more fic from yours truly
Title: In Everything But Blood
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Unrequited Arthur/Eames
Rating: R
Wordcount: 1,424
Summary: He isn't a coward, per say. He just isn't sure he would like the answer.
Notes: Someone asked for this on the kinkmeme. I couldn't resist, even though I swore I would finish one of the other 382 unfinished Inception fics sitting around collecting dust before I went trolling for new prompts. Like many other things in my life, I failed. Miserably. Oh well. And I might've stolen a line from Chuck, because the hair thing made me laugh and I love that show so hard it hurts.
Disclaimer: This story is as fake as a strippers boobies.
When he wakes up it is to light filtering through the blinds directly into his eyes and owowowfuck Arthur's brain has a tiny seizure.
Arthur closes his eyes immediately and burrows his face into his pillow. His pillow lets out a grunt and burrows back and Arthur blinks himself awake quickly, thinking back to last night. Then his pillow lets out a mumbled "bloody hell" and Arthur lets himself relax.
For one terrifying moment he thought he was back in that awful penthouse with the football player, but the events of late last night come flooding back and he smiles into Eames' shoulder.
"Morning." He yawns, stretches his legs out, then slumps against Eames' chest. "I told you not to let me drink wine after a job."
"No," Eames mumbles into his hair, "you told me to never let you drink red wine after a job. We shared a bottle of white. And it was less sharing and more you stealing it right out of my hands, cheeky little shit."
"Damnit, Eames," Arthur says, fighting a grin. Eames pinches his back and Arthur bites his chest. He loves waking like this, curled around someone who doesn't want to roll him onto his back first thing in the morning. Eames is wonderful for this, always has been.
They've been friends practically since birth. After Arthur's father died when he was nineteen Eames didn't even ask, just cleared out his second bedroom and came over to help Arthur load his bags into the back of Eames' beat up pickup truck.
Saito would rather have him live with the rest of his team. He's even said, time and again, that Eames could come along free of charge. Hell, Saito has even given his highest earner's boyfriend his own suite at the mansion. But on this Arthur is firm.
Call him what you want; prostitute, whore, rentboy, whatever. He allows himself this one freedom, a small apartment he shares with his best friend that he happily pays half the rent for. And even though Eames hates what Arthur does for a living he is always there after a job with a movie and a plate of something greasy and fried. Last night it was hot wings, so spicy Arthur had greedily gulped wine straight from the bottle and Eames had laughed and laughed at him.
Eames lets out a high pitched whine and smacks the back of his head. "Ow, pillock." Eames makes to push Arthur off of him but Arthur tightens his grip, getting a leg in on the action by wrapping it around Eames' knees and squeezing.
"Nooo," Arthur moans into Eames' shirt. "Comfy. Sleep."
"You've drooled all over my bloody shirt and, much as I love you darling, your morning breath is nothing short of foul."
Eames tries to extract himself out from under Arthur again and gets a pillow smacked into his face for his troubles.
"Ten more minutes," Arthur mumbles. Eames rolls his eyes and settles back down and Arthur hums, content. He drops the pillow and curls his hand around and under Eames' waist, pressing closer. Eames sighs and sticks his fingers into Arthur's hair, kneading his scalp. Arthur makes a noise close to a purr and Eames laughs quietly.
"You should get this cut soon," Eames tells him. Arthur shushes him but Eames continues as though he didn't hear. "Really, it's starting to make funny animal shapes again."
"Saito likes me to keep it longer." Arthur pulls his knee back and inserts it between Eames' legs. Eames kicks out lightly but Arthur doesn't budge.
"Easier for the pulling?" Eames chides, gripping his hair and tugging it lightly. Arthur grouses into his shirt and digs his face into Eames' armpit. "Oh, now that's just wrong. I didn't shower yesterday, you dirty girl."
"Shut up, I'm sleeping here."
"Why didn't you just sleep where you were last night?" Eames asks, curious. He's always wondered why Arthur bothered climbing into bed with him after one of his many, many clients is through with him. He's asked once or twice, always after Arthur has passed out against his back or started snoring with his head passed out in Eames' lap.
He's not a coward, per say. He just isn't sure he would like the answer.
"Because the guy would've crushed me sometime in the night," Arthur grumps. "He was a fucking brick shithouse and I value the ability to breathe."
"You have your own bed, you know," Eames tells the top of Arthur's head and it's curling hair. "Right next door. In your own room."
"Yours is better."
"You have a tempur-pedic mattress."
"Your bed has a furnace in it." Arthur looks up at him and blinks through sleep encrusted eyes. It's pretty gross, actually. Eames raises an eyebrow and Arthur pinches his side. "You emit heat like a goddamn radiator."
"I'll buy you an electric blanket for Hanukkah." Eames yawns and Arthur ducks his head back down. "Seriously."
Arthur is quiet for so long Eames begins to believe Arthur has fallen asleep again and he sighs, resigned. Then Arthur's hand slides under the hem of his shirt and rests against Eames' bare skin. His hand is freezing, of course, because Arthur is a goddamn reptile.
"Because it's nice to wake up next to someone who doesn't expect anything from me." Arthur's voice is quiet, his breath warm against Eames' pec through his thin t-shirt. "You don't expect me to do something with my morning wood except maybe jerk off in the shower later."
"Oh, you're hard?" Eames asks lightly. "I thought that was just your Spiderman torch."
"Fuck off." Arthur slaps his ass hard and Eames laughs.
"You little minx, I always knew you were after my virtue."
"Like you ever had any virtue." Eames laughs and feels Arthur grin against him. "This is why I sleep here after I work. This is easy. You let me go back to sleep and drool on you and you'll love me no matter what because you've puked on me and I broke your arm when we were ten and because we're brothers in everything except blood."
"God help me if you were my real brother," Eames shifts onto his side and wraps his hand around Arthur's back, allowing the cuddles that follow. "My father would've tanned your hide for what you do every night."
"Eames, please. Not now."
Eames opens his mouth but closes it again. "Fine. Ten more minutes."
"Thank you."
Eames lets up and rubs Arthur's back and soon enough Arthur's breathing is deep and steady again.
Eames maneuvers his friends lax body onto his back and slowly gets out of bed. He reaches into the trunk at the foot of the bed and pulls out another comforter to throw on top of him. Arthur lets out a snore and curls his hand into the fabric.
Eames allows himself one minute, his eyes trailing over the lithe form stretched on his bed hungrily. Then he quietly makes his way into the bathroom and strips down. He jerks off quickly once he's in the shower, biting his lip to muffle any noise. He recalls the feel of smooth skin under his hand and soft hair under his fingertips. He thinks about the way Arthur smelled when he came home at four in the morning last night, the bite mark just barely hidden under his friends collar.
He throws his head back into the spray and leans against the tile as he remembers the feeling of Arthur pressed against him minutes ago and he lets his imagination go wild. Those long legs wrapped around his waist, that stubbled cheek pressed against his stomach, Arthur's talented hands holding his shoulders, curled over his neck, scratching at his back.
He wonders what Arthur is like when he comes, if he trained himself to be quiet or if he can't help but hold back a whimper, a scream, but at the very least Eames knows what his name sounds like coming from Arthur's lips and that's what he thinks about when he comes all over the floor of the bathtub.
Eames stares down at the evidence of his desire. It was an unsatisfactory orgasm, just as they all have been since he realized he was in love with the one person he can never have.
He closes his eyes and gives himself a few moments to feel sorry for himself before he picks up the soap. Under his feet the water swirls down the drain and washes everything away.
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Unrequited Arthur/Eames
Rating: R
Wordcount: 1,424
Summary: He isn't a coward, per say. He just isn't sure he would like the answer.
Notes: Someone asked for this on the kinkmeme. I couldn't resist, even though I swore I would finish one of the other 382 unfinished Inception fics sitting around collecting dust before I went trolling for new prompts. Like many other things in my life, I failed. Miserably. Oh well. And I might've stolen a line from Chuck, because the hair thing made me laugh and I love that show so hard it hurts.
Disclaimer: This story is as fake as a strippers boobies.
When he wakes up it is to light filtering through the blinds directly into his eyes and owowowfuck Arthur's brain has a tiny seizure.
Arthur closes his eyes immediately and burrows his face into his pillow. His pillow lets out a grunt and burrows back and Arthur blinks himself awake quickly, thinking back to last night. Then his pillow lets out a mumbled "bloody hell" and Arthur lets himself relax.
For one terrifying moment he thought he was back in that awful penthouse with the football player, but the events of late last night come flooding back and he smiles into Eames' shoulder.
"Morning." He yawns, stretches his legs out, then slumps against Eames' chest. "I told you not to let me drink wine after a job."
"No," Eames mumbles into his hair, "you told me to never let you drink red wine after a job. We shared a bottle of white. And it was less sharing and more you stealing it right out of my hands, cheeky little shit."
"Damnit, Eames," Arthur says, fighting a grin. Eames pinches his back and Arthur bites his chest. He loves waking like this, curled around someone who doesn't want to roll him onto his back first thing in the morning. Eames is wonderful for this, always has been.
They've been friends practically since birth. After Arthur's father died when he was nineteen Eames didn't even ask, just cleared out his second bedroom and came over to help Arthur load his bags into the back of Eames' beat up pickup truck.
Saito would rather have him live with the rest of his team. He's even said, time and again, that Eames could come along free of charge. Hell, Saito has even given his highest earner's boyfriend his own suite at the mansion. But on this Arthur is firm.
Call him what you want; prostitute, whore, rentboy, whatever. He allows himself this one freedom, a small apartment he shares with his best friend that he happily pays half the rent for. And even though Eames hates what Arthur does for a living he is always there after a job with a movie and a plate of something greasy and fried. Last night it was hot wings, so spicy Arthur had greedily gulped wine straight from the bottle and Eames had laughed and laughed at him.
Eames lets out a high pitched whine and smacks the back of his head. "Ow, pillock." Eames makes to push Arthur off of him but Arthur tightens his grip, getting a leg in on the action by wrapping it around Eames' knees and squeezing.
"Nooo," Arthur moans into Eames' shirt. "Comfy. Sleep."
"You've drooled all over my bloody shirt and, much as I love you darling, your morning breath is nothing short of foul."
Eames tries to extract himself out from under Arthur again and gets a pillow smacked into his face for his troubles.
"Ten more minutes," Arthur mumbles. Eames rolls his eyes and settles back down and Arthur hums, content. He drops the pillow and curls his hand around and under Eames' waist, pressing closer. Eames sighs and sticks his fingers into Arthur's hair, kneading his scalp. Arthur makes a noise close to a purr and Eames laughs quietly.
"You should get this cut soon," Eames tells him. Arthur shushes him but Eames continues as though he didn't hear. "Really, it's starting to make funny animal shapes again."
"Saito likes me to keep it longer." Arthur pulls his knee back and inserts it between Eames' legs. Eames kicks out lightly but Arthur doesn't budge.
"Easier for the pulling?" Eames chides, gripping his hair and tugging it lightly. Arthur grouses into his shirt and digs his face into Eames' armpit. "Oh, now that's just wrong. I didn't shower yesterday, you dirty girl."
"Shut up, I'm sleeping here."
"Why didn't you just sleep where you were last night?" Eames asks, curious. He's always wondered why Arthur bothered climbing into bed with him after one of his many, many clients is through with him. He's asked once or twice, always after Arthur has passed out against his back or started snoring with his head passed out in Eames' lap.
He's not a coward, per say. He just isn't sure he would like the answer.
"Because the guy would've crushed me sometime in the night," Arthur grumps. "He was a fucking brick shithouse and I value the ability to breathe."
"You have your own bed, you know," Eames tells the top of Arthur's head and it's curling hair. "Right next door. In your own room."
"Yours is better."
"You have a tempur-pedic mattress."
"Your bed has a furnace in it." Arthur looks up at him and blinks through sleep encrusted eyes. It's pretty gross, actually. Eames raises an eyebrow and Arthur pinches his side. "You emit heat like a goddamn radiator."
"I'll buy you an electric blanket for Hanukkah." Eames yawns and Arthur ducks his head back down. "Seriously."
Arthur is quiet for so long Eames begins to believe Arthur has fallen asleep again and he sighs, resigned. Then Arthur's hand slides under the hem of his shirt and rests against Eames' bare skin. His hand is freezing, of course, because Arthur is a goddamn reptile.
"Because it's nice to wake up next to someone who doesn't expect anything from me." Arthur's voice is quiet, his breath warm against Eames' pec through his thin t-shirt. "You don't expect me to do something with my morning wood except maybe jerk off in the shower later."
"Oh, you're hard?" Eames asks lightly. "I thought that was just your Spiderman torch."
"Fuck off." Arthur slaps his ass hard and Eames laughs.
"You little minx, I always knew you were after my virtue."
"Like you ever had any virtue." Eames laughs and feels Arthur grin against him. "This is why I sleep here after I work. This is easy. You let me go back to sleep and drool on you and you'll love me no matter what because you've puked on me and I broke your arm when we were ten and because we're brothers in everything except blood."
"God help me if you were my real brother," Eames shifts onto his side and wraps his hand around Arthur's back, allowing the cuddles that follow. "My father would've tanned your hide for what you do every night."
"Eames, please. Not now."
Eames opens his mouth but closes it again. "Fine. Ten more minutes."
"Thank you."
Eames lets up and rubs Arthur's back and soon enough Arthur's breathing is deep and steady again.
Eames maneuvers his friends lax body onto his back and slowly gets out of bed. He reaches into the trunk at the foot of the bed and pulls out another comforter to throw on top of him. Arthur lets out a snore and curls his hand into the fabric.
Eames allows himself one minute, his eyes trailing over the lithe form stretched on his bed hungrily. Then he quietly makes his way into the bathroom and strips down. He jerks off quickly once he's in the shower, biting his lip to muffle any noise. He recalls the feel of smooth skin under his hand and soft hair under his fingertips. He thinks about the way Arthur smelled when he came home at four in the morning last night, the bite mark just barely hidden under his friends collar.
He throws his head back into the spray and leans against the tile as he remembers the feeling of Arthur pressed against him minutes ago and he lets his imagination go wild. Those long legs wrapped around his waist, that stubbled cheek pressed against his stomach, Arthur's talented hands holding his shoulders, curled over his neck, scratching at his back.
He wonders what Arthur is like when he comes, if he trained himself to be quiet or if he can't help but hold back a whimper, a scream, but at the very least Eames knows what his name sounds like coming from Arthur's lips and that's what he thinks about when he comes all over the floor of the bathtub.
Eames stares down at the evidence of his desire. It was an unsatisfactory orgasm, just as they all have been since he realized he was in love with the one person he can never have.
He closes his eyes and gives himself a few moments to feel sorry for himself before he picks up the soap. Under his feet the water swirls down the drain and washes everything away.