
"Kept him at 4 for what- twenty minutes? I'm surprised he hasn't begged yet."
Arthur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the remote.
"Surprise!" shouts Eames, hand cupping Dominick’s balls, fingers undoubtedly pushing against the toy.