[INCEPTION] Be My Vanilla Bean, PG, Arthur/Eames
A few hastily-scribbled Arthur/Eames ficlets that I posted to The Epic Fluff Meme and am reposting together because I am a bit anal about having things in one place for record-keeping. :D
Also, I've been off in DC the past few days living it up but thank you to everyone who left lovely comments on these over on the meme! ♥
Collectively titled, completely arbitrarily (with hidden depths of meaning, oh totally), the following:
Be My Vanilla Bean
Inception, Arthur/Eames, PG-13 overall
Ridiculous Arthur/Eames fluff with anniversaries, kisses, dragons, shouting on mountains, cupcakes, gifts, and (of course) cuddling.
"You fought a dragon for him?" Ariadne asked dubiously.
"I fought a dragon for him," Eames confirmed cheerfully, "and sustained terrible scars."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "He battled the customs of China and the US to get me fresh dragon-well tea leaves, then got a tattoo."
"I should be the big spoon," Arthur tells him, "because when you're the big spoon, I can't breathe at night, and if I should die, this relationship cannot continue."
"Well, darling, that's not precisely true--"
Arthur merely raises an eyebrow and stares at Eames, hard, because if Eames is implying that he is in any way into necrophilia, Arthur can very well end this relationship before he dies in his sleep from lack of oxygen, and it is to that look that Eames surrenders with a laugh.
When Arthur climbs into bed, well after Eames crawled in hours ago, he moves as carefully as his exhausted state will allow. Eames stirs anyway, a murmured hi on his lips as he shifts and allows Arthur to slide under his arm. Blindly, he grasps Arthur's hand with his and brings it to his lips, pressing a sleep-warm kiss to Arthur's palm, and Arthur relaxes as the tension in his body seeps away.
Eames thinks that he must love Arthur because he is doing ridiculous things for him, like climbing this stupid mountain so that he can face Arthur on the opposite mountain and shout things at him that Arthur can't hear because they are separated by two mountains in order to test something or other Arthur deems necessary for the job.
Still, Eames gets gamely to his feet and cups his hands around his mouth, shouting, "HELLO, DARLING. CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW."
Across the way, Arthur is shouting something back and it is probably only a stroke of luck that the wind shifts and carries it to Eames, who hears the faint, "I love you," and blinks, stunned.
Only stupid Arthur would confess to Eames when he thought Eames couldn't hear, and then make it absolutely impossible for Eames to close the distance between them to kiss him, unless he wanted to leap to his tragic death.
"I love you too, you idiot," Eames mutters under his breath, but he's grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.
For Eames's birthday, Arthur presents him with an unlabeled black box. His expression is impossible to read.
"Are you proposing, love?" Eames teases, but when he opens it to see what's inside, he visibly melts a little. "Oh darling," he breathes, vulnerable for a second, warm with affection, "you didn't."
Inside the box lies two 24k gold cufflinks and a matching, curving, elegant buttplug.
This is Earl. Continued by cherrybina here and here! Unf.
For their anniversary, Eames gives Arthur a scavenger hunt. It starts in the bathroom - Arthur gives Eames a skeptical look at that - with an envelope taped to the towels. Which are now monogrammed.
It ends with Arthur in Eames's arms, kissing him breathless and stripping him bare.
In between there might have been books of poetry and a new tie rack in their closet and a French press for the kitchen, but what matters is the underlying message: they're in this for the long run.
Arthur climbs into bed and bends down to kiss Eames, who makes sleepy, encouraging sounds as Arthur slides his hand down Eames's bare chest and between his legs.
And then sits up abruptly. "What the hell--" he says and yanks back the covers. A tiny bundle of soft white fur rests low on Eames's abdomen, purring.
Eames chuckles. "Oh, yes. Sorry, love. That's not my dick, that's a kitten."
Inspired by this picture.
Arthur looks at the roses and the champagne and the candles. "What's the occasion?" he asks, genuinely baffled. He rifles swiftly through his memories, desperately hoping he's not forgetting a vital anniversary. He doesn't think so.
Eames smiles beatifically and draws him close, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he wraps his arm around Arthur. "It's the day you made it official, darling."
Arthur frowns. "But that was three months earlier--"
"No, Arthur," Eames says fondly. "It's the anniversary of the day you confirmed that we were on a relationship on Facebook."
When Arthur starts getting suspicious packages in the mail wrapped in unmarked brown paper that he sneaks into the apartment like Eames isn't smart enough to figure it out-- Eames is unhappy. He tries to bring it up but Arthur always changes the subject smoothly or winds up distracting Eames with his mouth (admittedly, Eames is very susceptible to such distraction).
Eames doesn't want to be the kind of person to resort to trickery or spying on someone he should trust, so he goes with Plan G (Plans A-F ended up highly enjoyable sexual encounters but no answers): he makes a pitiful face, puts on the puppy-dog eyes, and asks.
Arthur is fairly susceptible to Eames too, when all is said and done. He turns red and he fidgets, but he answers. "I couldn't sleep at nights when you were away," he admits. "Or when I was away on a job. So I contacted Yusuf to see if he could help." He trails off and Eames cranks up the worried, anxious, you-can-trust-me elements of his expression.
Arthur caves.
"He made you a pillow spritzer that smells like me?" Eames repeats. But then Arthur is tensing, embarrassed, and Eames pulls him swiftly into his arms. "Oh Arthur," he says, mouths, breathes across Arthur's skin where he's kissing it, laughing. "Darling."
It is, in its own strange way, one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done. That it's Arthur, Eames thinks, kissing him until he's pliant and warm against Eames, has a lot to do with it.
"Oh my god you did not," said Arthur, horrified.
"What is it? What is it?" Ariadne slid over in her seat to peer over Arthur's shoulder at the gift he just unwrapped. "Oh my god," she exclaimed, "did you really?"
"That's a really professional looking calendar," Yusuf commented admiringly. "I mean, not the pictures, of course, but it's all put together very well."
Eames preened from the other side of the circle where they were opening Christmas gifts.
"I like July," Ariadne said as she removed the calendar from Arthur's stunned, slack grip. "You look really tan, Eames. Nice thighs." Yusuf leaned over to look too.
"Nice di--"
He was cut off when Arthur glared and snatched the calendar back with a curse.
"No one else gets to see Eames naked," he growled. He shoved the calendar under his arm.
"I love it when you're all possessive," Eames sighed blissfully.
Which inspired this amazing piece of art!! (leave comments here)
Arthur's in a sailor uniform. His skirt is ridiculously tiny. To say he looks unhappy would be an understatement.
"Cheer up," says Eames, but he doesn't have any room to talk because he's in a fitted black tuxedo with a mask.
Arthur's got a tiara with a crescent moon.
"Ariadne's banned for dreaming for at least a month," he says flatly. He didn't think she was even old enough to remember Sailor Moon.
With much better continuations here by others!
"Eskimo kisses," Eames whispers, rubbing their noses together.
"Butterfly kisses," he murmurs, tickling Arthur's cheeks with his eyelashes.
"Arthur kisses," he finishes, breathing light and damp across Arthur's ear before skimming the edge with his lips.
Arthur shudders beneath him, a fine tremble, then winds his fingers through Eames's hair and drags their mouths together for an altogether different kind of kiss.
In which Eames sometimes has trouble with feelings and Arthur knows everything. So he writes a book of helpful hints for Eames.
HOW TO TELL IF YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH ARTHUR:
When you don't just buy me coffee, you buy me a /French press./
When you refuse to forge my signature.
When you make me roll up my shirt sleeves just so you can help me put the cuff links back in later, fingers lingering over my wrist.
When you steal me art even though I make you put it back.
When you find yourself smiling just because I'm smiling.
The condo smells like sugar and vanilla when Arthur walks in. He drops his keys on the hall table and toes off his shoes, padding silently towards the kitchen, which his nose tells him is the source of the delicious aromas.
Eames is bent over a rack of cupcakes, brow furrowed in concentration as he squeezes pink icing out of a makeshift sandwich bag tube. There's flour on his elbow and a smear of chocolate across his cheek. His red-and-white checked apron looks worse for the wear. He's making tiny pink flowers in the center of each cupcake.
Arthur leans against the counter and tucks his hands in his pockets, smiling softly. "I feel like I've been transported to the 1950s," he says.
Eames looks up and grins at him. "And how was work, dear? Dinner will be ready in a moment."
With a laugh, Arthur crosses over to Eames's side and kisses away the smear of chocolate. His eyes twinkle, teasing. "I was thinking we could have dessert first."
2010.10.07 | ...I wrote more than I expected. WELL, HERE IS TO ADORABLE FLUFF. MAY IT ALWAYS HAVE A PLACE IN THIS FANDOM AND OUR HEARTS. :3
Also, I've been off in DC the past few days living it up but thank you to everyone who left lovely comments on these over on the meme! ♥
Collectively titled, completely arbitrarily (with hidden depths of meaning, oh totally), the following:
Be My Vanilla Bean
Inception, Arthur/Eames, PG-13 overall
Ridiculous Arthur/Eames fluff with anniversaries, kisses, dragons, shouting on mountains, cupcakes, gifts, and (of course) cuddling.
"You fought a dragon for him?" Ariadne asked dubiously.
"I fought a dragon for him," Eames confirmed cheerfully, "and sustained terrible scars."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "He battled the customs of China and the US to get me fresh dragon-well tea leaves, then got a tattoo."
"I should be the big spoon," Arthur tells him, "because when you're the big spoon, I can't breathe at night, and if I should die, this relationship cannot continue."
"Well, darling, that's not precisely true--"
Arthur merely raises an eyebrow and stares at Eames, hard, because if Eames is implying that he is in any way into necrophilia, Arthur can very well end this relationship before he dies in his sleep from lack of oxygen, and it is to that look that Eames surrenders with a laugh.
When Arthur climbs into bed, well after Eames crawled in hours ago, he moves as carefully as his exhausted state will allow. Eames stirs anyway, a murmured hi on his lips as he shifts and allows Arthur to slide under his arm. Blindly, he grasps Arthur's hand with his and brings it to his lips, pressing a sleep-warm kiss to Arthur's palm, and Arthur relaxes as the tension in his body seeps away.
Eames thinks that he must love Arthur because he is doing ridiculous things for him, like climbing this stupid mountain so that he can face Arthur on the opposite mountain and shout things at him that Arthur can't hear because they are separated by two mountains in order to test something or other Arthur deems necessary for the job.
Still, Eames gets gamely to his feet and cups his hands around his mouth, shouting, "HELLO, DARLING. CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW."
Across the way, Arthur is shouting something back and it is probably only a stroke of luck that the wind shifts and carries it to Eames, who hears the faint, "I love you," and blinks, stunned.
Only stupid Arthur would confess to Eames when he thought Eames couldn't hear, and then make it absolutely impossible for Eames to close the distance between them to kiss him, unless he wanted to leap to his tragic death.
"I love you too, you idiot," Eames mutters under his breath, but he's grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.
For Eames's birthday, Arthur presents him with an unlabeled black box. His expression is impossible to read.
"Are you proposing, love?" Eames teases, but when he opens it to see what's inside, he visibly melts a little. "Oh darling," he breathes, vulnerable for a second, warm with affection, "you didn't."
Inside the box lies two 24k gold cufflinks and a matching, curving, elegant buttplug.
This is Earl. Continued by cherrybina here and here! Unf.
For their anniversary, Eames gives Arthur a scavenger hunt. It starts in the bathroom - Arthur gives Eames a skeptical look at that - with an envelope taped to the towels. Which are now monogrammed.
It ends with Arthur in Eames's arms, kissing him breathless and stripping him bare.
In between there might have been books of poetry and a new tie rack in their closet and a French press for the kitchen, but what matters is the underlying message: they're in this for the long run.
Arthur climbs into bed and bends down to kiss Eames, who makes sleepy, encouraging sounds as Arthur slides his hand down Eames's bare chest and between his legs.
And then sits up abruptly. "What the hell--" he says and yanks back the covers. A tiny bundle of soft white fur rests low on Eames's abdomen, purring.
Eames chuckles. "Oh, yes. Sorry, love. That's not my dick, that's a kitten."
Inspired by this picture.
Arthur looks at the roses and the champagne and the candles. "What's the occasion?" he asks, genuinely baffled. He rifles swiftly through his memories, desperately hoping he's not forgetting a vital anniversary. He doesn't think so.
Eames smiles beatifically and draws him close, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he wraps his arm around Arthur. "It's the day you made it official, darling."
Arthur frowns. "But that was three months earlier--"
"No, Arthur," Eames says fondly. "It's the anniversary of the day you confirmed that we were on a relationship on Facebook."
When Arthur starts getting suspicious packages in the mail wrapped in unmarked brown paper that he sneaks into the apartment like Eames isn't smart enough to figure it out-- Eames is unhappy. He tries to bring it up but Arthur always changes the subject smoothly or winds up distracting Eames with his mouth (admittedly, Eames is very susceptible to such distraction).
Eames doesn't want to be the kind of person to resort to trickery or spying on someone he should trust, so he goes with Plan G (Plans A-F ended up highly enjoyable sexual encounters but no answers): he makes a pitiful face, puts on the puppy-dog eyes, and asks.
Arthur is fairly susceptible to Eames too, when all is said and done. He turns red and he fidgets, but he answers. "I couldn't sleep at nights when you were away," he admits. "Or when I was away on a job. So I contacted Yusuf to see if he could help." He trails off and Eames cranks up the worried, anxious, you-can-trust-me elements of his expression.
Arthur caves.
"He made you a pillow spritzer that smells like me?" Eames repeats. But then Arthur is tensing, embarrassed, and Eames pulls him swiftly into his arms. "Oh Arthur," he says, mouths, breathes across Arthur's skin where he's kissing it, laughing. "Darling."
It is, in its own strange way, one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done. That it's Arthur, Eames thinks, kissing him until he's pliant and warm against Eames, has a lot to do with it.
"Oh my god you did not," said Arthur, horrified.
"What is it? What is it?" Ariadne slid over in her seat to peer over Arthur's shoulder at the gift he just unwrapped. "Oh my god," she exclaimed, "did you really?"
"That's a really professional looking calendar," Yusuf commented admiringly. "I mean, not the pictures, of course, but it's all put together very well."
Eames preened from the other side of the circle where they were opening Christmas gifts.
"I like July," Ariadne said as she removed the calendar from Arthur's stunned, slack grip. "You look really tan, Eames. Nice thighs." Yusuf leaned over to look too.
"Nice di--"
He was cut off when Arthur glared and snatched the calendar back with a curse.
"No one else gets to see Eames naked," he growled. He shoved the calendar under his arm.
"I love it when you're all possessive," Eames sighed blissfully.
Which inspired this amazing piece of art!! (leave comments here)
Arthur's in a sailor uniform. His skirt is ridiculously tiny. To say he looks unhappy would be an understatement.
"Cheer up," says Eames, but he doesn't have any room to talk because he's in a fitted black tuxedo with a mask.
Arthur's got a tiara with a crescent moon.
"Ariadne's banned for dreaming for at least a month," he says flatly. He didn't think she was even old enough to remember Sailor Moon.
With much better continuations here by others!
"Eskimo kisses," Eames whispers, rubbing their noses together.
"Butterfly kisses," he murmurs, tickling Arthur's cheeks with his eyelashes.
"Arthur kisses," he finishes, breathing light and damp across Arthur's ear before skimming the edge with his lips.
Arthur shudders beneath him, a fine tremble, then winds his fingers through Eames's hair and drags their mouths together for an altogether different kind of kiss.
In which Eames sometimes has trouble with feelings and Arthur knows everything. So he writes a book of helpful hints for Eames.
HOW TO TELL IF YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH ARTHUR:
When you don't just buy me coffee, you buy me a /French press./
When you refuse to forge my signature.
When you make me roll up my shirt sleeves just so you can help me put the cuff links back in later, fingers lingering over my wrist.
When you steal me art even though I make you put it back.
When you find yourself smiling just because I'm smiling.
The condo smells like sugar and vanilla when Arthur walks in. He drops his keys on the hall table and toes off his shoes, padding silently towards the kitchen, which his nose tells him is the source of the delicious aromas.
Eames is bent over a rack of cupcakes, brow furrowed in concentration as he squeezes pink icing out of a makeshift sandwich bag tube. There's flour on his elbow and a smear of chocolate across his cheek. His red-and-white checked apron looks worse for the wear. He's making tiny pink flowers in the center of each cupcake.
Arthur leans against the counter and tucks his hands in his pockets, smiling softly. "I feel like I've been transported to the 1950s," he says.
Eames looks up and grins at him. "And how was work, dear? Dinner will be ready in a moment."
With a laugh, Arthur crosses over to Eames's side and kisses away the smear of chocolate. His eyes twinkle, teasing. "I was thinking we could have dessert first."
2010.10.07 | ...I wrote more than I expected. WELL, HERE IS TO ADORABLE FLUFF. MAY IT ALWAYS HAVE A PLACE IN THIS FANDOM AND OUR HEARTS. :3