Advice From Me To You - Inception - Cobb/Eames, Arthur/Cobb
Title: Advice From Me To You
Pairing: Cobb/Eames, unrequited Arthur/Cobb
Word Count: 2194
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: references to spanking, breathplay, and sex toys
A/N: Written for a prompt at inception_kink.
Summary: Eames comes to Arthur for advice about his sex life. Arthur really wishes he wouldn't.
There is really no reason for Eames to be staring at Cobb like that. Not while they are supposed to be working.
(Not ever, actually, but Arthur doesn't get much of a say in the matter.)
"Do you mind?" he hisses, teeth clenched, because the last thing that he wants to do is cause a scene. Cobb is at the desk on the other side of the room, pouring over plans with Ariadne. He takes a certain amount of delight being able to look at the mazes now without having to worry that his mind will undermine them. Arthur doesn't want to interrupt.
He does, however, want to wipe the lecherous look from Eames's face.
"I don't mind at all," Eames answers.
And waggles his eyebrows.
Jesus Christ.
"We're trying to work here."
"Actually, Cobb and Ariadne are trying to work," Eames corrects. "The others aren't here, and you and I are merely watching Cobb and Ariadne. I'm not being disruptive."
"You're disrupting me," Arthur states, and if it makes no sense he doesn't care. He's barely managing not to scowl.
"It's not my fault. Look at Cobb."
Arthur hardly needs to be told. They've both been staring thoughtfully at him for a good while now, even if Arthur is sure that his version of 'thoughtfully' is cleaner than Eames's. Possibly not by too much, though. "You can't blame this on him," he decides. Cobb looks as if he is barely even aware that they are still there.
"I certainly can," Eames says. "You don't know what we were up to last night. He's echoing it on purpose."
Arthur absolutely and completely does not need that image in his head. He doesn't want to think about what Eames would do with Cobb bent over a desk. It is all too traumatising.
"Please," he says, "Don't."
With a disaffected shrug, Eames falls silent. It is a blissful nothing. Arthur should have known better than to trust it.
It lasts for about ten seconds.
"That's probably why he won't sit down," Eames muses aloud. Arthur chokes on air and feels his eyes water. "I was fairly hard on him last night."
"Eames!"
"What?! He asked for it." Eames pauses. "Literally, I mean. He asked me to do it. I could hardly refuse, now could I?"
Arthur screws his eyes shut and wonders just how hard he will have to hit Eames to make him stop talking.
"It wouldn't have been polite to turn him down," Eames continues.
"I need some air," Arthur declares.
As he darts for the exit, as quickly as he can without looking weak, he has to pretend that he doesn't hear Eames calling after him - "I used a paddle!"
*
Arthur manages to make it for three entire days without having to hear any more details about the epic sex life of Cobb and Eames. He's pretty damn thankful for that.
Then, of course, fate decides to bite him on the ass.
He gets stuck in an elevator.
He gets stuck in an elevator with Eames.
It is almost tolerable for the first half hour, as maintenance assures them that they are on their way. They trade stories about jobs and bicker in a way that is enough to keep them both amused.
And then, of course, Eames has to ask him a question.
"What would you do if a friend you have sex with wanted to try something you weren't certain about?" Eames asks, picking at the corner of his nails.
Arthur clears his throat, has nothing to say, and so clears it again.
"He wants me to choke him," Eames says - because apparently stubborn silences mean nothing to him.
Arthur chokes too. It isn't the sexy kind.
"Cobb?" he asks, blinking. This isn't a conversation that he thinks he is physically capable of holding.
Eames glances up at him, and Arthur can't read the expression in his eyes. It is either mischief or worry. With Eames, there is a fine like between the two. "We don't have to name him if you don't want to."
"But I know now."
"Maybe I'm talking about someone else." Eames shuffles and rearranges his legs where they are sitting on opposite sides of the elevator. Arthur begins to feel that rescue will never come. "Someone else that asked me to choke them during sex. What would you do?"
"Not do it," Arthur insists. Eames has to be mad. "This is Cobb."
"Precisely. He wouldn't ask for it if he didn't want it," Eames points out, along with some pointing of the physical kind as he jabs his finger in Arthur's direction. "It wouldn't be fair to decline. He might go to someone else. Someone less trust-worthy."
It doesn't seem to cross his mind that Cobb might come to him. Arthur's self-esteem plummets down a few extra floors.
"I don't want to see him get hurt," Arthur warns - feeling like a protective father, even if the roles have never worked that way.
"What if he wants to get hurt?" Eames asks, rubbing the palms of his hands together for warmth even if it is in no way cold in here. "What then?"
There isn't much of an answer for that.
Arthur is happy to steer the conversation in more neutral directions.
(It is another two hours until anyone rescues them. Arthur fills the space by talking about Star Wars and what he had for breakfast.)
*
The next day, when he sees dark bruises half-hidden by the collar of Cobb's shirt, he can't stop his knuckles from itching, hands curling into waiting fists. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly, standing at Cobb's side in the warehouse while Eames and Yusuf talk to Ariadne on the other side, smiles on their faces - like they are all friends, like this isn't just work. Arthur is slowly starting to realise that they are never getting rid of each other. They are a team, now; teams seems to translate to family.
Cobb glances at him, distracted out of his thoughts. "I'm fine," he answers, as if he doesn't even know what the matter could be.
Arthur doesn't know how to tell him, how to force these thoughts out of his mouth.
He shakes his head and looks down at his shoes, shining black under the light. "You would tell me, right?" he asks. "If you were in trouble?"
"I always tell you," Cobb reminds him - not a break, not a pause, not a single second of doubt.
Maybe it really is true.
Arthur nods, and tries to fight off the unease, and bites on his tongue until it aches and he can think clearly again.
*
"Arthur!" Eames calls him over to where he is slouched on the couch, tapping lazily at his laptop. "I need your help."
That ought to be Arthur's first warning sign.
He heads over anyway.
"What?"
"I'm buying something. For Cobb." There is the hint of a smirk, briefly. "Help me choose?"
He passes the laptop over to Arthur - and there, on the screen, is an extremely large anal vibrator. 'Prostate massager', the website calls it. Whatever its name, it is bright purple, and there is no mistaking where it is supposed to go. For a moment, Arthur's mind is too overwhelmed by the thought of it nestled inside Cobb's ass, driving him to incoherence, to say anything more than 'nngh'.
"There's a silver one too. And a black one, for that matter. You seemed the best person to turn to for advice."
He is fucking with him. There is no possible way that this can be accidental, and the thought makes Arthur throw the laptop to the floor with sullen resentment. It lands with a smack that sends the battery flying: the screen turns black. He's tempted to stomp on it as well, just for good measure.
"That was expensive!"
"Good!" Arthur snaps in return. He can vaguely remember when he used to be the mature one out of the pair of them. "What did you think was going to happen?"
Eames expects to push and prod at people with no repercussions, but that isn't the way that the world works. Arthur is patient - that is his job - but even he has his limits.
"I thought you would help me," Eames answers, standing up - too close, too angry, with the smashed laptop at their feet. "You could have told me if you didn't want to. Smashing my computer is hardly constructive."
"You're doing this on purpose," Arthur says. He shoves at Eames's shoulder to make him take a step away - because it feels good, feels satisfying to nearly knock him off balance. "I don't want to hear about what you and Cobb get up to."
"Don't be such a prude," Eames growls back at him. "Maybe the reason he isn't fooling around with you is because you get your panties in a bunch at the mere mention of a -"
Eames doesn't get to finish that sentence, and Arthur is too busy staring down at his fist to fill in the gap himself. There is blood on Eames's lip, obscene and red as if it isn't real at all. Arthur's knuckles belatedly begin to throb.
He thinks he just punched Eames.
"Son of a bitch!" Eames exclaims, with his hand pressed against his lip.
Yes. Definitely just punched Eames.
Rather satisfying.
Pain belatedly explodes in his cheekbone as Eames smashes against it; and Eames has more experience in fist-fights than him. They tussle like schoolboys, kicking and pulling hair and ending up on the ground, rolling around like idiots. It is satisfying, even through the pain of getting his ass thoroughly kicked. He finally gets to feel something real.
*
A few hours later, Cobb comes to visit him in his hotel room. Arthur is relaxing, as much as he ever does; lounging on his bed with his shirt untucked, watching terrible television shows and moping about all his misfortunes. His face aches, and his hand throbs, and he has decided that Eames broke a few of his ribs. It hurts enough to seem plausible.
Cobb closes the door behind himself and throws some pain-killers in Arthur's direction. They land on the bed beside him with a rattling bounce.
"I've talked to Eames," Cobb says, moving into the room until he can sit at the end of Arthur's bed.
Reluctantly, Arthur mutes the television. The room falls eerily quiet. "I'm sure he came off like a saint."
"He's Eames. I wouldn't trust a word he said if he did." Cobb smiles, and it is sympathetic and easy - and Arthur wants to wipe it from his face. His life would be a lot simpler if Cobb would stop smiling at him like that. Sometimes, he thinks that he ought to find someone different to work with; someone distant. It would be better for his heart. "Are you okay?"
Arthur smiles, but it doesn't stick around for long. His face hurts too much. "Not really," he confesses.
"Eames is going to back off. I had no idea he'd been..." Cobb trails off and waves his hands vaguely instead of going into details about the content of their conversations. For that, Arthur is grateful. "He says he didn't mean any harm."
Arthur snorts. Eames can be annoying, but he isn't stupid. He must have known what he was doing.
"I'll leave it to him to give the proper apology - I just wanted to check that you were alright."
Arthur nods, wishing not for the first time that Cobb could be a bastard to him a little more often. The soft, caring treatment makes him imagine too much more - and yet the clues that he has unwillingly received from Eames tells him that that isn't what Cobb is after, not at all.
"Is he really what you want?" he asks; it's not his place to ask questions like that. He would blame it on the pain-killers, but he hasn't even taken them yet.
Cobb stares away from him, watching the silent movement on the television before he nods. "Yeah. He is. We're not saying it's forever or anything, but..." He trails off and then sighs. "It's fun. These days, I think that's what I need."
It would be hard to argue with that. For the last couple of years, Cobb's life has been so filled with heart-break that Arthur has lost track of how to protect him from it. He wishes he could be the one to offer fun - but, if it can't be him, at least it's someone he knows they can trust.
"Tell Eames I promise not to punch him again," he says reluctantly. "As long as he stops being an asshole."
Cobb rolls his eyes and settles down on the bed with him, toeing off his shoes first. "That's never going to happen," he points out.
"Then it looks like I get to punch him a lot more."
Cobb's elbow nudges him lightly in the ribs. "You don't need to look so smug about it."
"No, I really do," Arthur corrects.
They settle down and watch television together, relaxed and at ease, with the heat of Cobb's skin sinking through to him where they are leaning against each other. It might not be all Arthur could wish for - but it is enough, for now, to hold his heart together.
Pairing: Cobb/Eames, unrequited Arthur/Cobb
Word Count: 2194
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: references to spanking, breathplay, and sex toys
A/N: Written for a prompt at inception_kink.
Summary: Eames comes to Arthur for advice about his sex life. Arthur really wishes he wouldn't.
There is really no reason for Eames to be staring at Cobb like that. Not while they are supposed to be working.
(Not ever, actually, but Arthur doesn't get much of a say in the matter.)
"Do you mind?" he hisses, teeth clenched, because the last thing that he wants to do is cause a scene. Cobb is at the desk on the other side of the room, pouring over plans with Ariadne. He takes a certain amount of delight being able to look at the mazes now without having to worry that his mind will undermine them. Arthur doesn't want to interrupt.
He does, however, want to wipe the lecherous look from Eames's face.
"I don't mind at all," Eames answers.
And waggles his eyebrows.
Jesus Christ.
"We're trying to work here."
"Actually, Cobb and Ariadne are trying to work," Eames corrects. "The others aren't here, and you and I are merely watching Cobb and Ariadne. I'm not being disruptive."
"You're disrupting me," Arthur states, and if it makes no sense he doesn't care. He's barely managing not to scowl.
"It's not my fault. Look at Cobb."
Arthur hardly needs to be told. They've both been staring thoughtfully at him for a good while now, even if Arthur is sure that his version of 'thoughtfully' is cleaner than Eames's. Possibly not by too much, though. "You can't blame this on him," he decides. Cobb looks as if he is barely even aware that they are still there.
"I certainly can," Eames says. "You don't know what we were up to last night. He's echoing it on purpose."
Arthur absolutely and completely does not need that image in his head. He doesn't want to think about what Eames would do with Cobb bent over a desk. It is all too traumatising.
"Please," he says, "Don't."
With a disaffected shrug, Eames falls silent. It is a blissful nothing. Arthur should have known better than to trust it.
It lasts for about ten seconds.
"That's probably why he won't sit down," Eames muses aloud. Arthur chokes on air and feels his eyes water. "I was fairly hard on him last night."
"Eames!"
"What?! He asked for it." Eames pauses. "Literally, I mean. He asked me to do it. I could hardly refuse, now could I?"
Arthur screws his eyes shut and wonders just how hard he will have to hit Eames to make him stop talking.
"It wouldn't have been polite to turn him down," Eames continues.
"I need some air," Arthur declares.
As he darts for the exit, as quickly as he can without looking weak, he has to pretend that he doesn't hear Eames calling after him - "I used a paddle!"
*
Arthur manages to make it for three entire days without having to hear any more details about the epic sex life of Cobb and Eames. He's pretty damn thankful for that.
Then, of course, fate decides to bite him on the ass.
He gets stuck in an elevator.
He gets stuck in an elevator with Eames.
It is almost tolerable for the first half hour, as maintenance assures them that they are on their way. They trade stories about jobs and bicker in a way that is enough to keep them both amused.
And then, of course, Eames has to ask him a question.
"What would you do if a friend you have sex with wanted to try something you weren't certain about?" Eames asks, picking at the corner of his nails.
Arthur clears his throat, has nothing to say, and so clears it again.
"He wants me to choke him," Eames says - because apparently stubborn silences mean nothing to him.
Arthur chokes too. It isn't the sexy kind.
"Cobb?" he asks, blinking. This isn't a conversation that he thinks he is physically capable of holding.
Eames glances up at him, and Arthur can't read the expression in his eyes. It is either mischief or worry. With Eames, there is a fine like between the two. "We don't have to name him if you don't want to."
"But I know now."
"Maybe I'm talking about someone else." Eames shuffles and rearranges his legs where they are sitting on opposite sides of the elevator. Arthur begins to feel that rescue will never come. "Someone else that asked me to choke them during sex. What would you do?"
"Not do it," Arthur insists. Eames has to be mad. "This is Cobb."
"Precisely. He wouldn't ask for it if he didn't want it," Eames points out, along with some pointing of the physical kind as he jabs his finger in Arthur's direction. "It wouldn't be fair to decline. He might go to someone else. Someone less trust-worthy."
It doesn't seem to cross his mind that Cobb might come to him. Arthur's self-esteem plummets down a few extra floors.
"I don't want to see him get hurt," Arthur warns - feeling like a protective father, even if the roles have never worked that way.
"What if he wants to get hurt?" Eames asks, rubbing the palms of his hands together for warmth even if it is in no way cold in here. "What then?"
There isn't much of an answer for that.
Arthur is happy to steer the conversation in more neutral directions.
(It is another two hours until anyone rescues them. Arthur fills the space by talking about Star Wars and what he had for breakfast.)
*
The next day, when he sees dark bruises half-hidden by the collar of Cobb's shirt, he can't stop his knuckles from itching, hands curling into waiting fists. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly, standing at Cobb's side in the warehouse while Eames and Yusuf talk to Ariadne on the other side, smiles on their faces - like they are all friends, like this isn't just work. Arthur is slowly starting to realise that they are never getting rid of each other. They are a team, now; teams seems to translate to family.
Cobb glances at him, distracted out of his thoughts. "I'm fine," he answers, as if he doesn't even know what the matter could be.
Arthur doesn't know how to tell him, how to force these thoughts out of his mouth.
He shakes his head and looks down at his shoes, shining black under the light. "You would tell me, right?" he asks. "If you were in trouble?"
"I always tell you," Cobb reminds him - not a break, not a pause, not a single second of doubt.
Maybe it really is true.
Arthur nods, and tries to fight off the unease, and bites on his tongue until it aches and he can think clearly again.
*
"Arthur!" Eames calls him over to where he is slouched on the couch, tapping lazily at his laptop. "I need your help."
That ought to be Arthur's first warning sign.
He heads over anyway.
"What?"
"I'm buying something. For Cobb." There is the hint of a smirk, briefly. "Help me choose?"
He passes the laptop over to Arthur - and there, on the screen, is an extremely large anal vibrator. 'Prostate massager', the website calls it. Whatever its name, it is bright purple, and there is no mistaking where it is supposed to go. For a moment, Arthur's mind is too overwhelmed by the thought of it nestled inside Cobb's ass, driving him to incoherence, to say anything more than 'nngh'.
"There's a silver one too. And a black one, for that matter. You seemed the best person to turn to for advice."
He is fucking with him. There is no possible way that this can be accidental, and the thought makes Arthur throw the laptop to the floor with sullen resentment. It lands with a smack that sends the battery flying: the screen turns black. He's tempted to stomp on it as well, just for good measure.
"That was expensive!"
"Good!" Arthur snaps in return. He can vaguely remember when he used to be the mature one out of the pair of them. "What did you think was going to happen?"
Eames expects to push and prod at people with no repercussions, but that isn't the way that the world works. Arthur is patient - that is his job - but even he has his limits.
"I thought you would help me," Eames answers, standing up - too close, too angry, with the smashed laptop at their feet. "You could have told me if you didn't want to. Smashing my computer is hardly constructive."
"You're doing this on purpose," Arthur says. He shoves at Eames's shoulder to make him take a step away - because it feels good, feels satisfying to nearly knock him off balance. "I don't want to hear about what you and Cobb get up to."
"Don't be such a prude," Eames growls back at him. "Maybe the reason he isn't fooling around with you is because you get your panties in a bunch at the mere mention of a -"
Eames doesn't get to finish that sentence, and Arthur is too busy staring down at his fist to fill in the gap himself. There is blood on Eames's lip, obscene and red as if it isn't real at all. Arthur's knuckles belatedly begin to throb.
He thinks he just punched Eames.
"Son of a bitch!" Eames exclaims, with his hand pressed against his lip.
Yes. Definitely just punched Eames.
Rather satisfying.
Pain belatedly explodes in his cheekbone as Eames smashes against it; and Eames has more experience in fist-fights than him. They tussle like schoolboys, kicking and pulling hair and ending up on the ground, rolling around like idiots. It is satisfying, even through the pain of getting his ass thoroughly kicked. He finally gets to feel something real.
*
A few hours later, Cobb comes to visit him in his hotel room. Arthur is relaxing, as much as he ever does; lounging on his bed with his shirt untucked, watching terrible television shows and moping about all his misfortunes. His face aches, and his hand throbs, and he has decided that Eames broke a few of his ribs. It hurts enough to seem plausible.
Cobb closes the door behind himself and throws some pain-killers in Arthur's direction. They land on the bed beside him with a rattling bounce.
"I've talked to Eames," Cobb says, moving into the room until he can sit at the end of Arthur's bed.
Reluctantly, Arthur mutes the television. The room falls eerily quiet. "I'm sure he came off like a saint."
"He's Eames. I wouldn't trust a word he said if he did." Cobb smiles, and it is sympathetic and easy - and Arthur wants to wipe it from his face. His life would be a lot simpler if Cobb would stop smiling at him like that. Sometimes, he thinks that he ought to find someone different to work with; someone distant. It would be better for his heart. "Are you okay?"
Arthur smiles, but it doesn't stick around for long. His face hurts too much. "Not really," he confesses.
"Eames is going to back off. I had no idea he'd been..." Cobb trails off and waves his hands vaguely instead of going into details about the content of their conversations. For that, Arthur is grateful. "He says he didn't mean any harm."
Arthur snorts. Eames can be annoying, but he isn't stupid. He must have known what he was doing.
"I'll leave it to him to give the proper apology - I just wanted to check that you were alright."
Arthur nods, wishing not for the first time that Cobb could be a bastard to him a little more often. The soft, caring treatment makes him imagine too much more - and yet the clues that he has unwillingly received from Eames tells him that that isn't what Cobb is after, not at all.
"Is he really what you want?" he asks; it's not his place to ask questions like that. He would blame it on the pain-killers, but he hasn't even taken them yet.
Cobb stares away from him, watching the silent movement on the television before he nods. "Yeah. He is. We're not saying it's forever or anything, but..." He trails off and then sighs. "It's fun. These days, I think that's what I need."
It would be hard to argue with that. For the last couple of years, Cobb's life has been so filled with heart-break that Arthur has lost track of how to protect him from it. He wishes he could be the one to offer fun - but, if it can't be him, at least it's someone he knows they can trust.
"Tell Eames I promise not to punch him again," he says reluctantly. "As long as he stops being an asshole."
Cobb rolls his eyes and settles down on the bed with him, toeing off his shoes first. "That's never going to happen," he points out.
"Then it looks like I get to punch him a lot more."
Cobb's elbow nudges him lightly in the ribs. "You don't need to look so smug about it."
"No, I really do," Arthur corrects.
They settle down and watch television together, relaxed and at ease, with the heat of Cobb's skin sinking through to him where they are leaning against each other. It might not be all Arthur could wish for - but it is enough, for now, to hold his heart together.