My first Inception fic
Title: Cloud Nine
Pairing: Arthur/Eames (one-sided)
Word Count: ~700
Rating: Somewhere between PG-13 and R
Warnings: Language and a crap-ton of angst. Dark!fic.
Disclaimer: I'm just playing in the sandbox. I don't own the sand - only my bucket and shovel.
Author's Note: Title is from the Evanescence song of the same name. So this was supposed to be a gift fic to make cherrybina feel better about life, but it ended up being the darkest fic I've ever written. Leading me to believe that the emo-monkeys have incepted me. Currently mostly un-beta'ed because my beta likes to edit by hand and is therefore MAILING her concrit to CHINA. I don't know whether to thank her or punch her.
Summary: When Eames drops by Arthur's flat to discuss an upcoming job and finds his straight-laced friend hooked up to the PASIV, he expects nothing good. But what he finds when he follows him down is so, so much worse.
Eames stands, unmoving as the dream tears itself apart around him. It isn’t until he’s opening his eyes in reality that he realizes the he lost any and all plausible deniability when Arthur woke up first. Not that he would, possibly even could deny what he’d just seen; even his skills in deception have their limits. The only thing left to do is understand.
-
He arrived in the dream and immediately began searching for Arthur, more out of morbid curiosity than worry if he was being perfectly honest with himself. What strange desires or demons could the straight-laced point man possibly have, that he needed such an escape to deal with them?
-
“Mr. Eames.”
“Arthur.”
Eames meets Arthur’s eyes and is surprised by the lack of emotion in them. In the time that he has known Arthur, he has seen his those eyes filled with countless emotions, and it is one of those he expects now: anger, shame, perhaps even sadness. But all he sees is resignation.
-
It took Eames a long time to complete his search. Enough that the projections were getting restless and he was starting to regret his hasty decision to follow Arthur down when he had found him in his hotel room, hooked up to the PASIV. No matter how many times it happened over the course of his career, he really, really did not enjoy getting killed.
So when he arrived at the door of the seedy motel room and was greeted by the unmistakable sound of fucking, he was less than amused. All this for an illicit romp? Who could possibly be so desirable, unattainable that Arthur needed to court danger in this way?
The motel room door, ever so slightly ajar, was an invitation Eames could not resist.
-
“You’ve done it before.” It is not a question, but Arthur nods anyways. For the first time since he can remember, Eames is speechless. On the other side of the room, Arthur’s gaze never falters. Doesn’t become any less unreadable. So Eames has to ask.
“Why?”
-
Luckily for Eames, the two men in the room were far too wrapped up in each other to notice him easing the door open to catch a glimpse of their faces. Well, one man’s face, really. And just as luckily, they remained that way through Eames’ widened eyes, his sharp intake of breath, as he recognized himself pounding Arthur into the mattress. And suddenly it was as if someone had flipped a switch in his mind because so many things that Arthur had said and done while with Eames make sense. Significant glances, lingering touches, those too-large dimpled smiles - he saw them all in a new light.
-
Arthur walks towards the door and his hand is on the knob before he replies, his face out of sight for the first time since Eames had been jolted back to reality. Jolted into reality.
“Better…like that. Better that way, than not at all.”
And then he is gone, and Eames thinks that he should be following, should be protesting, correcting, doing something other than standing and staring at the spot where he had been. But all he can do is replay those final few moments of the dream over and over in his mind, and by the time he can rouse himself, Arthur is long gone.
-
He had known it was only a matter of time, had felt the projections becoming more hostile even before he had found the motel. And yet it still came as a shock to Eames when, just as Arthur was coming down from what appeared to be a truly incredible orgasm, projection-Eames pulled a gun from the bedside table and smoothly, calmly shot Arthur in the head.
-
In a dream,
Will you give your love to me?
Beg my broken heart to beat,
Save my life, change my mind.
Pairing: Arthur/Eames (one-sided)
Word Count: ~700
Rating: Somewhere between PG-13 and R
Warnings: Language and a crap-ton of angst. Dark!fic.
Disclaimer: I'm just playing in the sandbox. I don't own the sand - only my bucket and shovel.
Author's Note: Title is from the Evanescence song of the same name. So this was supposed to be a gift fic to make cherrybina feel better about life, but it ended up being the darkest fic I've ever written. Leading me to believe that the emo-monkeys have incepted me. Currently mostly un-beta'ed because my beta likes to edit by hand and is therefore MAILING her concrit to CHINA. I don't know whether to thank her or punch her.
Summary: When Eames drops by Arthur's flat to discuss an upcoming job and finds his straight-laced friend hooked up to the PASIV, he expects nothing good. But what he finds when he follows him down is so, so much worse.
Eames stands, unmoving as the dream tears itself apart around him. It isn’t until he’s opening his eyes in reality that he realizes the he lost any and all plausible deniability when Arthur woke up first. Not that he would, possibly even could deny what he’d just seen; even his skills in deception have their limits. The only thing left to do is understand.
-
He arrived in the dream and immediately began searching for Arthur, more out of morbid curiosity than worry if he was being perfectly honest with himself. What strange desires or demons could the straight-laced point man possibly have, that he needed such an escape to deal with them?
-
“Mr. Eames.”
“Arthur.”
Eames meets Arthur’s eyes and is surprised by the lack of emotion in them. In the time that he has known Arthur, he has seen his those eyes filled with countless emotions, and it is one of those he expects now: anger, shame, perhaps even sadness. But all he sees is resignation.
-
It took Eames a long time to complete his search. Enough that the projections were getting restless and he was starting to regret his hasty decision to follow Arthur down when he had found him in his hotel room, hooked up to the PASIV. No matter how many times it happened over the course of his career, he really, really did not enjoy getting killed.
So when he arrived at the door of the seedy motel room and was greeted by the unmistakable sound of fucking, he was less than amused. All this for an illicit romp? Who could possibly be so desirable, unattainable that Arthur needed to court danger in this way?
The motel room door, ever so slightly ajar, was an invitation Eames could not resist.
-
“You’ve done it before.” It is not a question, but Arthur nods anyways. For the first time since he can remember, Eames is speechless. On the other side of the room, Arthur’s gaze never falters. Doesn’t become any less unreadable. So Eames has to ask.
“Why?”
-
Luckily for Eames, the two men in the room were far too wrapped up in each other to notice him easing the door open to catch a glimpse of their faces. Well, one man’s face, really. And just as luckily, they remained that way through Eames’ widened eyes, his sharp intake of breath, as he recognized himself pounding Arthur into the mattress. And suddenly it was as if someone had flipped a switch in his mind because so many things that Arthur had said and done while with Eames make sense. Significant glances, lingering touches, those too-large dimpled smiles - he saw them all in a new light.
-
Arthur walks towards the door and his hand is on the knob before he replies, his face out of sight for the first time since Eames had been jolted back to reality. Jolted into reality.
“Better…like that. Better that way, than not at all.”
And then he is gone, and Eames thinks that he should be following, should be protesting, correcting, doing something other than standing and staring at the spot where he had been. But all he can do is replay those final few moments of the dream over and over in his mind, and by the time he can rouse himself, Arthur is long gone.
-
He had known it was only a matter of time, had felt the projections becoming more hostile even before he had found the motel. And yet it still came as a shock to Eames when, just as Arthur was coming down from what appeared to be a truly incredible orgasm, projection-Eames pulled a gun from the bedside table and smoothly, calmly shot Arthur in the head.
-
In a dream,
Will you give your love to me?
Beg my broken heart to beat,
Save my life, change my mind.