19. He Has A Chemist 2/?
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Eames/Yusuf
Length: 1,630
Status: WIP
Disclaimer: just appreciating Nolan's ideas
Summary: They don't know each other that well, don't trust each other, but Eames has some demons to deal with and Yusuf's compounds are the only thing that let's him sleep at night. With time an attraction grows that can't be ignored. This prompt on the inception_kink and it's a little more specific about character types than this crap summary.
part one here
vi.
“Let’s see what you can do,” Cobb lays down and plugs in. Eames leans on the wall and studies the chemist. The chemist meets his eye serenely and asks, “How is your sleep of late, Mr. Eames?”
“Well enough,” he answers, to the puzzlement of Saito. He narrows his eyes at Yusuf in pensive study until Yusuf drifts away to check the vitals of some sleepers. Suddenly, Cobb gives a violent flinch and wakes up. Yusuf turns and smiles down at him,
“Sharp, no?”
Cobb stands up, looking pale and stumbles to the bathroom.
Saito follows him and Eames steps up to Yusuf, “How did you know me before I knew you?”
Yusuf grinned, “I know this city, well, Mr. Eames, and I know my valued customers even better. You will be needing more sleep serum I trust?”
Eames is pissed at that knowing look in Yusuf’s dark sparkling eyes that says you’re addicted and I’ve been paying attention to what I send you so I know you are running low.
“Sod off,” he growls. He’s not amused that Yusuf looks so pleased by his reaction.
vii.
He feels Yusuf’s eyes on him when he enters the workspace on the first official day at work. The new girl, Ari-something-to-do-with-the-minotaur--Ariadne, yes that’s it!--gives him a big smile that falters when she notices the dark bags under his tired eyes.
Sheer stubborn rebellion smashed the serum in the sink last night and the dogs hounded him on his walks through the city until the early hours of the day so that now Eames walks with a lag in his step and a yawn stuffed in the back of his throat. He makes his way to his desk, which is a card table and a plastic chair from a conference room, and sits down. Arthur smirks at him, “Looks like you had fun.”
Eames gives a big grin, cradles the back of his head in his hands, “Oh, the best,” then pitching his voice so the whole warehouse might as well hear the excuse all at one time, “S’cuse me if I’m walking a little bow-legged today, fellas, he was hung like a horse!”
Ariadne fumbles with her charcoal pencil and sharpening knife, doesn’t cut herself but fails to stop her startled glance his way. He winks at her at the same time Cobb calls from over at the coffee pot, “Hey, mixed company, alright, Eames?” then over to her card table, “Sorry, Ari.”
She waves a hand, snorts, “I’m in college, Cobb. No worries.”
Yusuf walks over carrying a salt-shaker sized bottle of sandy-colored liquid which he places dead center of Eames’ desk. “On the house.”
“No thanks.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“I’ll get over it.”
“It’s not dangerous,” he says, his voice is low so the others won’t hear. “It’s addictive sure, but so far as I can tell long term exposure causes no health problems.”
"Aside from intense insomnia if gone even one night without it?”
Yusuf narrows his eyes a little, “There is nothing wrong with needing help.”
“Thank you for your wisdom, Guru Yusuf,” Eames mocks through a cheery smile. The chemist takes the bottle back with a shrug and returns to his Bunsen burners, “Full price, then, when you give in and come for it.”
Eames staples some random sheets of paper together and promises he won’t come for it.
viii.
He comes for it.
It’s two days later, one o clock in the morning and he feels like he’s going to have a mental breakdown if he doesn’t get some sleep. He knows where Yusuf is staying in Paris and goes there on foot. He’s prepared to pay the usual amount, swears to himself that if Yusuf tries to take advantage of his desperation and up the price, he’ll break his nose and then make another offer of the usual amount. If that doesn’t work, he’ll keep breaking things, fingers first and whatnot, until Yusuf gives in.
Eames isn’t so violent usually, but he fucking needs some dog-free sleep.
Yusuf opens his door after enough knocking has gone on to make Eames’ knuckles tender. He blinks and then peers at Eames uncertainly, “How did you know where to find me?”
Eames doesn’t answer that, slumps on the doorframe and holds up the fold of bills between forefinger and middle, “American dollars this time, but the usual price for the usual order.”
Yusuf hasn’t opened the door all the way and it registers with Eames that he is uncomfortable, perhaps even unnerved? The portly man narrows his eyes, “Have you been following me?”
“Careful, Yusuf, we mustn’t sound paranoid,” Eames grins.
Yusuf’s face hardens, “Have you. Been spying. On me.” It’s not a question, it’s a threat. It’s not as if Yusuf is at all a threat physically or even with a weapon, but he is trusted with drugs that Eames must inject into his blood stream in order to do his work and so the quiet scholar can be quiet dangerous enough if pushed.
No, Eames has not been following him or spying on him; he found out where his king of dreams was staying through some good old fashioned Deductive Reasoning, like the best detective of all time, Sherlock Holmes. (Yusuf occasionally showed up with mud on his shoes and flour on his coat, so, duh, the apartment complex on the other side of the park next to the bakery shop.)
This he does not explain, though, even in the face of Yusuf’s threat. Eames wonders why the notion of being followed and spied on would push the quiet man this far. All he says by way of an answer is, “What’ve we got to hide, beautiful?”
“Nothing,” Yusuf says and grabs a coat and steps out--in cotton pants, a t-shirt and slippers--with Eames. He snatches the money from him and starts walking, “I keep it all at the workspace. Come on.”
They walk in silence back through the park. Lamps light the pathways, but they cut through the grass. It’s a cool night; they slump in their jackets with their hands deep in pockets and march on. Eames’ mind works over the conversation and he breaks the silence, “Hang on, why is it okay for you to spy on me in Mombasa, but I can’t spy on you in Paris?”
“I do not spy on you in Mombasa,” Yusuf assured. He leaves it at that and Eames would push the matter but at that moment a dog bark rents the air. To the left, on the path, someone is restraining a German Sheppard who wants to get at the strangers who are walking in the darkness. Eames balks, his heart stops at the sound, his blood runs cold at the sight and he stumbles backwards as if to get out of range of a dog that is well over twenty yards away and then he starts going forward again only at a much brisker pace.
Eames is running.
He stops when he realizes it. He draws in a deep breath and shakes his head, tells himself the wounds down his shoulder and back aren’t hurting, they aren’t. He can’t feel teeth and padded paws with claws holding him down. He can’t hear his captors laughing while the dogs are snarling and tearing at his flesh.
Behind him, the dog is under control, and Yusuf is catching up at a jog that leaves him puffing like a smoker who clearly leads a sedentary life. Eames is glad for the night’s concealment when water shakes loose from his lower eyelashes. He draws in several deep breaths and starts walking as calmly as possible. He’s humiliated by having a witness to his weakness now and is thankful for the night to hide the blush as well.
“I prefer cats, myself,” Yusuf says.
Eames doesn’t look at him or acknowledge him at all because he does not want small talk, isn’t grateful for the effort to lessen what just happened into--what? An ice breaker? He just wants sleep.
At the workspace, they let themselves in and Yusuf pulls a key from around his neck and unlocks a metal cupboard. Inside is an array of beakers and vials and stoppered bottles. And wine, very good year. Yusuf selects one of what look like a line of five identical bottles and locks the rest up. He hands it to Eames with a wink.
“Take two tablespoons and call me in the morning, eh?”
He’s supposed to say yes doctor or some sort of thing to play along with the family doctor routine, but he isn’t up for it. Yusuf doesn’t linger, heads right back out, opening the door and making a comment about the chill before slipping away, shutting the door behind him. Eames pulls out the stopper as he heads to the back, where a cot is wedged between filing cabinets and a table drill. He treats himself to three tablespoons and kicks his shoes off before curling up on the cot.
When a smirking Arthur slaps him awake the next morning, asking what the hell was he snuggling up with--meaning the bottle nestled under Eames’ chin like a child’s teddy bear--Eames’ answer is to grab the point man and yank him down to the cot, exclaiming, “It’s lube! Let’s have a go, eh?”
Arthur escapes after a scuffle that leaves his sweater vest and hair rumpled and Eames can’t breathe from the elbow to his diaphragm. Ariadne can’t breathe from laughter and Cobb teases Arthur about knowing better than getting too close to strange men in bed and Yusuf’s eyes are fixed on Eames, glittering with amusement behind the Bunsen burner.
Feeling well rested and trouble-free and suddenly happy, Eames gives him a nod.
part three
Pairing: Eames/Yusuf
Length: 1,630
Status: WIP
Disclaimer: just appreciating Nolan's ideas
Summary: They don't know each other that well, don't trust each other, but Eames has some demons to deal with and Yusuf's compounds are the only thing that let's him sleep at night. With time an attraction grows that can't be ignored. This prompt on the inception_kink and it's a little more specific about character types than this crap summary.
part one here
vi.
“Let’s see what you can do,” Cobb lays down and plugs in. Eames leans on the wall and studies the chemist. The chemist meets his eye serenely and asks, “How is your sleep of late, Mr. Eames?”
“Well enough,” he answers, to the puzzlement of Saito. He narrows his eyes at Yusuf in pensive study until Yusuf drifts away to check the vitals of some sleepers. Suddenly, Cobb gives a violent flinch and wakes up. Yusuf turns and smiles down at him,
“Sharp, no?”
Cobb stands up, looking pale and stumbles to the bathroom.
Saito follows him and Eames steps up to Yusuf, “How did you know me before I knew you?”
Yusuf grinned, “I know this city, well, Mr. Eames, and I know my valued customers even better. You will be needing more sleep serum I trust?”
Eames is pissed at that knowing look in Yusuf’s dark sparkling eyes that says you’re addicted and I’ve been paying attention to what I send you so I know you are running low.
“Sod off,” he growls. He’s not amused that Yusuf looks so pleased by his reaction.
vii.
He feels Yusuf’s eyes on him when he enters the workspace on the first official day at work. The new girl, Ari-something-to-do-with-the-minotaur--Ariadne, yes that’s it!--gives him a big smile that falters when she notices the dark bags under his tired eyes.
Sheer stubborn rebellion smashed the serum in the sink last night and the dogs hounded him on his walks through the city until the early hours of the day so that now Eames walks with a lag in his step and a yawn stuffed in the back of his throat. He makes his way to his desk, which is a card table and a plastic chair from a conference room, and sits down. Arthur smirks at him, “Looks like you had fun.”
Eames gives a big grin, cradles the back of his head in his hands, “Oh, the best,” then pitching his voice so the whole warehouse might as well hear the excuse all at one time, “S’cuse me if I’m walking a little bow-legged today, fellas, he was hung like a horse!”
Ariadne fumbles with her charcoal pencil and sharpening knife, doesn’t cut herself but fails to stop her startled glance his way. He winks at her at the same time Cobb calls from over at the coffee pot, “Hey, mixed company, alright, Eames?” then over to her card table, “Sorry, Ari.”
She waves a hand, snorts, “I’m in college, Cobb. No worries.”
Yusuf walks over carrying a salt-shaker sized bottle of sandy-colored liquid which he places dead center of Eames’ desk. “On the house.”
“No thanks.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“I’ll get over it.”
“It’s not dangerous,” he says, his voice is low so the others won’t hear. “It’s addictive sure, but so far as I can tell long term exposure causes no health problems.”
"Aside from intense insomnia if gone even one night without it?”
Yusuf narrows his eyes a little, “There is nothing wrong with needing help.”
“Thank you for your wisdom, Guru Yusuf,” Eames mocks through a cheery smile. The chemist takes the bottle back with a shrug and returns to his Bunsen burners, “Full price, then, when you give in and come for it.”
Eames staples some random sheets of paper together and promises he won’t come for it.
viii.
He comes for it.
It’s two days later, one o clock in the morning and he feels like he’s going to have a mental breakdown if he doesn’t get some sleep. He knows where Yusuf is staying in Paris and goes there on foot. He’s prepared to pay the usual amount, swears to himself that if Yusuf tries to take advantage of his desperation and up the price, he’ll break his nose and then make another offer of the usual amount. If that doesn’t work, he’ll keep breaking things, fingers first and whatnot, until Yusuf gives in.
Eames isn’t so violent usually, but he fucking needs some dog-free sleep.
Yusuf opens his door after enough knocking has gone on to make Eames’ knuckles tender. He blinks and then peers at Eames uncertainly, “How did you know where to find me?”
Eames doesn’t answer that, slumps on the doorframe and holds up the fold of bills between forefinger and middle, “American dollars this time, but the usual price for the usual order.”
Yusuf hasn’t opened the door all the way and it registers with Eames that he is uncomfortable, perhaps even unnerved? The portly man narrows his eyes, “Have you been following me?”
“Careful, Yusuf, we mustn’t sound paranoid,” Eames grins.
Yusuf’s face hardens, “Have you. Been spying. On me.” It’s not a question, it’s a threat. It’s not as if Yusuf is at all a threat physically or even with a weapon, but he is trusted with drugs that Eames must inject into his blood stream in order to do his work and so the quiet scholar can be quiet dangerous enough if pushed.
No, Eames has not been following him or spying on him; he found out where his king of dreams was staying through some good old fashioned Deductive Reasoning, like the best detective of all time, Sherlock Holmes. (Yusuf occasionally showed up with mud on his shoes and flour on his coat, so, duh, the apartment complex on the other side of the park next to the bakery shop.)
This he does not explain, though, even in the face of Yusuf’s threat. Eames wonders why the notion of being followed and spied on would push the quiet man this far. All he says by way of an answer is, “What’ve we got to hide, beautiful?”
“Nothing,” Yusuf says and grabs a coat and steps out--in cotton pants, a t-shirt and slippers--with Eames. He snatches the money from him and starts walking, “I keep it all at the workspace. Come on.”
They walk in silence back through the park. Lamps light the pathways, but they cut through the grass. It’s a cool night; they slump in their jackets with their hands deep in pockets and march on. Eames’ mind works over the conversation and he breaks the silence, “Hang on, why is it okay for you to spy on me in Mombasa, but I can’t spy on you in Paris?”
“I do not spy on you in Mombasa,” Yusuf assured. He leaves it at that and Eames would push the matter but at that moment a dog bark rents the air. To the left, on the path, someone is restraining a German Sheppard who wants to get at the strangers who are walking in the darkness. Eames balks, his heart stops at the sound, his blood runs cold at the sight and he stumbles backwards as if to get out of range of a dog that is well over twenty yards away and then he starts going forward again only at a much brisker pace.
Eames is running.
He stops when he realizes it. He draws in a deep breath and shakes his head, tells himself the wounds down his shoulder and back aren’t hurting, they aren’t. He can’t feel teeth and padded paws with claws holding him down. He can’t hear his captors laughing while the dogs are snarling and tearing at his flesh.
Behind him, the dog is under control, and Yusuf is catching up at a jog that leaves him puffing like a smoker who clearly leads a sedentary life. Eames is glad for the night’s concealment when water shakes loose from his lower eyelashes. He draws in several deep breaths and starts walking as calmly as possible. He’s humiliated by having a witness to his weakness now and is thankful for the night to hide the blush as well.
“I prefer cats, myself,” Yusuf says.
Eames doesn’t look at him or acknowledge him at all because he does not want small talk, isn’t grateful for the effort to lessen what just happened into--what? An ice breaker? He just wants sleep.
At the workspace, they let themselves in and Yusuf pulls a key from around his neck and unlocks a metal cupboard. Inside is an array of beakers and vials and stoppered bottles. And wine, very good year. Yusuf selects one of what look like a line of five identical bottles and locks the rest up. He hands it to Eames with a wink.
“Take two tablespoons and call me in the morning, eh?”
He’s supposed to say yes doctor or some sort of thing to play along with the family doctor routine, but he isn’t up for it. Yusuf doesn’t linger, heads right back out, opening the door and making a comment about the chill before slipping away, shutting the door behind him. Eames pulls out the stopper as he heads to the back, where a cot is wedged between filing cabinets and a table drill. He treats himself to three tablespoons and kicks his shoes off before curling up on the cot.
When a smirking Arthur slaps him awake the next morning, asking what the hell was he snuggling up with--meaning the bottle nestled under Eames’ chin like a child’s teddy bear--Eames’ answer is to grab the point man and yank him down to the cot, exclaiming, “It’s lube! Let’s have a go, eh?”
Arthur escapes after a scuffle that leaves his sweater vest and hair rumpled and Eames can’t breathe from the elbow to his diaphragm. Ariadne can’t breathe from laughter and Cobb teases Arthur about knowing better than getting too close to strange men in bed and Yusuf’s eyes are fixed on Eames, glittering with amusement behind the Bunsen burner.
Feeling well rested and trouble-free and suddenly happy, Eames gives him a nod.
part three