New Fic: Life For Rent 1/1
Title: Life For Rent
Summary: A filler for a prompt at Inception_kink: "Arthur has an old hoodie he wears when he’s feeling down; Eames finds it adorable."
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Inception film
Rating: fluff, humor PG
While fishing about in his jacket for his door key, Eames stood outside his flat, staring absently into space. He was tired and as the key slid easily into the lock and turned with a resoundingly familiar click-click, he sighed pushing his shoulder against the door to open it.
The door was heavy and only swung open only a little ways. He bent down to grab the plastic handles of the grocery bags and used the weight of his entire body to coax the door open more so that he could slip inside. Booting it closed, he paused to take stock of the room. It was quiet and dark save for the muted light filtering in around the edges of the closed curtains. Mingling with the smell of coffee in the air was the scent of toasted bread which to Eames meant that Arthur was in residence.
Without feeling along the wall to turn on the light, he trod quietly and carefully to the dark kitchen nook and put down his packages. The toaster was still warm as was the coffee pot. Eames smiled a little and quickly rinsed his hands in the sink. Taking off his blazer and draping it across the back of the couch as he walked by, he went in search of Arthur.
The narrow hallway leading to the back rooms was dark, as was the loo, the two bedrooms and the den. There was only one sliver of light coming from beneath the closed door that led to Arthur’s study and when the door was closed, it meant that he didn’t wish to be disturbed. But, that never stopped Eames from barging in to distract and agitate the point-man.
“He must have some grand scheme going on in that head of his,” Eames muttered to himself and leaned against the wall beside the door.
With a quick press of a button, he illuminated the face of his watch. It was late, nearly very early in some circles and Eames was curious as to what it was that was keeping Arthur so occupied. After a swift and firm knock on the door, Eames opened it without waiting for a reply. What he found inside not only astounded him, but softened him. Arthur had not been sitting at his desk, still wearing his immaculate three piece suit and properly styled hair, pouring over scattered bits of paper as Eames had so whole-heartedly expected. No, Arthur was merely sitting in the easy-chair in one corner of the room. He had changed his clothing and was wearing charcoal coloured cargo trousers, a black jumper and a pale grey cotton hoodie with lime green stripes around the arms. Eames stopped cold and he wished that he hadn’t just breezed in when he caught the hollowed-out look on Arthur’s face.
This was not the Arthur he had come to know. It was not the decidedly meticulous and punctilious young man Eames had grown fond of, but someone else wearing his face. He looked exhausted and very eloquently blue.
A teasing remark died on Eames’ tongue. Taking a few hesitant steps towards the man sitting slumped in the overstuffed chair; Eames noted the half empty wine glass on a low table nearby. Next to the wine glass was a mug of black coffee and a small saucer holding the remnants of the buttered croissant Arthur had eaten. Eames looked back at the man, and waited for the sharp retort admonishing him on the callous and unwelcomed entry into Arthur’s private space. When Arthur’s only reaction was an annoyed sigh, Eames moved closer.
“What’s the matter?” he asked and cringed as how awkward his voice sounded. “Something the matter?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Arthur answered, his voice low and calm as he stared into the middle distance.
Eames slid his hands into his pockets and glanced around the room. There was nothing out of sort there, no trashed furniture, no torn papers or any other rubbish. Obviously Arthur had not flown into a rage over anything, which to an extent was good, though Eames would have preferred an angry and quite possibly murderous Arthur to the one who was quietly grieving the loss of happiness.
“Why not?”
His voice was loud in the dull silence.
Arthur’s eyes came up to meet his and then drifted away as if that one singular look would drive Eames away so that he could have his peace. He should have known that it would only draw the other man closer. Eames shrugged a bit and settled himself on the arm of the chair. He folded his hands and looked down at Arthur who remained motionless. Eames touched the shoulder of the hoodie and fingered the thin material.
“I’ve never seen you in this,” he commented.
Arthur grunted noncommittally and folded his arms, pulling away from Eames.
“It’s… cute, Arthur,” Eames teased, hoping to draw the man into an argument of sorts.
Seeing no reaction, Eames continued.
“In fact, it’s adorable on you and… oh look, it’s got a hood.”
He tugged a little at the hood and irritably Arthur glared up at him. It was a face that Eames was so accustomed to receiving that he laughed softly. The combination of that furious scowling expression and the soft grey and green hoodie was something he couldn’t bear. It was too much, it was too… innocent and oddly attractive. It made Arthur appear even younger than he was.
“What do you want?” growled Arthur, angry that Eames found amusement in mocking him.
“Well…” Eames began scratching at his cheek. “I want a lot of things, Arthur. But, first I want you to tell me what’s troubling you. You’re sitting here sulking and drinking and that’s not a great combination. Trust me, I know.”
“I should have locked the door,” Arthur declared and attempted to get up from the chair.
If he couldn’t get Eames to leave, he would be the one to leave.
That’s when Eames knew that Arthur had had more than his share to drink. His arms were a shaky and he was very slow to rise, looking like a man who at best had only a tentative grasp on his equilibrium. Arthur didn’t get far when Eames, who still had a hold on the hood, gave it a tug and pulled him right back into the chair. He landed with a soft ‘oof’ and deflated once again.
“Come on Arthur, darling,” Eames tried to coax him. “Please tell me what’s bothering you.”
Eames slid off of the arm of the chair and into a crouch right between Arthur’s spread knees. He smoothed his hands up over Arthur’s thighs and up to his hips where he hooked his fingers in the side pockets. Looking down at him, and feeling himself slowly giving in to Eames’ charms, Arthur sighed.
“Nothing,” he said quietly.
“You’re like this over nothing?”
Eames was skeptical, but in all his years of being able to read people right down to the bone, he couldn’t find a trace of deceit in Arthur.
“Nothing, specifically. I just feel…”
Arthur piteously struggled to find an apt descriptor of his vague despondency before lapsing into silence.
Eames understood and he nodded.
“So you wear your melancholy hoodie, drink yourself into mild…” he waved a hand at Arthur, “tipsiness and sit here listening to sad songs?”
Arthur stared at him and tried his damndest to keep the laugh that was tickling at the back of his throat from rising any farther. He hadn’t been listening to anything, but the notion that he would was hysterical. He turned his head away, but not before Eames saw that he had succeeded in breaking through the fog.
“Right, then what were you listening to, eh? Hm, let me see. Ah, yes, probably something like…”
He was silent a moment and then cleared his throat theaterically, making small wounded noises as he found the right pitch before haltingly singing, (*) Dido - Life for Rent
“I haven’t really ever found a place that I call home
I never stick around quite long enough to make it
I apologize that once again I’m not in love…
But it’s not as if I mind
that your heart ain’t exactly breaking
It’s just a thought, only a thought
But if my life is for rent and I don’t lean to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
Cos nothing I have is truly mine
I’ve always thought
that I would love to live by the sea…”
“Stop, God please stop,” Arthur laughed, pushing Eames back with his foot.
The song was a little too on the nose for his comfort and Eames’ attempt at high pitched singing just made it worse.
Eames tightened his fingers in Arthur’s pockets and pulled him closer as he rose up higher on his knees. Leaning in close, until their noses were touching, Eames whispered,
“Darling, it’s all right to feel sad. It’s all right… I promise.”
He kissed him softly at the corner of his mouth and then his cheek, still murmuring.
“It’s all right to have these feelings, yeah? I won’t tell Cobb though; you know how he gets… that maudlin bastard. Knowing him, he'd have us all weeping into our tea.”
Eames chuckled.
Arthur allowed the brief affectionate kisses and leaned his cheek into the palm cupping his face. He looked into Eames’ very pleased eyes.
“Let me make you feel better,” he suggested rising from his crouch and pulling Arthur with him.
Feigning being reluctant, Arthur dragged his feet.
“I just showered,” he complained and Eames tossed a careless glance over his shoulder.
“Then you’re saying that you don’t want cheering up?” Eames pondered and loosened his grip on Arthur’s hand.
Immediately those long fingers tightened around his and Eames suppressed a grin.
“No. N- no, that’s not’s what I’m saying. Let’s not be hasty,” Arthur said quickly.
Eames raised a brow and lowering his gaze, Arthur’s face flushed and he jerked his chin toward the door to indicate that he was indeed ready for the cheering up.
“Then don’t dally,” Eames whispered, drawing him close and kissing Arthur’s warm mouth. “I’ll make you forget your troubles, darling. And you can keep the hoodie on.”
-end
Summary: A filler for a prompt at Inception_kink: "Arthur has an old hoodie he wears when he’s feeling down; Eames finds it adorable."
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Inception film
Rating: fluff, humor PG
While fishing about in his jacket for his door key, Eames stood outside his flat, staring absently into space. He was tired and as the key slid easily into the lock and turned with a resoundingly familiar click-click, he sighed pushing his shoulder against the door to open it.
The door was heavy and only swung open only a little ways. He bent down to grab the plastic handles of the grocery bags and used the weight of his entire body to coax the door open more so that he could slip inside. Booting it closed, he paused to take stock of the room. It was quiet and dark save for the muted light filtering in around the edges of the closed curtains. Mingling with the smell of coffee in the air was the scent of toasted bread which to Eames meant that Arthur was in residence.
Without feeling along the wall to turn on the light, he trod quietly and carefully to the dark kitchen nook and put down his packages. The toaster was still warm as was the coffee pot. Eames smiled a little and quickly rinsed his hands in the sink. Taking off his blazer and draping it across the back of the couch as he walked by, he went in search of Arthur.
The narrow hallway leading to the back rooms was dark, as was the loo, the two bedrooms and the den. There was only one sliver of light coming from beneath the closed door that led to Arthur’s study and when the door was closed, it meant that he didn’t wish to be disturbed. But, that never stopped Eames from barging in to distract and agitate the point-man.
“He must have some grand scheme going on in that head of his,” Eames muttered to himself and leaned against the wall beside the door.
With a quick press of a button, he illuminated the face of his watch. It was late, nearly very early in some circles and Eames was curious as to what it was that was keeping Arthur so occupied. After a swift and firm knock on the door, Eames opened it without waiting for a reply. What he found inside not only astounded him, but softened him. Arthur had not been sitting at his desk, still wearing his immaculate three piece suit and properly styled hair, pouring over scattered bits of paper as Eames had so whole-heartedly expected. No, Arthur was merely sitting in the easy-chair in one corner of the room. He had changed his clothing and was wearing charcoal coloured cargo trousers, a black jumper and a pale grey cotton hoodie with lime green stripes around the arms. Eames stopped cold and he wished that he hadn’t just breezed in when he caught the hollowed-out look on Arthur’s face.
This was not the Arthur he had come to know. It was not the decidedly meticulous and punctilious young man Eames had grown fond of, but someone else wearing his face. He looked exhausted and very eloquently blue.
A teasing remark died on Eames’ tongue. Taking a few hesitant steps towards the man sitting slumped in the overstuffed chair; Eames noted the half empty wine glass on a low table nearby. Next to the wine glass was a mug of black coffee and a small saucer holding the remnants of the buttered croissant Arthur had eaten. Eames looked back at the man, and waited for the sharp retort admonishing him on the callous and unwelcomed entry into Arthur’s private space. When Arthur’s only reaction was an annoyed sigh, Eames moved closer.
“What’s the matter?” he asked and cringed as how awkward his voice sounded. “Something the matter?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Arthur answered, his voice low and calm as he stared into the middle distance.
Eames slid his hands into his pockets and glanced around the room. There was nothing out of sort there, no trashed furniture, no torn papers or any other rubbish. Obviously Arthur had not flown into a rage over anything, which to an extent was good, though Eames would have preferred an angry and quite possibly murderous Arthur to the one who was quietly grieving the loss of happiness.
“Why not?”
His voice was loud in the dull silence.
Arthur’s eyes came up to meet his and then drifted away as if that one singular look would drive Eames away so that he could have his peace. He should have known that it would only draw the other man closer. Eames shrugged a bit and settled himself on the arm of the chair. He folded his hands and looked down at Arthur who remained motionless. Eames touched the shoulder of the hoodie and fingered the thin material.
“I’ve never seen you in this,” he commented.
Arthur grunted noncommittally and folded his arms, pulling away from Eames.
“It’s… cute, Arthur,” Eames teased, hoping to draw the man into an argument of sorts.
Seeing no reaction, Eames continued.
“In fact, it’s adorable on you and… oh look, it’s got a hood.”
He tugged a little at the hood and irritably Arthur glared up at him. It was a face that Eames was so accustomed to receiving that he laughed softly. The combination of that furious scowling expression and the soft grey and green hoodie was something he couldn’t bear. It was too much, it was too… innocent and oddly attractive. It made Arthur appear even younger than he was.
“What do you want?” growled Arthur, angry that Eames found amusement in mocking him.
“Well…” Eames began scratching at his cheek. “I want a lot of things, Arthur. But, first I want you to tell me what’s troubling you. You’re sitting here sulking and drinking and that’s not a great combination. Trust me, I know.”
“I should have locked the door,” Arthur declared and attempted to get up from the chair.
If he couldn’t get Eames to leave, he would be the one to leave.
That’s when Eames knew that Arthur had had more than his share to drink. His arms were a shaky and he was very slow to rise, looking like a man who at best had only a tentative grasp on his equilibrium. Arthur didn’t get far when Eames, who still had a hold on the hood, gave it a tug and pulled him right back into the chair. He landed with a soft ‘oof’ and deflated once again.
“Come on Arthur, darling,” Eames tried to coax him. “Please tell me what’s bothering you.”
Eames slid off of the arm of the chair and into a crouch right between Arthur’s spread knees. He smoothed his hands up over Arthur’s thighs and up to his hips where he hooked his fingers in the side pockets. Looking down at him, and feeling himself slowly giving in to Eames’ charms, Arthur sighed.
“Nothing,” he said quietly.
“You’re like this over nothing?”
Eames was skeptical, but in all his years of being able to read people right down to the bone, he couldn’t find a trace of deceit in Arthur.
“Nothing, specifically. I just feel…”
Arthur piteously struggled to find an apt descriptor of his vague despondency before lapsing into silence.
Eames understood and he nodded.
“So you wear your melancholy hoodie, drink yourself into mild…” he waved a hand at Arthur, “tipsiness and sit here listening to sad songs?”
Arthur stared at him and tried his damndest to keep the laugh that was tickling at the back of his throat from rising any farther. He hadn’t been listening to anything, but the notion that he would was hysterical. He turned his head away, but not before Eames saw that he had succeeded in breaking through the fog.
“Right, then what were you listening to, eh? Hm, let me see. Ah, yes, probably something like…”
He was silent a moment and then cleared his throat theaterically, making small wounded noises as he found the right pitch before haltingly singing, (*) Dido - Life for Rent
“I haven’t really ever found a place that I call home
I never stick around quite long enough to make it
I apologize that once again I’m not in love…
But it’s not as if I mind
that your heart ain’t exactly breaking
It’s just a thought, only a thought
But if my life is for rent and I don’t lean to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
Cos nothing I have is truly mine
I’ve always thought
that I would love to live by the sea…”
“Stop, God please stop,” Arthur laughed, pushing Eames back with his foot.
The song was a little too on the nose for his comfort and Eames’ attempt at high pitched singing just made it worse.
Eames tightened his fingers in Arthur’s pockets and pulled him closer as he rose up higher on his knees. Leaning in close, until their noses were touching, Eames whispered,
“Darling, it’s all right to feel sad. It’s all right… I promise.”
He kissed him softly at the corner of his mouth and then his cheek, still murmuring.
“It’s all right to have these feelings, yeah? I won’t tell Cobb though; you know how he gets… that maudlin bastard. Knowing him, he'd have us all weeping into our tea.”
Eames chuckled.
Arthur allowed the brief affectionate kisses and leaned his cheek into the palm cupping his face. He looked into Eames’ very pleased eyes.
“Let me make you feel better,” he suggested rising from his crouch and pulling Arthur with him.
Feigning being reluctant, Arthur dragged his feet.
“I just showered,” he complained and Eames tossed a careless glance over his shoulder.
“Then you’re saying that you don’t want cheering up?” Eames pondered and loosened his grip on Arthur’s hand.
Immediately those long fingers tightened around his and Eames suppressed a grin.
“No. N- no, that’s not’s what I’m saying. Let’s not be hasty,” Arthur said quickly.
Eames raised a brow and lowering his gaze, Arthur’s face flushed and he jerked his chin toward the door to indicate that he was indeed ready for the cheering up.
“Then don’t dally,” Eames whispered, drawing him close and kissing Arthur’s warm mouth. “I’ll make you forget your troubles, darling. And you can keep the hoodie on.”
-end