fic: i carry your heart with me
Title: i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
Author: sunriseinspace
Character(s): Arthur / Eames
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Inception, its characters or plotlines, including any recognizable dialogue. I also do not own the poem by e.e. cummings.
Summary: “'here is the deepest secret nobody knows,'” he whispers against Arthur’s lips...
+
That night in L.A., hours after landing, Eames lets himself into Arthur’s apartment, opening the door as easy as you please, familiarity a soothing balm after the absolute SNAFU the job had (almost) turned out to be. He slides his key back into his pocket, its singular weight as much a touchstone as the totem tucked safely in the other pocket, and toes off his shoes. Dropping his bag in the hall, he smiles to himself at the haphazard jumble of belongings left in a heap just past the coat tree, evidence of Arthur’s entrance at some earlier point in the evening.
“Honey, I’m home,” he calls softly, still smiling as he rounds the corner and finds the point-man curled in an overstuffed armchair, the worn one he managed to contribute to Arthur’s living room several years ago, with upholstery even Eames will admit is murder on the eyes.
Arthur’s fast asleep, a pen still tucked in one hand and the crossword puzzle from that day’s paper barely clinging to the arm of the chair. Eames pads across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards out of long practice, and lightly trails careful fingers over Arthur’s forehead, absently wondering how long he managed to last before succumbing to his exhaustion. Probably not long, judging by how few squares in the puzzle are filled in, but it’s the thought that counts. Smiling again, he moves the pen and puzzle to the coffee-table and slides one arm around Arthur’s shoulders, the other around his waist.
“C’mon, darling, up you go. Time for bed.”
There’s a snuffle that sounds like his name pressed against his neck as Eames carefully draws Arthur to his feet and he knows that the other man hasn’t dreamt naturally in almost a decade, so the fact that, even so out-of-it, Arthur recognizes his presence brings another smile to Eames’ face. Maybe things are so off-kilter as he’d thought.
He guides Arthur’s somnolent form through the apartment, spreading him out on the bed in the master bedroom to carefully peel off a good majority of his clothes. He takes a second to fish the little red dice out of the right trouser pocket and set it in its customary place on the nightstand before draping Arthur’s pants and waistcoat over the valet in the corner. He empties his own pockets and strips to his boxers, tossing his clothes into the hamper, then kills the lights and flips the covers up so they’re both under them.
With a sigh, he rolls onto his side and curls an arm over Arthur’s stomach, leaning up to press a kiss to Arthur’s lips, their first since Montreal a year and a half ago. (Eames doesn’t count their desperate encounter in the back of the warehouse last week, or the frenzied exchange when he’d first arrived in Paris - that was slaking an urge, all for the sake of concentration and efficiency. This is a homecoming.)
“‘here is the deepest secret nobody knows,’” he whispers against Arthur’s lips and smiles in response to the lazy curl of Arthur’s mouth under his own.
“‘and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart,’” Arthur murmurs back sleepily, hand rising to curl in Eames’ hair.
“Too true, love, too true.” Eames kisses him again, breathing in the smell of his skin and feeling something ease in his chest. “Go back to sleep, dear Arthur,” he says and lowers his head to the pillow.
Arthur curls into him, their bodies tangled close, and Eames falls asleep with a smile on his face, Arthur’s steady breathing a soothing cadence in his ear.
/fin
i carry your heart with me - e.e. cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Author: sunriseinspace
Character(s): Arthur / Eames
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Inception, its characters or plotlines, including any recognizable dialogue. I also do not own the poem by e.e. cummings.
Summary: “'here is the deepest secret nobody knows,'” he whispers against Arthur’s lips...
+
That night in L.A., hours after landing, Eames lets himself into Arthur’s apartment, opening the door as easy as you please, familiarity a soothing balm after the absolute SNAFU the job had (almost) turned out to be. He slides his key back into his pocket, its singular weight as much a touchstone as the totem tucked safely in the other pocket, and toes off his shoes. Dropping his bag in the hall, he smiles to himself at the haphazard jumble of belongings left in a heap just past the coat tree, evidence of Arthur’s entrance at some earlier point in the evening.
“Honey, I’m home,” he calls softly, still smiling as he rounds the corner and finds the point-man curled in an overstuffed armchair, the worn one he managed to contribute to Arthur’s living room several years ago, with upholstery even Eames will admit is murder on the eyes.
Arthur’s fast asleep, a pen still tucked in one hand and the crossword puzzle from that day’s paper barely clinging to the arm of the chair. Eames pads across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards out of long practice, and lightly trails careful fingers over Arthur’s forehead, absently wondering how long he managed to last before succumbing to his exhaustion. Probably not long, judging by how few squares in the puzzle are filled in, but it’s the thought that counts. Smiling again, he moves the pen and puzzle to the coffee-table and slides one arm around Arthur’s shoulders, the other around his waist.
“C’mon, darling, up you go. Time for bed.”
There’s a snuffle that sounds like his name pressed against his neck as Eames carefully draws Arthur to his feet and he knows that the other man hasn’t dreamt naturally in almost a decade, so the fact that, even so out-of-it, Arthur recognizes his presence brings another smile to Eames’ face. Maybe things are so off-kilter as he’d thought.
He guides Arthur’s somnolent form through the apartment, spreading him out on the bed in the master bedroom to carefully peel off a good majority of his clothes. He takes a second to fish the little red dice out of the right trouser pocket and set it in its customary place on the nightstand before draping Arthur’s pants and waistcoat over the valet in the corner. He empties his own pockets and strips to his boxers, tossing his clothes into the hamper, then kills the lights and flips the covers up so they’re both under them.
With a sigh, he rolls onto his side and curls an arm over Arthur’s stomach, leaning up to press a kiss to Arthur’s lips, their first since Montreal a year and a half ago. (Eames doesn’t count their desperate encounter in the back of the warehouse last week, or the frenzied exchange when he’d first arrived in Paris - that was slaking an urge, all for the sake of concentration and efficiency. This is a homecoming.)
“‘here is the deepest secret nobody knows,’” he whispers against Arthur’s lips and smiles in response to the lazy curl of Arthur’s mouth under his own.
“‘and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart,’” Arthur murmurs back sleepily, hand rising to curl in Eames’ hair.
“Too true, love, too true.” Eames kisses him again, breathing in the smell of his skin and feeling something ease in his chest. “Go back to sleep, dear Arthur,” he says and lowers his head to the pillow.
Arthur curls into him, their bodies tangled close, and Eames falls asleep with a smile on his face, Arthur’s steady breathing a soothing cadence in his ear.
/fin
i carry your heart with me - e.e. cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)