Fic: Making the Best of a Bad Situation
Title: Making the Best of a Bad Situation
Author: sunriseinspace
Character(s): Arthur / Eames
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Inception, its characters or plotlines, including any recognizable dialogue.
Summary: "Better having to deal with a broken arm than dead from a gunshot to the head.” Eames’ eyes are dark with emotion as he reminds Arthur of the circumstances behind his broken bone.
For this prompt on inception_kink: "Arthur breaks a limb and is less grumpy about it when Eames starts doodling masterpieces on his cast. Would established relationship with a side of h/c."
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"Pretty sure I'm gonna need that," Arthur says, not even looking up from the phone bill he's studying. He's nearing the bottom of the sheet and going to need his arm to turn the page, but Eames has it captive and is showing no signs of letting go any time soon. "Eames--" he starts, finally looking up from his papers to see what Eames is doing.
Sprawling across the three-day old cast (still new enough for his arm to ache incessantly, but Arthur stubbornly ignores it) is a masterfully-drawn collage of images, each different and sharp and melding and merging and tying in with the others flawlessly. There're six-sided dice and poker chips from various casinos around the world, each location one Arthur remembers visiting at least once with Eames; dozens of tiny optical illusions, including Arthur's beloved Penrose stairs; tragedy and comedy masks twined together effortlessly; a chess bishop and spinning top; the chemical formulas for somnacin, coffee, chocolate, and capsicum; Latin phrases and French poetry; miniature graffiti tags and vaguely anime caricatures of each of the team; "" tags around Arthur's name, their running joke after watching the first season of Big Bang Theory. Hundreds of pieces of their life captured in dozens of tiny pictures scrawled in Sharpie across the white plaster Arthur's cast.
Arthur turns his arm this way and that, taking in each of the images, his mouth hanging open slightly as he does. He knows Eames is an accomplished artist, of course he does, he’s worked with him for years and spent a good portion of that sharing hotel rooms and beds and lives. But, somehow, this is different; this is personal and intimate and for Arthur and on Arthur.
Eames is grinning at him, looking slightly bashful, and Arthur wants to say something grateful, to tell him how much he likes the drawings, but what falls out of his mouth instead is, “Green, Eames? Really? You couldn’t have chosen another color?”
“It brings out your eyes,” Eames quips, the bashful look melting away because he knows what Arthur really means.
“I don’t have anything that’ll make this look good now,” Arthur complains, though a smile has tucked itself into the corner of his mouth and he can’t make it go away.
“Oh, poor darling,” Eames coos around a smirk, taking Arthur’s cast back into his hands to admire his own handiwork. “It’s just a few weeks.”
“Yeah, but,” Arthur starts, content on carrying on the banter when Eames abruptly changes the game.
“Besides, better having to deal with a broken arm than dead from a gunshot to the head.” Eames’ eyes are dark with emotion as he reminds Arthur of the circumstances behind his broken bone. Arthur forgave Eames instantly for the shove that sent him landing wrong on the pavement, especially since it saved his life, but it doesn’t make the cast any less annoying. “Anyhow, I have to say this is one of my better pieces, if I’m allowed the conceit,” he remarks, running his fingers gently over the lines of ink on the plaster.
Arthur smiles and reaches his free hand for Eames’ collar, pulling him down to lay a soft kiss against the corner of Eames’ mouth. “Yeah, it is,” he agrees, already anticipating the look of glee in Eames’ eyes when Arthur asks him to redraw every image on the cast somewhere a little more permanent.
Author: sunriseinspace
Character(s): Arthur / Eames
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Inception, its characters or plotlines, including any recognizable dialogue.
Summary: "Better having to deal with a broken arm than dead from a gunshot to the head.” Eames’ eyes are dark with emotion as he reminds Arthur of the circumstances behind his broken bone.
For this prompt on inception_kink: "Arthur breaks a limb and is less grumpy about it when Eames starts doodling masterpieces on his cast. Would established relationship with a side of h/c."
+
"Pretty sure I'm gonna need that," Arthur says, not even looking up from the phone bill he's studying. He's nearing the bottom of the sheet and going to need his arm to turn the page, but Eames has it captive and is showing no signs of letting go any time soon. "Eames--" he starts, finally looking up from his papers to see what Eames is doing.
Sprawling across the three-day old cast (still new enough for his arm to ache incessantly, but Arthur stubbornly ignores it) is a masterfully-drawn collage of images, each different and sharp and melding and merging and tying in with the others flawlessly. There're six-sided dice and poker chips from various casinos around the world, each location one Arthur remembers visiting at least once with Eames; dozens of tiny optical illusions, including Arthur's beloved Penrose stairs; tragedy and comedy masks twined together effortlessly; a chess bishop and spinning top; the chemical formulas for somnacin, coffee, chocolate, and capsicum; Latin phrases and French poetry; miniature graffiti tags and vaguely anime caricatures of each of the team; "" tags around Arthur's name, their running joke after watching the first season of Big Bang Theory. Hundreds of pieces of their life captured in dozens of tiny pictures scrawled in Sharpie across the white plaster Arthur's cast.
Arthur turns his arm this way and that, taking in each of the images, his mouth hanging open slightly as he does. He knows Eames is an accomplished artist, of course he does, he’s worked with him for years and spent a good portion of that sharing hotel rooms and beds and lives. But, somehow, this is different; this is personal and intimate and for Arthur and on Arthur.
Eames is grinning at him, looking slightly bashful, and Arthur wants to say something grateful, to tell him how much he likes the drawings, but what falls out of his mouth instead is, “Green, Eames? Really? You couldn’t have chosen another color?”
“It brings out your eyes,” Eames quips, the bashful look melting away because he knows what Arthur really means.
“I don’t have anything that’ll make this look good now,” Arthur complains, though a smile has tucked itself into the corner of his mouth and he can’t make it go away.
“Oh, poor darling,” Eames coos around a smirk, taking Arthur’s cast back into his hands to admire his own handiwork. “It’s just a few weeks.”
“Yeah, but,” Arthur starts, content on carrying on the banter when Eames abruptly changes the game.
“Besides, better having to deal with a broken arm than dead from a gunshot to the head.” Eames’ eyes are dark with emotion as he reminds Arthur of the circumstances behind his broken bone. Arthur forgave Eames instantly for the shove that sent him landing wrong on the pavement, especially since it saved his life, but it doesn’t make the cast any less annoying. “Anyhow, I have to say this is one of my better pieces, if I’m allowed the conceit,” he remarks, running his fingers gently over the lines of ink on the plaster.
Arthur smiles and reaches his free hand for Eames’ collar, pulling him down to lay a soft kiss against the corner of Eames’ mouth. “Yeah, it is,” he agrees, already anticipating the look of glee in Eames’ eyes when Arthur asks him to redraw every image on the cast somewhere a little more permanent.