so I'm not entirely sure what this is.
but that's a lie. it's mostly an experiment for me to see if I could do it, and I did, so I thought I might as well share the fruits of my labor with somebody other than acountrymouse
so, as most of you know there is this band from Chicago called empires, and I kind of love them and their music a ridiculous amount. I also love the movie Inception a ridiculous amount. I am also pants at writing in the present tense, so I decided to challenge myself and I wrote 15 ficlets based on the songs from empires' first album howl (go download it, it's FREE and also makes wonderful accompaniment) all in the present tense. *hands*
title: ambiguous picture postcards
author: unrequited_rain
rating: pg-15 ish?
word count: 4678
fandom: inception
pairing: arthur/eames (for the most part. some are genish)
(more) author's notes: the title is from HOWL by allen ginsberg. and each ficlet has a tiny bit of (mostly implied) crossover that you'll only get if you're me. (not even acountrymouse got all of them) bonus points if anybody else can get some.
oh, and also these can be read in any order, they are presented here in the order they are on the album, but not in the order I wrote them.
Spit The Dark
"Do you trust me?" Eames whispers to Arthur one day in the locker room after the rest of the team had left.
"Eames, what..." Arthur trails off as Eames grabs his wrist and squeezes it tight. Arthur thinks of the past year and a half, of fighting and dying together, of bleeding out in each other's arms and going into free fall without chutes. "Yes," he whispers, turning his head so close his lips almost brush Eames' ear.
Eames' hand slides down and their fingers tangle together briefly before letting go. "Walker's. Eight o'clock," he whispers and is out the door, pulling on his leather jacket as he goes before Arthur can do anything but nod.
~*~*~
Eames is already at The Black Widow when Arthur gets there, staring into the bottom of a scotch and soda. Arthur slides into the seat next to him and a whisky neat appears in front of him. "They've been giving me... skills," he begins, keeping his voice low. "Innocuous things at first, juggling, some sleight of hand, to see if they could do it." Eames drains his glass with a long pull before he continues. "I can speak eight languages now, hack into the CIA mainframe, I can use types of hand to hand I didn't even know existed till now and god knows what else they've put inside my brain."
Arthur stares resolutely at the contents of his glass, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach growing as Eames goes on. He's heard rumors, whispers about men getting everything they need to do anything, become anyone. To become spies and sleeper agents and assassins in hostile countries and governments.
"Do you trust me?" Arthur interrupts.
Eames is quiet for a moment. Arthur knows he's thinking about all the same things he did earlier when Eames asked him the same question. "Yes," he whispers harshly, voice full of conviction.
"Run," he says, finally turing and looking at Eames. "Get out and run, I'll find you I swear, but I can't-"
"Arthur," Eames says, his voice breaking. Arthur want nothing more than to kiss him, but there are too many people in the bar, too big a chance to risk it, so he just clenches his fists till his knuckles turn white. Eames nods once, short and understanding.
"Good night Mr. Eames." Arthur hopes he understands everything it means.
Good bye. Good luck. Stay safe. I love you.
Eames nods. "Good night Darling." And Arthur knows he does.
I Want Blood
“That's a very nice suit,” the man pacing back and forth in front of Arthur says. “Are you one of their little pets they dress up and show off, or is it just camouflage?”
“I... I don't,” Arthur shakes his head then winces when it only makes him dizzier. “I'm a law student. I've got an internship at Williams and King. The law firm, downtown.”
“Fuck,” he mutters and looks at Arthur consideringly. “So what were you doing down here? You guys are a bit out of the price range here.”
“Uh, my boss, he uhm...” Arthur rubs his forehead, wondering why it was so hard to remember. “He sent me to find a witness. I think. It's hard to remember.
The man sits down across from him, a sad expression on his face. “Well pet, it looks like you've pissed off some very powerful people, or you know something you're not supposed to. Especially if Williams sent you down here.
Arthur felt his stomach drop. “What... what do you mean? My boss didn't just...”
“It means, love, that I just saved you from assassination by vampire.” Arthur looks at him in dawning horror. “But I couldn't let theme kill you,” he murmurs, like he's forgotten that Arthur can hear him. “Not when you smell so good.”
Arthur shrinks back and wonders what the hell he's just gotten himself into.
Modern Love
Eames gets up from the table and Arthur glares at his retreating back. The pit in his stomach grows when he sees the matching looks of appraisal from Eames' mothers and sister. “So, Francis,” Arthur winces at both her tone and his given name. “Exactly how long was it that you were jerking my brother around before you deigned to make an honest man out of him?” Arthur blanches and scans the room a bit desperately for Eames.
“Maggie,” one of Eames' mothers, Eliza he thinks, scolds from next to him.
She just rolls her eyes. “Sorry. I mean what's your family like?” Eames' other mom, Grace, sighs and shakes her head fondly.
Arthur looks for Eames one last time before he resigns himself to telling the truth. “My father's a city planner, retired now. My oldest brother is an FBI agent-” he turns and smiles gratefully when Eames brushes the back of his neck. “And my other brother teaches at Cal Sci. Hi.” Arthur rushes as Eames sits down.
“Did you drug the water Mags? I think that's the most I've ever heard you say about your family, Darling.” It's a lie, and Arthur is grateful for it. Eames knows exactly how far Arthur had to go to get out from under the thumb of the US Government, and why he did it. Eames changes the subject and Arthur brushes his knee against Eames' in silent thanks.
Valmont
They really were trying to stay out of the game after the Fischer job, honestly. But dreaming was addicting in a way nothing else could ever measure up to. So when the only reason to keep them from taking jobs becomes 'Don't you think two private islands is enough?' Arthur and Eames start working again. But everything is boring after the high of successfully performing inception, so when somebody from the original Project Morpheus crawls out of the woodwork, claiming to have the next best thing, they take it.
They get to DC, then the Captain and the two other people he brought in are murdered, violently and publicly, and Arthur and Eames have to get out of dodge before whoever it was finds them. They must not do a very good job, because two and a half weeks later a woman shows up claiming to have a job for them. She's ex-Mossad, left five years ago for reasons even Arthur can't find, and good. Very good, possibly a better extractor than Dom, only ruthless where he is insidious.
Her last five years are unnerving though, almost too clean, like they've been wiped rather than the result of flying under the radar. Arthur says as much to Eames, who agrees. Which is why they are only mildly surprised and mostly disappointed when they're picked up for questioning by federal agents a week later.
Believe!
Arthur listens to the leaves crunch under his feet as he walks through Central Park. He's supposed to be meeting Eames, but Arthur hasn't spotted him yet. He passes two men having such a painfully obvious secret meeting that he feels embarrassed on their behalf. He wants to sit on the bench next to the man hiding behind the newspaper, just to see what he'll do, but his phone rings.
“My cousin was terrified of the sound of crunching leaves as a child.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Pull the other one.”
“No, no I swear,” Eames assures him. “Hand to god, bloody terrified. We used to make these great big leaf piles, then make her listen while we jumped into them.” Eames seemingly melts into being from thin air and starts walking next to him.
“That's horrible,” he says putting away his phone.
“You say that, but maybe she deserved it.”
“Did she?”
“She liked to bite.” Eames winces at the memory. “And push people down stairs. She works for MI6 now, if rumors are to be believed.”
“While this is fascinating you didn't ask me here to tell me about your family.”
“And what if I did?” Eames asks innocently. Arthur raises an eyebrow at him and he capitulates. “Alright, alright. Business first.” He smirks and tucks Arthur's hand into the crook of his elbow.
Arthur sighs and rolls his eyes, but lets him.
Late Night Rendezvous
Arthur pulls into Eames' driveway at a quarter till 11 and when he gets out of his car he can feel somebody watching him. He looks around and sees somebody watching him in from a house across the street. He nods at them in acknowledgement, but they snap the drapes shut.
He goes to ring the doorbell, but it swings open before he could press the button. Eames grins and pulls him inside, pressing him against the door. “Did you make it here okay?”
“Yes,” he says absently while trying to unbutton Eames' shirt. “But I think your neighbor across the street saw me. Could be problematic.”
“Mrs. Kravitz probably.” Eames mutters into Arthur's neck. “Mad as a hatter that one, but I'll talk to her if you'd like?”
Arthur shakes his head and shoves Eames' shirt down his arms. “I think we have more important business tonight Mr. Eames,” he grins and wraps a leg around Eames' waist.
Warning Mark
“I hate you so much.” Arthur mutters into the bartop.
“Come on Arthur,” Eames says placatingly. “It can't be all that bad.”
“Not that bad?” Arthur echoes, peering at Eames over his arms. “Not that bad?” He stands up to more effectively loom over Eames, but he stands up too. “I am stuck here in this- this,” he gesticulates wildly and Arthur realises he is much, much drunker than he thought he was. “Town,” he sneers, soldiering on. “With no clothes, no money, no ID, and no way out.” He growls at Eames, punctuating each word with a shove till he has Eames pinned against a wall. “So don't tell me it's not that bad. I know exactly how bad it is.”
Eames draws in a ragged breath and Arthur notices several things in rapid succession.
The bar has gotten quiet and everybody is watching them. One of the cops that wandered in has his hand ready to go for his sidearm, but another man has a restraining hand on his arm. And then Eames...
Eames has his hands on Arthur's hips holding on tight and keeping them pressed together from knees to neck. Arthur can feel Eames' breath ghosting over his lips and his dick, not quite hard but getting there, pressing against his thigh.
“Just kiss him already, jeeze,” a woman mutters, clearly louder than she thinks she's being.
“Jules!” someone else whispers, trying to shush her.
Arthur tries to pull away but Eames' grip is strong and he can't. “Eames.” He means it to sound stern but instead it comes out breathy and wanting. Eames leans forward and presses a kiss to Arthur's bottom lip. Arthur lets his eyes flutter closed as he kisses back, and they ignore the cheers from the rest of the bar.
Don't Let It Fool You
Arthur races down through the levels, berating himself with every one for letting Eames do this one by himself. “He's a professor of Ancient Studies,” he says to himself, mimicking Eames. “What's the worst that could happen.” Arthur sighs after finding himself in yet another level in yet another historical time period. “I'm gonna kill him.”
Finally, after more levels than Arthur thought anyone could have much less keep stable, Arthur washes up on the beach of the most fascinating city he has ever seen. Most dream cities have a feeling of a real city, even though they're not copies, but this one feels like it could be anywhere and everywhere.
Arthur explores for hours, maybe days or months till he comes across a house that reminds him so much of Eames it feels like a punch to the gut. He runs inside, but Eames isn't there. When he leaves there's an Aston Martin in the driveway with the client, Adam, sitting on the hood.
“You must be Arthur,” he says, holding his hand out. “Maybe now that you're here he'll let himself get older and we can get out of here.”
Arthur frowns, puzzled. “You mean you know-”
“That we're dreaming and on the bottom of my subconscious?” Pierson smirks. “Yes, but that's neither here nor there. What matters is your man is waiting for you.” He presses the keys into Arthur's hand. “Through the forest, up the mountains there's a house. You'll know it when you see it. The road should take you there, but follow it even if it doesn't.”
Arthur stares at the keys in his hand, then at Pierson, who is melting back into the city. “Why are you-”
“Call it a favour,” he says as he disappears around a corner.
Arthur nods and starts the car, ready to go after Eames.
Under The Bright Lights
“We've got to get out of here Arthur, they'll find us if we stay.”
Arthur stays where he is, face turned up to the sky, tracking one of the satellites they've just sabotaged. “We did this,” he whispers. Eames can barely hear him over the gunfire in the building behind them.
“Yes darling, and now we have to go before the find us and kill us.” Arthur nods and they blend into the panicking crowd, letting it carry them away from the burning building.
Later, when they are a relatively safe distance out of the city they pull over and trade desperate kisses while the satellites fall through the atmosphere, setting the sky ablaze.
All Night Long
Arthur is eighteen when he graduates from the Salem Academy and is finally allowed to inherit his parents' estate. He has no interest in being a socialite, or whatever else is expected of him, so he packs up, seals the Salem and New York houses and moves to the Yellowstone house. It's larger than he remembers so he closes up the main house, moves into the caretaker's apartment and is content.
Until one night there is a new wolf in the forest. He's not from the pack that lives in the town just north of the park, he is far too wary and mangy, and they never stray this far south. They circle each other, but Arthur doesn't feel threatened or disdainful of the new wolf the way he was of just about everyone he's met. Instead he feels oddly proprietary. He wants to hold him down to feel him submit, wants to keep him here, wants to make him stay.
The new wolf takes Arthur's moment of navel-gazing to run off. He's good, he evades Arthur for nearly an hour, but Arthur's better. Arthur tackles him and they go tumbling across the ground. Arthur pins him, then notices he's gone stiff and trembling. Arthur immediately knows that if he tries to shake him out if it, that'll only scare him more, that he ran because he was scared, not because he wanted to play. Arthur rubs his nose on his neck, trying to comfort him, let him know he's not mad, that he's safe. The trembling slows and Arthur does it again and again till he goes limp underneath him. Arthur does it once more for good measure and is pleased when the other wolf gives him a content rumble.
Suddenly he leans up and licks Arthur's face, then squirms away and runs off. Arthur is so shocked he doesn't notice he's only gone a few feet till he comes back and nudges his shoulder. Arthur growls and pounces, pinning him easily. He leans up and licks Arthur's face again, as if to say 'See? You've still got me. I'm not going anywhere'. Arthur leans down and nips his neck. He arches, baring everything and something white hot and more than pleased runs through Arthur. It's satisfied and possessive and Arthur somehow knows they'll always be able to find each other. So when he squirms away and looks back at Arthur with a lolling grin, Arthur grins back and gives chase. Arthur's not sure what will happen when morning comes, but they'll be ready.
Midnight Land
When Arthur wakes up too early and without the intel they've been sent under to get, he's ready to bust a few heads. But then he realizes that Michaels and Parker are dead, Williams has taken a hit in the shoulder, they're surrounded by gunfire and they are well and truly fucked. He starts to sit up but Williams grabs his hand and pulls him to the floor just as another hail of bullets rains down on them. “Christ, Davis. Don't you get shot up too. It's not all it's cracked up to be, I promise.”
“I don't suppose-”
“They'd be here by now if they were coming,” Williams says solemnly.
Arthur nods and shivers despite the heat. “It's been a pleasure Captain.”
“Eames,” he says softly. Arthur is about to ask what that means when he speaks again. “Marcus Eames. I figure I can tell you the name my mother gave me, instead of the one the Government gave me. Since we're probably going to die and all.”
“Wesley Arthur Harrison,” he says holding out his hand. “The fifth.”
William- Eames coughs. “Well it's been a pleasure.”
“Arthur.” he supplies softly.
“Arthur.” Eames nods and grips Arthur's hand tight. They lay quietly, hands still clasped till they hear a helicopter. “What do you suppose the odds are-”
“Slim to nil.” Arthur says. Then he works up his nerve and leans over to press a kiss to Eames' mouth.
Eames groans and brings a trembling hand up to cup Arthur's face. “You have exquisite timing Arthur.” That forces a small laugh out of him and Eames smiles.
“Well, we've finally got a minute alone,” Arthur says dryly. Eames laughs, then winces. He brushes a kiss to Eames' palm as the back door breaks down.
“Somebody ask for a ride?” an almost familiar voice asks.
Eames tilts his head back. “Shep, what the hell are you doing?”
Arthur recognizes him as one of the Air Force pilots stationed at the nearest base. “Well, this British bastard saved my life one time, I figured I might return the favor.” Eames protests, but eventually acquiesces to being put in the chopper. As the ground gets further away Arthur wonders what happens now that they're supposed to be dead twice over.
My Poor Lover
The job is simple. Their client, a senator with presidential aspirations, wants to know if his wife, the mark, is planning on leaving him because of his affair. She's said she won't, but he doesn't believe her. It's easy enough in theory, but in practice it has proven to be much harder.
It's their third attempt because the client is still not satisfied, and Arthur still can't figure out how Eames talked him into this. They're in the Pendleton's DC town house, setting up an incriminating trail of clothes to the bedroom for the wife, Gwen, to find. Eames is wearing the client's, also named Arthur-- unbelievably enough, face. Arthur will be playing the part of the lover, and Mr. Senator has assured them that Mrs. Senator doesn't know what he looks like.
"I still say this is a bad idea," Arthur mutters, climbing the stairs.
"If you can think of a better way to find out how she'll react before thinking it through then I'm all ears Darling." Arthur glares, but keeps climbing the stairs to the master bedroom.
Twenty minutes later Ariadne calls to tell them she's just dropped off Mrs. Senator off, which means it's showtime. Arthur sits stiffly on the edge of the bed next to Eames who is already splayed out on the bed and looking at Arthur with hooded eyes. Well come on Love,” The senator says in Eames' voice. “She's never going to believe it with you all the way over there.”
Arthur sighs and lays down on the bed, then yelps when Eames manhandles him to sit astride his legs. Arthur glares, but Eames just smirks and thrusts his hip sup. Arthur, already unbalanced, tips forward and catches himself with his forearms bracketing Eames' head. “I hate you so much right now,” Arthur growls.
Fifteen minutes later there were three matters Arthur was dealing with. First, Mrs. Senator still hadn't found them, which meant that two, they were running out of time. The last was that Eames had a fucking filthy mouth. Well, the Senator had a filthy mouth and Eames' Senator had to live up to it. It was quite the disconnect to have Eames almost shouting for Arthur to 'ride him harder', then whispering the most random and inane things in between. He was fed up and so close to flipping Eames over to give him a piece of his mind when they heard a noise from the door. They sprang apart and wrapped the blankets around themselves, trying to look guilty rather than relieved.
“Gwen?” Eames asks cautiously. He gets up and wraps a sheet securely around his waist before opening the door. “Gwen! What are you-”
“You don't have to stop just for me,” Arthur hears a female voice purr before Eames lets the door swing open the whole way. Mrs. Senator is standing in the doorway, wearing four inch heels, black and purple lace lingerie and a shit eating grin. As she pushes Eames toward the bed the countdown music begins and Arthur can't remember ever being so relieved to hear it.
Keep The Mood
Eames watches Arthur as he makes his way up to the bar. They've been lying low for three days, but Eames still isn't sure if they've been followed. Arthur is however, which is how they've ended up at a bar down the street from their hotel, Arthur slowly getting pissed out of his skull. Eames usually likes drunken Arthur, he is more loud, more affectionate, more silly, more everything than the Arthur he sees when they work together. But tonight he just wants to bundle Arthur up and take him back to their hotel so Eames is the only one who gets to see him like this. And Eames has to stop that train of thought because it is getting dangerously close to creepy possessive boyfriend territory, all things Eames is not.
So Arthur is waiting at the bar and Eames is definitely not watching to make sure nobody is trying to get overly friendly with his point man, when a short, curly haired man slides next to Arthur. Arthur politely ignores him and Eames' jaw unclenches. The man soldiers on though, keeps smiling and touching Arthur regardless of the hole Eames is trying to drill into his skull with his brain. Then he says something that makes Arthur laugh and shake his head. Thankfully the bartender chooses that moment to show up with Arthur's drinks before Eames deems it necessary to drag Arthur back.
Then between one breath and the next Arthur is back and inexplicably sliding into Eames' lap. “I just turned down a threesome,” he whispers into Eames' neck. “And I'm not sure why.”
“Arthur,” Eames gasps, his hands tightening on Arthur's hips, keeping him there instead of just keeping him from falling. He can feel Arthur's breath ghosting across his neck sending shivers down his spine. “Arthur, what-”
Arthur pulls back, had hands coming up to cradle Eames' face. “I want you,” he whispers. His voice sounds harsh, like the admission has been ripped out of him.
Eames closes his eyes, hardly able to believe his ears. “Say that again,” he whispers so close their lips almost brush.
“I want you,” he says again. “I've wanted you for-” Eames cuts him off with a kiss.
Anywhere
“What are you doing here?” Eames hisses at Arthur. “The whole god damned military is looking for you. They've searched the house three times. Bradley himself gave orders for you to be shot on sight. What the fuck happened?”
“What did you tell them?” Arthur asks, ignoring Eames and going through the wall safe.
Eames glares. “That they're stupid because I haven't heard from you in six months and you could be anywhere for all I know. All true I might add.” Arthur's shoulders tense, but he nods and keeps rifling through the safe. “Arthur,” Eames says, turning him around and pressing him against the wall. His hair is longer than it's been in years and it's killing Eames how gaunt he is. “What happened? It was supposed to be three weeks, then you drop off the face of the planet and when you came back you're-”
Arthur's hands fist in the front of Eames' shirt and he notices Arthur's trembling. It scares him more than anything else in the past few months has and it makes him want to wrap Arthur up and hide him so nobody can find him. “Darling,” he whispers and Arthur breaks.
“I found something out,” he says to the floor. “About Bradley, something nobody should know. Or maybe everybody, I don't know. But he'll kill to keep it. He's done it before and he'll do it again.” He pulls back to look at Eames. “I can't stay here you know.”
Eames pulls Arthur back to him and kisses his temple. “I know. We'll figure it out.”
Hayley
Arthur's jaw drops in a little oh of shock and the blood starts blooming around the bullet hole in his chest. Ariadne watches as Eames jumps forward to catch him, cradling him as they sink to the floor. Arthur whispers something too quiet for her to hear over the gunfire, but Eames laughs wetly. “This isn't the first time you've died on me and I'll be damned if it's the last.”
She's startled out of her daze when Cobb knocks something over with a loud clatter. She springs into action, reaching into a cupboard behind her for a medkit, then kneels next to Arthur and opens it. “Eames,” she says, shaking his shoulder till he looks at her. “Eames I need you to take his tie off and tie it around his shoulder as tight as you can, understand?” He nods and she gets to work, field dressing it as well as she can to keep him from bleeding out. Eames watches her work, mostly worried for Arthur, but partly intrigued by her competence. AS she puts everything away, she follows a hunch, but still gasps when she runs her fingers over the SPENCER written in her father's blocky print. “This is a dream,” she whispers and for a split second there is a lull in the gunfire. It's barely noticeable to even a trained observer, but it's enough to confirm her suspicions.
“They've got to have us under sedation,” she says as they move another box into place.
“So if he dies then...”
“He goes to limbo.” Eames finishes quietly. “But how can you-”
“Because that bag is my father's. It used to be under a loose floorboard in his house in Wyoming till it got torched nine years ago.” Eames nods and sits next to Arthur as she goes back to the cabined and pulls out the PASIV case. “Good luck,” she whispers as Eames sets the two of them up, Arthur's head cradled in his lap. Ariadne watches over them as they slip under together, rifle ready in her lap just in case.
if anybody thinks this is worthy to be pimped out anywhere, go ahead :)
so, as most of you know there is this band from Chicago called empires, and I kind of love them and their music a ridiculous amount. I also love the movie Inception a ridiculous amount. I am also pants at writing in the present tense, so I decided to challenge myself and I wrote 15 ficlets based on the songs from empires' first album howl (go download it, it's FREE and also makes wonderful accompaniment) all in the present tense. *hands*
title: ambiguous picture postcards
author: unrequited_rain
rating: pg-15 ish?
word count: 4678
fandom: inception
pairing: arthur/eames (for the most part. some are genish)
(more) author's notes: the title is from HOWL by allen ginsberg. and each ficlet has a tiny bit of (mostly implied) crossover that you'll only get if you're me. (not even acountrymouse got all of them) bonus points if anybody else can get some.
oh, and also these can be read in any order, they are presented here in the order they are on the album, but not in the order I wrote them.
Spit The Dark
"Do you trust me?" Eames whispers to Arthur one day in the locker room after the rest of the team had left.
"Eames, what..." Arthur trails off as Eames grabs his wrist and squeezes it tight. Arthur thinks of the past year and a half, of fighting and dying together, of bleeding out in each other's arms and going into free fall without chutes. "Yes," he whispers, turning his head so close his lips almost brush Eames' ear.
Eames' hand slides down and their fingers tangle together briefly before letting go. "Walker's. Eight o'clock," he whispers and is out the door, pulling on his leather jacket as he goes before Arthur can do anything but nod.
~*~*~
Eames is already at The Black Widow when Arthur gets there, staring into the bottom of a scotch and soda. Arthur slides into the seat next to him and a whisky neat appears in front of him. "They've been giving me... skills," he begins, keeping his voice low. "Innocuous things at first, juggling, some sleight of hand, to see if they could do it." Eames drains his glass with a long pull before he continues. "I can speak eight languages now, hack into the CIA mainframe, I can use types of hand to hand I didn't even know existed till now and god knows what else they've put inside my brain."
Arthur stares resolutely at the contents of his glass, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach growing as Eames goes on. He's heard rumors, whispers about men getting everything they need to do anything, become anyone. To become spies and sleeper agents and assassins in hostile countries and governments.
"Do you trust me?" Arthur interrupts.
Eames is quiet for a moment. Arthur knows he's thinking about all the same things he did earlier when Eames asked him the same question. "Yes," he whispers harshly, voice full of conviction.
"Run," he says, finally turing and looking at Eames. "Get out and run, I'll find you I swear, but I can't-"
"Arthur," Eames says, his voice breaking. Arthur want nothing more than to kiss him, but there are too many people in the bar, too big a chance to risk it, so he just clenches his fists till his knuckles turn white. Eames nods once, short and understanding.
"Good night Mr. Eames." Arthur hopes he understands everything it means.
Good bye. Good luck. Stay safe. I love you.
Eames nods. "Good night Darling." And Arthur knows he does.
I Want Blood
“That's a very nice suit,” the man pacing back and forth in front of Arthur says. “Are you one of their little pets they dress up and show off, or is it just camouflage?”
“I... I don't,” Arthur shakes his head then winces when it only makes him dizzier. “I'm a law student. I've got an internship at Williams and King. The law firm, downtown.”
“Fuck,” he mutters and looks at Arthur consideringly. “So what were you doing down here? You guys are a bit out of the price range here.”
“Uh, my boss, he uhm...” Arthur rubs his forehead, wondering why it was so hard to remember. “He sent me to find a witness. I think. It's hard to remember.
The man sits down across from him, a sad expression on his face. “Well pet, it looks like you've pissed off some very powerful people, or you know something you're not supposed to. Especially if Williams sent you down here.
Arthur felt his stomach drop. “What... what do you mean? My boss didn't just...”
“It means, love, that I just saved you from assassination by vampire.” Arthur looks at him in dawning horror. “But I couldn't let theme kill you,” he murmurs, like he's forgotten that Arthur can hear him. “Not when you smell so good.”
Arthur shrinks back and wonders what the hell he's just gotten himself into.
Modern Love
Eames gets up from the table and Arthur glares at his retreating back. The pit in his stomach grows when he sees the matching looks of appraisal from Eames' mothers and sister. “So, Francis,” Arthur winces at both her tone and his given name. “Exactly how long was it that you were jerking my brother around before you deigned to make an honest man out of him?” Arthur blanches and scans the room a bit desperately for Eames.
“Maggie,” one of Eames' mothers, Eliza he thinks, scolds from next to him.
She just rolls her eyes. “Sorry. I mean what's your family like?” Eames' other mom, Grace, sighs and shakes her head fondly.
Arthur looks for Eames one last time before he resigns himself to telling the truth. “My father's a city planner, retired now. My oldest brother is an FBI agent-” he turns and smiles gratefully when Eames brushes the back of his neck. “And my other brother teaches at Cal Sci. Hi.” Arthur rushes as Eames sits down.
“Did you drug the water Mags? I think that's the most I've ever heard you say about your family, Darling.” It's a lie, and Arthur is grateful for it. Eames knows exactly how far Arthur had to go to get out from under the thumb of the US Government, and why he did it. Eames changes the subject and Arthur brushes his knee against Eames' in silent thanks.
Valmont
They really were trying to stay out of the game after the Fischer job, honestly. But dreaming was addicting in a way nothing else could ever measure up to. So when the only reason to keep them from taking jobs becomes 'Don't you think two private islands is enough?' Arthur and Eames start working again. But everything is boring after the high of successfully performing inception, so when somebody from the original Project Morpheus crawls out of the woodwork, claiming to have the next best thing, they take it.
They get to DC, then the Captain and the two other people he brought in are murdered, violently and publicly, and Arthur and Eames have to get out of dodge before whoever it was finds them. They must not do a very good job, because two and a half weeks later a woman shows up claiming to have a job for them. She's ex-Mossad, left five years ago for reasons even Arthur can't find, and good. Very good, possibly a better extractor than Dom, only ruthless where he is insidious.
Her last five years are unnerving though, almost too clean, like they've been wiped rather than the result of flying under the radar. Arthur says as much to Eames, who agrees. Which is why they are only mildly surprised and mostly disappointed when they're picked up for questioning by federal agents a week later.
Believe!
Arthur listens to the leaves crunch under his feet as he walks through Central Park. He's supposed to be meeting Eames, but Arthur hasn't spotted him yet. He passes two men having such a painfully obvious secret meeting that he feels embarrassed on their behalf. He wants to sit on the bench next to the man hiding behind the newspaper, just to see what he'll do, but his phone rings.
“My cousin was terrified of the sound of crunching leaves as a child.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Pull the other one.”
“No, no I swear,” Eames assures him. “Hand to god, bloody terrified. We used to make these great big leaf piles, then make her listen while we jumped into them.” Eames seemingly melts into being from thin air and starts walking next to him.
“That's horrible,” he says putting away his phone.
“You say that, but maybe she deserved it.”
“Did she?”
“She liked to bite.” Eames winces at the memory. “And push people down stairs. She works for MI6 now, if rumors are to be believed.”
“While this is fascinating you didn't ask me here to tell me about your family.”
“And what if I did?” Eames asks innocently. Arthur raises an eyebrow at him and he capitulates. “Alright, alright. Business first.” He smirks and tucks Arthur's hand into the crook of his elbow.
Arthur sighs and rolls his eyes, but lets him.
Late Night Rendezvous
Arthur pulls into Eames' driveway at a quarter till 11 and when he gets out of his car he can feel somebody watching him. He looks around and sees somebody watching him in from a house across the street. He nods at them in acknowledgement, but they snap the drapes shut.
He goes to ring the doorbell, but it swings open before he could press the button. Eames grins and pulls him inside, pressing him against the door. “Did you make it here okay?”
“Yes,” he says absently while trying to unbutton Eames' shirt. “But I think your neighbor across the street saw me. Could be problematic.”
“Mrs. Kravitz probably.” Eames mutters into Arthur's neck. “Mad as a hatter that one, but I'll talk to her if you'd like?”
Arthur shakes his head and shoves Eames' shirt down his arms. “I think we have more important business tonight Mr. Eames,” he grins and wraps a leg around Eames' waist.
Warning Mark
“I hate you so much.” Arthur mutters into the bartop.
“Come on Arthur,” Eames says placatingly. “It can't be all that bad.”
“Not that bad?” Arthur echoes, peering at Eames over his arms. “Not that bad?” He stands up to more effectively loom over Eames, but he stands up too. “I am stuck here in this- this,” he gesticulates wildly and Arthur realises he is much, much drunker than he thought he was. “Town,” he sneers, soldiering on. “With no clothes, no money, no ID, and no way out.” He growls at Eames, punctuating each word with a shove till he has Eames pinned against a wall. “So don't tell me it's not that bad. I know exactly how bad it is.”
Eames draws in a ragged breath and Arthur notices several things in rapid succession.
The bar has gotten quiet and everybody is watching them. One of the cops that wandered in has his hand ready to go for his sidearm, but another man has a restraining hand on his arm. And then Eames...
Eames has his hands on Arthur's hips holding on tight and keeping them pressed together from knees to neck. Arthur can feel Eames' breath ghosting over his lips and his dick, not quite hard but getting there, pressing against his thigh.
“Just kiss him already, jeeze,” a woman mutters, clearly louder than she thinks she's being.
“Jules!” someone else whispers, trying to shush her.
Arthur tries to pull away but Eames' grip is strong and he can't. “Eames.” He means it to sound stern but instead it comes out breathy and wanting. Eames leans forward and presses a kiss to Arthur's bottom lip. Arthur lets his eyes flutter closed as he kisses back, and they ignore the cheers from the rest of the bar.
Don't Let It Fool You
Arthur races down through the levels, berating himself with every one for letting Eames do this one by himself. “He's a professor of Ancient Studies,” he says to himself, mimicking Eames. “What's the worst that could happen.” Arthur sighs after finding himself in yet another level in yet another historical time period. “I'm gonna kill him.”
Finally, after more levels than Arthur thought anyone could have much less keep stable, Arthur washes up on the beach of the most fascinating city he has ever seen. Most dream cities have a feeling of a real city, even though they're not copies, but this one feels like it could be anywhere and everywhere.
Arthur explores for hours, maybe days or months till he comes across a house that reminds him so much of Eames it feels like a punch to the gut. He runs inside, but Eames isn't there. When he leaves there's an Aston Martin in the driveway with the client, Adam, sitting on the hood.
“You must be Arthur,” he says, holding his hand out. “Maybe now that you're here he'll let himself get older and we can get out of here.”
Arthur frowns, puzzled. “You mean you know-”
“That we're dreaming and on the bottom of my subconscious?” Pierson smirks. “Yes, but that's neither here nor there. What matters is your man is waiting for you.” He presses the keys into Arthur's hand. “Through the forest, up the mountains there's a house. You'll know it when you see it. The road should take you there, but follow it even if it doesn't.”
Arthur stares at the keys in his hand, then at Pierson, who is melting back into the city. “Why are you-”
“Call it a favour,” he says as he disappears around a corner.
Arthur nods and starts the car, ready to go after Eames.
Under The Bright Lights
“We've got to get out of here Arthur, they'll find us if we stay.”
Arthur stays where he is, face turned up to the sky, tracking one of the satellites they've just sabotaged. “We did this,” he whispers. Eames can barely hear him over the gunfire in the building behind them.
“Yes darling, and now we have to go before the find us and kill us.” Arthur nods and they blend into the panicking crowd, letting it carry them away from the burning building.
Later, when they are a relatively safe distance out of the city they pull over and trade desperate kisses while the satellites fall through the atmosphere, setting the sky ablaze.
All Night Long
Arthur is eighteen when he graduates from the Salem Academy and is finally allowed to inherit his parents' estate. He has no interest in being a socialite, or whatever else is expected of him, so he packs up, seals the Salem and New York houses and moves to the Yellowstone house. It's larger than he remembers so he closes up the main house, moves into the caretaker's apartment and is content.
Until one night there is a new wolf in the forest. He's not from the pack that lives in the town just north of the park, he is far too wary and mangy, and they never stray this far south. They circle each other, but Arthur doesn't feel threatened or disdainful of the new wolf the way he was of just about everyone he's met. Instead he feels oddly proprietary. He wants to hold him down to feel him submit, wants to keep him here, wants to make him stay.
The new wolf takes Arthur's moment of navel-gazing to run off. He's good, he evades Arthur for nearly an hour, but Arthur's better. Arthur tackles him and they go tumbling across the ground. Arthur pins him, then notices he's gone stiff and trembling. Arthur immediately knows that if he tries to shake him out if it, that'll only scare him more, that he ran because he was scared, not because he wanted to play. Arthur rubs his nose on his neck, trying to comfort him, let him know he's not mad, that he's safe. The trembling slows and Arthur does it again and again till he goes limp underneath him. Arthur does it once more for good measure and is pleased when the other wolf gives him a content rumble.
Suddenly he leans up and licks Arthur's face, then squirms away and runs off. Arthur is so shocked he doesn't notice he's only gone a few feet till he comes back and nudges his shoulder. Arthur growls and pounces, pinning him easily. He leans up and licks Arthur's face again, as if to say 'See? You've still got me. I'm not going anywhere'. Arthur leans down and nips his neck. He arches, baring everything and something white hot and more than pleased runs through Arthur. It's satisfied and possessive and Arthur somehow knows they'll always be able to find each other. So when he squirms away and looks back at Arthur with a lolling grin, Arthur grins back and gives chase. Arthur's not sure what will happen when morning comes, but they'll be ready.
Midnight Land
When Arthur wakes up too early and without the intel they've been sent under to get, he's ready to bust a few heads. But then he realizes that Michaels and Parker are dead, Williams has taken a hit in the shoulder, they're surrounded by gunfire and they are well and truly fucked. He starts to sit up but Williams grabs his hand and pulls him to the floor just as another hail of bullets rains down on them. “Christ, Davis. Don't you get shot up too. It's not all it's cracked up to be, I promise.”
“I don't suppose-”
“They'd be here by now if they were coming,” Williams says solemnly.
Arthur nods and shivers despite the heat. “It's been a pleasure Captain.”
“Eames,” he says softly. Arthur is about to ask what that means when he speaks again. “Marcus Eames. I figure I can tell you the name my mother gave me, instead of the one the Government gave me. Since we're probably going to die and all.”
“Wesley Arthur Harrison,” he says holding out his hand. “The fifth.”
William- Eames coughs. “Well it's been a pleasure.”
“Arthur.” he supplies softly.
“Arthur.” Eames nods and grips Arthur's hand tight. They lay quietly, hands still clasped till they hear a helicopter. “What do you suppose the odds are-”
“Slim to nil.” Arthur says. Then he works up his nerve and leans over to press a kiss to Eames' mouth.
Eames groans and brings a trembling hand up to cup Arthur's face. “You have exquisite timing Arthur.” That forces a small laugh out of him and Eames smiles.
“Well, we've finally got a minute alone,” Arthur says dryly. Eames laughs, then winces. He brushes a kiss to Eames' palm as the back door breaks down.
“Somebody ask for a ride?” an almost familiar voice asks.
Eames tilts his head back. “Shep, what the hell are you doing?”
Arthur recognizes him as one of the Air Force pilots stationed at the nearest base. “Well, this British bastard saved my life one time, I figured I might return the favor.” Eames protests, but eventually acquiesces to being put in the chopper. As the ground gets further away Arthur wonders what happens now that they're supposed to be dead twice over.
My Poor Lover
The job is simple. Their client, a senator with presidential aspirations, wants to know if his wife, the mark, is planning on leaving him because of his affair. She's said she won't, but he doesn't believe her. It's easy enough in theory, but in practice it has proven to be much harder.
It's their third attempt because the client is still not satisfied, and Arthur still can't figure out how Eames talked him into this. They're in the Pendleton's DC town house, setting up an incriminating trail of clothes to the bedroom for the wife, Gwen, to find. Eames is wearing the client's, also named Arthur-- unbelievably enough, face. Arthur will be playing the part of the lover, and Mr. Senator has assured them that Mrs. Senator doesn't know what he looks like.
"I still say this is a bad idea," Arthur mutters, climbing the stairs.
"If you can think of a better way to find out how she'll react before thinking it through then I'm all ears Darling." Arthur glares, but keeps climbing the stairs to the master bedroom.
Twenty minutes later Ariadne calls to tell them she's just dropped off Mrs. Senator off, which means it's showtime. Arthur sits stiffly on the edge of the bed next to Eames who is already splayed out on the bed and looking at Arthur with hooded eyes. Well come on Love,” The senator says in Eames' voice. “She's never going to believe it with you all the way over there.”
Arthur sighs and lays down on the bed, then yelps when Eames manhandles him to sit astride his legs. Arthur glares, but Eames just smirks and thrusts his hip sup. Arthur, already unbalanced, tips forward and catches himself with his forearms bracketing Eames' head. “I hate you so much right now,” Arthur growls.
Fifteen minutes later there were three matters Arthur was dealing with. First, Mrs. Senator still hadn't found them, which meant that two, they were running out of time. The last was that Eames had a fucking filthy mouth. Well, the Senator had a filthy mouth and Eames' Senator had to live up to it. It was quite the disconnect to have Eames almost shouting for Arthur to 'ride him harder', then whispering the most random and inane things in between. He was fed up and so close to flipping Eames over to give him a piece of his mind when they heard a noise from the door. They sprang apart and wrapped the blankets around themselves, trying to look guilty rather than relieved.
“Gwen?” Eames asks cautiously. He gets up and wraps a sheet securely around his waist before opening the door. “Gwen! What are you-”
“You don't have to stop just for me,” Arthur hears a female voice purr before Eames lets the door swing open the whole way. Mrs. Senator is standing in the doorway, wearing four inch heels, black and purple lace lingerie and a shit eating grin. As she pushes Eames toward the bed the countdown music begins and Arthur can't remember ever being so relieved to hear it.
Keep The Mood
Eames watches Arthur as he makes his way up to the bar. They've been lying low for three days, but Eames still isn't sure if they've been followed. Arthur is however, which is how they've ended up at a bar down the street from their hotel, Arthur slowly getting pissed out of his skull. Eames usually likes drunken Arthur, he is more loud, more affectionate, more silly, more everything than the Arthur he sees when they work together. But tonight he just wants to bundle Arthur up and take him back to their hotel so Eames is the only one who gets to see him like this. And Eames has to stop that train of thought because it is getting dangerously close to creepy possessive boyfriend territory, all things Eames is not.
So Arthur is waiting at the bar and Eames is definitely not watching to make sure nobody is trying to get overly friendly with his point man, when a short, curly haired man slides next to Arthur. Arthur politely ignores him and Eames' jaw unclenches. The man soldiers on though, keeps smiling and touching Arthur regardless of the hole Eames is trying to drill into his skull with his brain. Then he says something that makes Arthur laugh and shake his head. Thankfully the bartender chooses that moment to show up with Arthur's drinks before Eames deems it necessary to drag Arthur back.
Then between one breath and the next Arthur is back and inexplicably sliding into Eames' lap. “I just turned down a threesome,” he whispers into Eames' neck. “And I'm not sure why.”
“Arthur,” Eames gasps, his hands tightening on Arthur's hips, keeping him there instead of just keeping him from falling. He can feel Arthur's breath ghosting across his neck sending shivers down his spine. “Arthur, what-”
Arthur pulls back, had hands coming up to cradle Eames' face. “I want you,” he whispers. His voice sounds harsh, like the admission has been ripped out of him.
Eames closes his eyes, hardly able to believe his ears. “Say that again,” he whispers so close their lips almost brush.
“I want you,” he says again. “I've wanted you for-” Eames cuts him off with a kiss.
Anywhere
“What are you doing here?” Eames hisses at Arthur. “The whole god damned military is looking for you. They've searched the house three times. Bradley himself gave orders for you to be shot on sight. What the fuck happened?”
“What did you tell them?” Arthur asks, ignoring Eames and going through the wall safe.
Eames glares. “That they're stupid because I haven't heard from you in six months and you could be anywhere for all I know. All true I might add.” Arthur's shoulders tense, but he nods and keeps rifling through the safe. “Arthur,” Eames says, turning him around and pressing him against the wall. His hair is longer than it's been in years and it's killing Eames how gaunt he is. “What happened? It was supposed to be three weeks, then you drop off the face of the planet and when you came back you're-”
Arthur's hands fist in the front of Eames' shirt and he notices Arthur's trembling. It scares him more than anything else in the past few months has and it makes him want to wrap Arthur up and hide him so nobody can find him. “Darling,” he whispers and Arthur breaks.
“I found something out,” he says to the floor. “About Bradley, something nobody should know. Or maybe everybody, I don't know. But he'll kill to keep it. He's done it before and he'll do it again.” He pulls back to look at Eames. “I can't stay here you know.”
Eames pulls Arthur back to him and kisses his temple. “I know. We'll figure it out.”
Hayley
Arthur's jaw drops in a little oh of shock and the blood starts blooming around the bullet hole in his chest. Ariadne watches as Eames jumps forward to catch him, cradling him as they sink to the floor. Arthur whispers something too quiet for her to hear over the gunfire, but Eames laughs wetly. “This isn't the first time you've died on me and I'll be damned if it's the last.”
She's startled out of her daze when Cobb knocks something over with a loud clatter. She springs into action, reaching into a cupboard behind her for a medkit, then kneels next to Arthur and opens it. “Eames,” she says, shaking his shoulder till he looks at her. “Eames I need you to take his tie off and tie it around his shoulder as tight as you can, understand?” He nods and she gets to work, field dressing it as well as she can to keep him from bleeding out. Eames watches her work, mostly worried for Arthur, but partly intrigued by her competence. AS she puts everything away, she follows a hunch, but still gasps when she runs her fingers over the SPENCER written in her father's blocky print. “This is a dream,” she whispers and for a split second there is a lull in the gunfire. It's barely noticeable to even a trained observer, but it's enough to confirm her suspicions.
“They've got to have us under sedation,” she says as they move another box into place.
“So if he dies then...”
“He goes to limbo.” Eames finishes quietly. “But how can you-”
“Because that bag is my father's. It used to be under a loose floorboard in his house in Wyoming till it got torched nine years ago.” Eames nods and sits next to Arthur as she goes back to the cabined and pulls out the PASIV case. “Good luck,” she whispers as Eames sets the two of them up, Arthur's head cradled in his lap. Ariadne watches over them as they slip under together, rifle ready in her lap just in case.
if anybody thinks this is worthy to be pimped out anywhere, go ahead :)