Fic: Bartender, Make Mine a Big One (Inception, NC17)
title: Bartender, Make Mine a Big One
author: ilovetakahana
pairings: Arthur/Eames. Background/implied Mal/Dom and Ariadne/Robert/Saito [yes, really].
warnings: Basically, today, the Inception fandom has been going insane over this and this and OH MY GOD ALL THE GOOD FEELINGS FOREVER. So, yes, this AU.
This is a reworked/expanded version of this comment fic for cherrybina's latest sizekink post.
disclaimer: I don't own the original story or the characters. Not making any profit, just playing in the sandbox.
summary: A big burly man walks into a bar, and the bartender wants to hit that like the fist of an angry god.
Also archived at http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org.
"Bon soir, Arthur," the woman in the little scarlet dress called as she walked into the bar.
Hands still moving as he refilled the little dishes of peanuts placed up and down the counter, Arthur looked up in surprise - and smiled. "Mal," he called back, nodding as she swept up to him and offered up her cheek for a kiss. "You're early tonight."
She smiled mischievously at him. "Well, I have asked that handsome American from the university to come and have dinner with me tonight. And if the address I gave him just happens to be a tiny sophisticated bar with the best cocktails and food in town, well, I suppose I could be forgiven for being so naughty, no?"
Arthur stopped, then, and laughed, and he laughed even harder when the door into the bar's galley kitchen opened and out peeked the two cooks and the man who served as the bar's maitre d'.
"What's going on here? Hi, Mal," Ariadne said, waving enthusiastically.
"Must be a hell of a joke to get Arthur laughing that hard," Robert said, his own grin firmly in place.
"It is always good to begin a night with a laugh," Saito said, nodding formally to Mal. "I thank you, my lady."
"Pas de quoi," Mal said, breezily, and then she was turning back to him and she was regarding him with earnest eyes. "Darling, I am quite relying on your magic tonight."
"Tip me off when you find out what he likes to drink," Arthur said, "and I'll think of something. Deal?"
Mal nodded, making her flyaway curls bounce around her perfectly made-up face. "We have a deal, cher. Talk to you later." And as she walked away, Arthur suppressed another grin as she tossed off a zinger to the others: "Back to work, you lazy dogs!"
"She is in a good mood," Saito said approvingly. "Let us hope it lasts through the night."
"Well, we'll find out soon enough if her date works out or not," Arthur said, and dug through his ingredients section for the oversized glass containers full of lemon and orange juice.
"Last time her date bombed out, she ate all the ice cream we had hoarded in the fridge," Ariadne said, wincing with sympathy. "And she asked us to get more, too."
"Like I said, we'll know," Arthur said.
///
And that was how Arthur found himself concentrating unnaturally hard on the night's vodka martinis. Talk about mixed blessings: yes, he could make a vodka martini in his sleep, with one hand tied behind his back. On the other hand, this was his boss and her date. "Pressure, pressure," he muttered distractedly, as he mixed a handful of Bellinis for another table.
When Mal approached the bar for yet another round, Arthur gave her a mock-annoyed look before once again sending the cocktail shaker several times through the air, giving it a little English on each pass so the ice could sufficiently cool the drink, before presenting her with two perfectly frosted glasses.
She batted her eyelashes at him in supplication, before sliding off her perch and rejoining her squinting date in the corner.
That left him with an empty bar, the first lull in the evening, and he took a moment to check the bowls full of matchbooks placed up and down the counter. Everything was in its place. He smiled, and began wiping down his work area.
"Good evening. Could I bother you for a gimlet, please."
Arthur looked up - and felt his throat go suddenly dry.
The man sitting on the stool had the broadest shoulders Arthur had ever seen, big enough to almost strain the seams of the rather nice leather jacket he was wearing. Beneath that was a plain white shirt, and if Arthur squinted enough he could almost make out the outlines of several tattoos.
And he was beyond thankful he could look away and at his ingredients rack because, christ, trigger much? He could already feel his own heartbeat, racing out of control; Arthur had a Thing for men like that. All huge shoulders and muscled forearms, all tattoos and a seriously intoxicating don't-mess-with-me vibe that was even better than anything he could mix up behind this counter.
And this man was just plain giving off that thing, the thing that made Arthur want to simply climb him, to hang on to him and never ever fucking let go.
He was amazed that his voice came out rocksteady when he asked, "You asking for the traditional stuff or is it gonna be vodka for you?"
"Well, I'm surprised," the man said. "What do you prefer, then, darling?"
He had to thank the fact that he was actually working right now because, fuck, that was an actual English accent. This man was something right out of his fantasies. Muscles, tats, and now a knees-killing actual fucking accent! Arthur had to swallow discreetly before answering. "Gin, always." And with far more confidence than he really had, he started mixing, eyes fixed on his moving hands and stealing glances of the stranger's smile, his shoulders, his enormous wrists on the bar.
"Thank you," the man drawled, winking at Arthur as he took the gimlet. And, after the first sip: "This is good. In fact, it's criminally good. Care to tell me your secrets?"
"And then you're going to simply cut out the middleman, make your own gimlets, and we wouldn't be seeing you around here," Arthur said, eyes still down. Suddenly it was of paramount importance that he wash these used glasses, and wash them to a sparkle.
"I would never be so crass," the man laughed. "If I take the question back, will you carry on a proper conversation with me?"
Arthur took his heart in his hands, and looked up, and winked. "Yes, I would like it if you took the question back. As for the other part - well, why don't we talk after my shift and you can find out."
And then the man smiled, a gorgeous smile that showed all of his endearingly crooked teeth, and said as he held out his hand, "It's a date, then. Call me Eames."
Arthur took the offered hand in his, tried not to swoon at the sheer size of it, and said, "Pleased to meet you. I'm Arthur."
///
"Wow, Arthur, I know you're a really good bartender - but you realize there's this guy at the bar who's been grinning after you all night?" Robert had come out into the bar area to deliver Arthur's usual meal. Tonight it was neatly packaged up at his own request.
Arthur put a finger to his lips. "Don't jinx it, okay? Speculate all you want, and I promise I'll tell you and Ari and Saito all the details next time - but please, just wish me good luck and go away."
"That bad, huh?" Robert made an inquiring face. "Okay, wish, command, but expect payback."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "When have I ever not?"
///
There was a note from Mal under the cash register when they were closing up for the night.
"Thank you dearest.... And bonne chance."
///
Arthur looked at himself in the staff room's mirror one last time, and stepped out to the back door, where he'd told Eames to wait for him.
He was looking right at Eames's face when Eames raised his eyebrows, when Eames began to smile, when Eames looked him right in the eyes and said, "Are you going to be terribly offended if I skipped all the preliminaries and simply took you to my hotel room, right now?"
Arthur felt his knees shake in shock and delight and an absolute screaming rush of hormones. "I think I could forgive you, just this once."
And Eames was grabbing his shoulders, was crushing him close in a wild kiss - and christ, he kissed like no one else, all-needing, all-needy - and Arthur hung on, grabbed at Eames's shoulders and wound his arms around Eames's neck and kissed back.
///
There was something just plain amazing in watching a lover, a potential partner, fall to pieces just from looking.
Arthur was pretty sure he was going to shake himself apart, too, because he was in the elevator with Eames, and Eames was keeping his hands to himself, but he was staring at the fuzzy image of Arthur in a blue sweater, with his hair finally falling out of its gel and restraints, steel-rimmed glasses perched crookedly on his nose. And Eames was closing his eyes and then looking again, and there was all that restraint in his hunched shoulders.
Lucky that the elevator was so fast, and lucky Eames's room was so near the elevator, because it only took a few steps and Arthur was practically leaping into Eames's arms, and Eames was grabbing back with his huge hands, and Arthur was beyond caring - he simply yanked Eames down into a kiss, let himself be pinned against the door.
He had a moment to spare for the huge hand curved protectively around the back of his head - and then Eames was trying to get out of his jacket and Arthur moaned, loudly, when the leather hit the floor and Eames was flexing his muscles, showing off a little. "Like what you see?"
"Just a bit," Arthur laughed, and he was moving to take his clothes off - only to groan, loudly, when Eames's huge hands were on his, stopping him, and he glared and said, "What?!"
"Let me."
And Arthur quit feeling frustrated and went right back to simply wanting the hell out of this man, this Eames. Hands moving all over him, carefully stripping him out of his sweater and his pinstriped button-down. Eames making him turn around to face the wall, and those hands moving over his waistband, the zip of his trousers. Those fingers at the waistband of his briefs, pulling down his socks and getting him out of his shoes.
"Eames," Arthur said, almost in a whisper. "What the fuck."
"We'll get there, I promise," Eames said, and then, and then -
Arthur jerked forward, hit his head on the door, as Eames sank his teeth into the area between his ass and his thigh, tongue scraping roughly over the skin. "Unf, yes, god damn it what the fuck are you doing to me...."
Hands on his hips, turning him around, and he braced his weight on the door and looked down - at Eames and his shoulders, his huge muscles. Eames looking up at him, and smiling, and slowly getting up. Eames bracketing him with those arms, with his hands, and the only thing he could say was, "Get the fuck out of your clothes."
Eames grinned and obeyed.
"Fuck," Arthur said again, and put his hands on Eames's arms, on his shoulders. Fingers tracing the black swirls branded into his skin, and he leaned forward and licked Eames's neck.
Eames groaned, long and low and deep in his throat.
And Arthur began to explore him in earnest: flicking his tongue over the hollow between Eames's collar bones, pinching his nipples into hard peaks, spreading his hands over his ribs. Every now and then he'd go back to Eames's mouth, to his soft lips, for a teasing kiss.
Eames was getting more and more reluctant to let him go after each kiss.
Arthur passed his hands over Eames's cock, hot and hard and uncut - and that was when Eames growled and put a hand out to stop him. "Fuck - we can do everything else later, I want to fuck you, will you let me fuck you?"
"Not unless it's up against this door," Arthur said, dizzy with need.
The answer to that was Eames dropping to his knees, looking for the condoms and lube in the pockets of his jacket.
And then, and then, Eames picked him up - easily, effortlessly - and Arthur muffled his scream in the skin of Eames's throat, wrapped his legs around Eames's waist.
"That's it, come on," he heard Eames saying, and he prepped Arthur carefully, always ready to distract him with a kiss or a filthy word in his ear - and finally he asked Arthur to roll the condom on and Arthur obliged, shaking desperately now, and he pushed in slowly and this time Arthur didn't even bother to hold back his screams.
"So good, yes, fuck," Eames was muttering.
Arthur was on fire now, feeling like he needed to burst out of his skin - and he angled himself against the door, let it take his weight once again, and once he'd braced his shoulders for leverage he began to fuck down onto Eames's cock, hard and hot and it was amazing, he could just barely hear it when Eames began to shout his name. He never felt Eames's hands pressing bruises into him - all he knew was Eames's cock inside him, the high keening in his ears that meant he was so close, so close....
"Arthur, Arthur, so good, fuck!"
He felt it when Eames came and that pushed him over his own edge, screaming all the way down.
author: ilovetakahana
pairings: Arthur/Eames. Background/implied Mal/Dom and Ariadne/Robert/Saito [yes, really].
warnings: Basically, today, the Inception fandom has been going insane over this and this and OH MY GOD ALL THE GOOD FEELINGS FOREVER. So, yes, this AU.
This is a reworked/expanded version of this comment fic for cherrybina's latest sizekink post.
disclaimer: I don't own the original story or the characters. Not making any profit, just playing in the sandbox.
summary: A big burly man walks into a bar, and the bartender wants to hit that like the fist of an angry god.
Also archived at http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org.
"Bon soir, Arthur," the woman in the little scarlet dress called as she walked into the bar.
Hands still moving as he refilled the little dishes of peanuts placed up and down the counter, Arthur looked up in surprise - and smiled. "Mal," he called back, nodding as she swept up to him and offered up her cheek for a kiss. "You're early tonight."
She smiled mischievously at him. "Well, I have asked that handsome American from the university to come and have dinner with me tonight. And if the address I gave him just happens to be a tiny sophisticated bar with the best cocktails and food in town, well, I suppose I could be forgiven for being so naughty, no?"
Arthur stopped, then, and laughed, and he laughed even harder when the door into the bar's galley kitchen opened and out peeked the two cooks and the man who served as the bar's maitre d'.
"What's going on here? Hi, Mal," Ariadne said, waving enthusiastically.
"Must be a hell of a joke to get Arthur laughing that hard," Robert said, his own grin firmly in place.
"It is always good to begin a night with a laugh," Saito said, nodding formally to Mal. "I thank you, my lady."
"Pas de quoi," Mal said, breezily, and then she was turning back to him and she was regarding him with earnest eyes. "Darling, I am quite relying on your magic tonight."
"Tip me off when you find out what he likes to drink," Arthur said, "and I'll think of something. Deal?"
Mal nodded, making her flyaway curls bounce around her perfectly made-up face. "We have a deal, cher. Talk to you later." And as she walked away, Arthur suppressed another grin as she tossed off a zinger to the others: "Back to work, you lazy dogs!"
"She is in a good mood," Saito said approvingly. "Let us hope it lasts through the night."
"Well, we'll find out soon enough if her date works out or not," Arthur said, and dug through his ingredients section for the oversized glass containers full of lemon and orange juice.
"Last time her date bombed out, she ate all the ice cream we had hoarded in the fridge," Ariadne said, wincing with sympathy. "And she asked us to get more, too."
"Like I said, we'll know," Arthur said.
///
And that was how Arthur found himself concentrating unnaturally hard on the night's vodka martinis. Talk about mixed blessings: yes, he could make a vodka martini in his sleep, with one hand tied behind his back. On the other hand, this was his boss and her date. "Pressure, pressure," he muttered distractedly, as he mixed a handful of Bellinis for another table.
When Mal approached the bar for yet another round, Arthur gave her a mock-annoyed look before once again sending the cocktail shaker several times through the air, giving it a little English on each pass so the ice could sufficiently cool the drink, before presenting her with two perfectly frosted glasses.
She batted her eyelashes at him in supplication, before sliding off her perch and rejoining her squinting date in the corner.
That left him with an empty bar, the first lull in the evening, and he took a moment to check the bowls full of matchbooks placed up and down the counter. Everything was in its place. He smiled, and began wiping down his work area.
"Good evening. Could I bother you for a gimlet, please."
Arthur looked up - and felt his throat go suddenly dry.
The man sitting on the stool had the broadest shoulders Arthur had ever seen, big enough to almost strain the seams of the rather nice leather jacket he was wearing. Beneath that was a plain white shirt, and if Arthur squinted enough he could almost make out the outlines of several tattoos.
And he was beyond thankful he could look away and at his ingredients rack because, christ, trigger much? He could already feel his own heartbeat, racing out of control; Arthur had a Thing for men like that. All huge shoulders and muscled forearms, all tattoos and a seriously intoxicating don't-mess-with-me vibe that was even better than anything he could mix up behind this counter.
And this man was just plain giving off that thing, the thing that made Arthur want to simply climb him, to hang on to him and never ever fucking let go.
He was amazed that his voice came out rocksteady when he asked, "You asking for the traditional stuff or is it gonna be vodka for you?"
"Well, I'm surprised," the man said. "What do you prefer, then, darling?"
He had to thank the fact that he was actually working right now because, fuck, that was an actual English accent. This man was something right out of his fantasies. Muscles, tats, and now a knees-killing actual fucking accent! Arthur had to swallow discreetly before answering. "Gin, always." And with far more confidence than he really had, he started mixing, eyes fixed on his moving hands and stealing glances of the stranger's smile, his shoulders, his enormous wrists on the bar.
"Thank you," the man drawled, winking at Arthur as he took the gimlet. And, after the first sip: "This is good. In fact, it's criminally good. Care to tell me your secrets?"
"And then you're going to simply cut out the middleman, make your own gimlets, and we wouldn't be seeing you around here," Arthur said, eyes still down. Suddenly it was of paramount importance that he wash these used glasses, and wash them to a sparkle.
"I would never be so crass," the man laughed. "If I take the question back, will you carry on a proper conversation with me?"
Arthur took his heart in his hands, and looked up, and winked. "Yes, I would like it if you took the question back. As for the other part - well, why don't we talk after my shift and you can find out."
And then the man smiled, a gorgeous smile that showed all of his endearingly crooked teeth, and said as he held out his hand, "It's a date, then. Call me Eames."
Arthur took the offered hand in his, tried not to swoon at the sheer size of it, and said, "Pleased to meet you. I'm Arthur."
///
"Wow, Arthur, I know you're a really good bartender - but you realize there's this guy at the bar who's been grinning after you all night?" Robert had come out into the bar area to deliver Arthur's usual meal. Tonight it was neatly packaged up at his own request.
Arthur put a finger to his lips. "Don't jinx it, okay? Speculate all you want, and I promise I'll tell you and Ari and Saito all the details next time - but please, just wish me good luck and go away."
"That bad, huh?" Robert made an inquiring face. "Okay, wish, command, but expect payback."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "When have I ever not?"
///
There was a note from Mal under the cash register when they were closing up for the night.
"Thank you dearest.... And bonne chance."
///
Arthur looked at himself in the staff room's mirror one last time, and stepped out to the back door, where he'd told Eames to wait for him.
He was looking right at Eames's face when Eames raised his eyebrows, when Eames began to smile, when Eames looked him right in the eyes and said, "Are you going to be terribly offended if I skipped all the preliminaries and simply took you to my hotel room, right now?"
Arthur felt his knees shake in shock and delight and an absolute screaming rush of hormones. "I think I could forgive you, just this once."
And Eames was grabbing his shoulders, was crushing him close in a wild kiss - and christ, he kissed like no one else, all-needing, all-needy - and Arthur hung on, grabbed at Eames's shoulders and wound his arms around Eames's neck and kissed back.
///
There was something just plain amazing in watching a lover, a potential partner, fall to pieces just from looking.
Arthur was pretty sure he was going to shake himself apart, too, because he was in the elevator with Eames, and Eames was keeping his hands to himself, but he was staring at the fuzzy image of Arthur in a blue sweater, with his hair finally falling out of its gel and restraints, steel-rimmed glasses perched crookedly on his nose. And Eames was closing his eyes and then looking again, and there was all that restraint in his hunched shoulders.
Lucky that the elevator was so fast, and lucky Eames's room was so near the elevator, because it only took a few steps and Arthur was practically leaping into Eames's arms, and Eames was grabbing back with his huge hands, and Arthur was beyond caring - he simply yanked Eames down into a kiss, let himself be pinned against the door.
He had a moment to spare for the huge hand curved protectively around the back of his head - and then Eames was trying to get out of his jacket and Arthur moaned, loudly, when the leather hit the floor and Eames was flexing his muscles, showing off a little. "Like what you see?"
"Just a bit," Arthur laughed, and he was moving to take his clothes off - only to groan, loudly, when Eames's huge hands were on his, stopping him, and he glared and said, "What?!"
"Let me."
And Arthur quit feeling frustrated and went right back to simply wanting the hell out of this man, this Eames. Hands moving all over him, carefully stripping him out of his sweater and his pinstriped button-down. Eames making him turn around to face the wall, and those hands moving over his waistband, the zip of his trousers. Those fingers at the waistband of his briefs, pulling down his socks and getting him out of his shoes.
"Eames," Arthur said, almost in a whisper. "What the fuck."
"We'll get there, I promise," Eames said, and then, and then -
Arthur jerked forward, hit his head on the door, as Eames sank his teeth into the area between his ass and his thigh, tongue scraping roughly over the skin. "Unf, yes, god damn it what the fuck are you doing to me...."
Hands on his hips, turning him around, and he braced his weight on the door and looked down - at Eames and his shoulders, his huge muscles. Eames looking up at him, and smiling, and slowly getting up. Eames bracketing him with those arms, with his hands, and the only thing he could say was, "Get the fuck out of your clothes."
Eames grinned and obeyed.
"Fuck," Arthur said again, and put his hands on Eames's arms, on his shoulders. Fingers tracing the black swirls branded into his skin, and he leaned forward and licked Eames's neck.
Eames groaned, long and low and deep in his throat.
And Arthur began to explore him in earnest: flicking his tongue over the hollow between Eames's collar bones, pinching his nipples into hard peaks, spreading his hands over his ribs. Every now and then he'd go back to Eames's mouth, to his soft lips, for a teasing kiss.
Eames was getting more and more reluctant to let him go after each kiss.
Arthur passed his hands over Eames's cock, hot and hard and uncut - and that was when Eames growled and put a hand out to stop him. "Fuck - we can do everything else later, I want to fuck you, will you let me fuck you?"
"Not unless it's up against this door," Arthur said, dizzy with need.
The answer to that was Eames dropping to his knees, looking for the condoms and lube in the pockets of his jacket.
And then, and then, Eames picked him up - easily, effortlessly - and Arthur muffled his scream in the skin of Eames's throat, wrapped his legs around Eames's waist.
"That's it, come on," he heard Eames saying, and he prepped Arthur carefully, always ready to distract him with a kiss or a filthy word in his ear - and finally he asked Arthur to roll the condom on and Arthur obliged, shaking desperately now, and he pushed in slowly and this time Arthur didn't even bother to hold back his screams.
"So good, yes, fuck," Eames was muttering.
Arthur was on fire now, feeling like he needed to burst out of his skin - and he angled himself against the door, let it take his weight once again, and once he'd braced his shoulders for leverage he began to fuck down onto Eames's cock, hard and hot and it was amazing, he could just barely hear it when Eames began to shout his name. He never felt Eames's hands pressing bruises into him - all he knew was Eames's cock inside him, the high keening in his ears that meant he was so close, so close....
"Arthur, Arthur, so good, fuck!"
He felt it when Eames came and that pushed him over his own edge, screaming all the way down.