Fic: The pleasure, the privilege is mine (Inception, R)
title: The pleasure, the privilege is mine
author: ilovetakahana
pairings: Arthur/Eames, mentioned Dom/Mal.
warnings: underage boys making out, use of cannabis and the possibly unrealistic depiction of the effects and reactions thereof, implied domestic neglect, implied antisocial behavior.
Otherwise this is an AU tale of two BBs being in love, being stoned, and trying to be happy together.
Written for batmanboxers and photoclerk.
Title and cut text taken from the Smiths: "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out", which inspired this whole damn thing.
Also archived at http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org.
There's a loud click, and silence.
Arthur sighs and puts his hands over his face.
He's been sitting here in the dark for the past hour, waiting for the others in the house to stumble off to their rooms. Drunk, drugged, desperate, he doesn't really care. He just wants them all gone: his foster parents who don't actually see him. His adopted sister, who is still too young to run with his friends. An uncle who's not even related to anyone else in the house, home from the military and drinking himself into oblivion.
Everything is ready and waiting under the bed, and he pulls out a battered backpack, a brown jacket that's three sizes too big for him. He puts his glasses in their case, the case in one of his pockets.
Tiptoeing around his room, Arthur makes sure he's locked and barricaded his door - a chair wedged under the doorknob, two deadbolts in place - and then he sneaks over to his window, watching the empty street.
Sound of a faraway engine coming closer, and Arthur opens his window very carefully, wincing when it catches and screeches softly in its groove, and he's throwing his bag out the window, he's shimmying out onto the branches of the tree growing next to the house and someone is calling his name, in a carrying whisper: "Arthur!"
He doesn't look back, and he dives headfirst into the backseat, and Mal is laughing quietly, breathlessly, as they drive off.
Dom is handing him a joint and Arthur smiles at him, gratefully, and he sits back and composes himself as they screech out of the suburbs, heading into the city itself.
The lights of a familiar gas station up ahead. A boy sitting just in the shadows, with some kind of rucksack in hand.
Arthur's heart skips a beat.
"Hello, all," Eames says, and he slides into the backseat, right up against Arthur.
"Everything all right, cher," Mal asks over the roar of the engine.
Eames shrugs, slants a look at Arthur. "No, not really, but who wants to hear the usual tales of woe?"
"Point," Dom says. "Mal and I are going to the Iggy Pop gig; you guys want to come along?"
"That's up to Arthur here," Eames says as he takes the joint from Dom, and Arthur feels his heart knock against his ribs. "Pretty sure you're carrying enough fake IDs in your kit for us to pass, hm?"
He is, but he's not thinking about mosh pits tonight, and he says instead, "Could you maybe drop us off at the bridge?"
Mal laughs and says, "Certainly, dear" - and she turns to Dom, offers up her cheek for a kiss.
Arthur looks at Eames. "You okay with just running around for a little?"
"Looking forward to it. Iggy Pop will still be around. He's not going anywhere for a while."
Arthur smiles, tentatively, and Eames grins back at him.
///
Mal stops the car just short of the bridge and gets out to kiss them both.
Eames grins when she kisses him on each cheek, watches with a quiet chuckle as Arthur kisses her and then gives her a hug.
"Do not do anything that either Dom and I would not do," is her parting shot.
Everyone ignores the mock-offended "Hey," from the front passenger seat.
"See you again soon," Arthur offers as Mal and Dom drive off in a roar of engines.
"So, plans for tonight," Eames says. "What, exactly, are you carrying around in that bag of yours?"
Instead of getting any answers, Eames lets himself be taken by the hand and follows Arthur, who looks like he knows exactly where he's going, and they wind through several little streets, doubling back several times in the direction of the bridge.
"Here we are," Arthur finally says, and Eames looks up at a ramshackle brick building. It is almost on the waterfront, and he hears the river loudly here, a whoosh of pure energy, liquid black and the reflections of the lights from the other shore. He watches as Arthur produces a pair of keys from his pockets.
Arthur takes his hand again when they're going up the stairs.
There's a wild pounding in his head, and it mirrors the pulse that he feels in his fingers. Is it Arthur's, too, or is it just him, thrumming with life and this boy next to him?
"We're here," Arthur says suddenly, and he stops, and Eames immediately runs into his back.
"Ow, oof, sorry," Eames is saying - but Arthur is solid and unmoving, and he's turning to look at Eames and there is definitely a hint of a smile in his eyes.
Eames looks down and he realizes he's got his arms around Arthur's waist.
Arthur bumps his nose deliberately into his.
And Eames smiles back, and he can barely see Arthur's face for the dark corridor. His hands come up and he's holding the back of Arthur's head gently, he's cupped one hand around Arthur's neck, and they're kissing.
///
Eames finishes carving a line from Hamlet into the crumbling wallpaper: "Where be your gibes now, your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?"
"Do you want a skull to go with that?" Arthur asks. He's a little distracted since he's rolling a joint.
"And where were you planning to get one?" Eames asks as he digs a decorative flourish into the wall beneath the question mark.
"I haven't gotten that far yet."
"I'm sure you'll find something up those sleeves of yours," Eames says, and then his footsteps are walking around Arthur. "Is this your idea of a date, by any chance?"
Arthur laughs and shrugs, then lights the joint and inhales. The world falls away, the four walls disappear. He holds out his hand, calls Eames's name. "Your turn."
"Thanks." Eames puffs and then lies down on the bare floor, following Arthur's example.
A friendly silence.
Arthur thinks about the house where he's supposed to be living, and he thinks about this abandoned place, and he wonders why it feels comfortable. Sure, the floor is hard and it takes a while to warm under him, and every single window is broken and the cold breezes off the river are coming in, making him huddle into his jacket.
But the joint is filling the room with a familiar sickly-sweet smell, the burr of leaf ash burrowing under his tongue and his skin. He can forget the skittering of whatever else is living in the corners of this place. He can drift away, he can forget that this night has to end.
Arthur gets up after a moment, takes another hit off the joint, and then when he lies back down he pillows his head on Eames's thigh. "Do you mind?" he slurs, after a moment.
"Negatory," Eames says, and then he gets up and takes the joint and finishes it off. "That was a short one."
"Don't have much," Arthur says, and when he looks up Eames's eyes are already red-rimmed. "Trying to make it last. We've got a long way to go till morning."
"Well, when you put it that way." Pause, then: "Knowing you were going to ask for half of dear Mallorie's stash, I got us something to eat."
There are hands dangling a plastic-wrapped sandwich in front of his face, and Arthur moves to take it, feeling like he's swimming against a slow, heavy current. Egg salad, nothing fancy, but he's pleasantly surprised at the tangy crunch of pickle between his teeth.
Eames is still looming over him, and he looks huge, all shoulders and the curls and curves of black ink on his skin. He's tearing into some kind of pita sandwich, and there's a bottle of fruit juice next to him.
He wonders if he imagines the slightly disappointed sound that Eames makes when he gets up, uncaps the bottle, and takes a long swig.
There are other things to eat in the bag, but Arthur immediately goes for the chocolate bars, and he offers one to Eames even as he's unwrapping his choice with his teeth.
Eames is laughing around his pita, and he takes the chocolate bar with good grace, and Arthur watches him eat.
///
Eames rolls the next joint and passes it to Arthur after taking the first hit. They're surrounded by half the wrappers from the rucksack.
He watches Arthur get unsteadily to his feet with the joint still in hand, watches him take two hits in a row as he's standing just inside one of the broken windows. He thinks about complaining about Arthur and his bogarting tendencies, but then Arthur is sighing and turning away from the river.
He's looking straight at Eames, and those long fingers are beckoning to him.
Eames gets up like there's a string tied around his heart and he's being reeled in, like Arthur's tugging him closer, tangling them up in each other.
Arthur holds the joint up to his lips and Eames finishes it off, winds his fingers into Arthur's and stubs out the burning bit. There is a brief flash of something in Arthur's eyes - and then he's moving forward, kissing Eames, and this is nothing like the friendly kiss from when they'd come in here.
This is Arthur growling, his knuckles white. This is Eames trying to tell him so many things. This is the two of them exchanging wordless secrets.
The world flows away from Eames and he plunges headlong into Arthur, Arthur who is surrounding him and screaming to be let in, and Eames hurriedly breaks all the locks on all the doors and he's screaming back, come in, come in, I want you here, don't go.
Someone grunts, and that breaks the spell, and Eames opens his eyes wide in shock and, oh, why is Arthur looking at him like that?
"You just backed me straight into this brick wall, fucker," Arthur says, and Eames realizes that he's just spoken out loud, and he must look a proper berk but Arthur is only bringing up their still-joined hands, stroking Eames's face. "Eames?"
"Arthur?"
"Kiss me again?"
Eames doesn't really have to be told twice.
At some point he's catching himself, embarrassed to be suddenly grinding into Arthur - only to stop short because Arthur is already grinding back and Eames laughs into the kiss, and he's practically pushing Arthur into the wall in his need.
///
Arthur wakes slowly from his post-orgasmic haze, and is momentarily amazed and glad at the same time, because Eames is grinning dopily at him, because Eames is running his huge hands over Arthur's back.
He levers himself up onto his elbows and then leans over to kiss Eames, a quick and chaste one this time.
There are so many things he should tell Eames. He should tell Eames that he doesn't ever want to let him go. He should tell Eames about his crazy ideas. He wants to leave the shitty pile he's supposed to call home. He wants to finally take up Mal and Dom on their offer of moving in. He wants to be something better, and he wants to do it all with Eames at his side.
But the sky is finally turning light over the river and he thinks these things can keep, and he curls into Eames's shoulder, feels Eames's arm hold him in place.
///
When Eames drifts off it's to the amused realization that he has, after all, wound up changing them both around so that he's spooning Arthur.
He also knows that he wants to stay with him forever. He doesn't care if it's the drugs talking. He just wants to be with Arthur.
Eames thinks they'll talk about it soon, if the things Arthur is murmuring in his sleep are any indication, and he simply wants to say yes to every single thing Arthur says.
author: ilovetakahana
pairings: Arthur/Eames, mentioned Dom/Mal.
warnings: underage boys making out, use of cannabis and the possibly unrealistic depiction of the effects and reactions thereof, implied domestic neglect, implied antisocial behavior.
Otherwise this is an AU tale of two BBs being in love, being stoned, and trying to be happy together.
Written for batmanboxers and photoclerk.
Title and cut text taken from the Smiths: "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out", which inspired this whole damn thing.
Also archived at http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org.
There's a loud click, and silence.
Arthur sighs and puts his hands over his face.
He's been sitting here in the dark for the past hour, waiting for the others in the house to stumble off to their rooms. Drunk, drugged, desperate, he doesn't really care. He just wants them all gone: his foster parents who don't actually see him. His adopted sister, who is still too young to run with his friends. An uncle who's not even related to anyone else in the house, home from the military and drinking himself into oblivion.
Everything is ready and waiting under the bed, and he pulls out a battered backpack, a brown jacket that's three sizes too big for him. He puts his glasses in their case, the case in one of his pockets.
Tiptoeing around his room, Arthur makes sure he's locked and barricaded his door - a chair wedged under the doorknob, two deadbolts in place - and then he sneaks over to his window, watching the empty street.
Sound of a faraway engine coming closer, and Arthur opens his window very carefully, wincing when it catches and screeches softly in its groove, and he's throwing his bag out the window, he's shimmying out onto the branches of the tree growing next to the house and someone is calling his name, in a carrying whisper: "Arthur!"
He doesn't look back, and he dives headfirst into the backseat, and Mal is laughing quietly, breathlessly, as they drive off.
Dom is handing him a joint and Arthur smiles at him, gratefully, and he sits back and composes himself as they screech out of the suburbs, heading into the city itself.
The lights of a familiar gas station up ahead. A boy sitting just in the shadows, with some kind of rucksack in hand.
Arthur's heart skips a beat.
"Hello, all," Eames says, and he slides into the backseat, right up against Arthur.
"Everything all right, cher," Mal asks over the roar of the engine.
Eames shrugs, slants a look at Arthur. "No, not really, but who wants to hear the usual tales of woe?"
"Point," Dom says. "Mal and I are going to the Iggy Pop gig; you guys want to come along?"
"That's up to Arthur here," Eames says as he takes the joint from Dom, and Arthur feels his heart knock against his ribs. "Pretty sure you're carrying enough fake IDs in your kit for us to pass, hm?"
He is, but he's not thinking about mosh pits tonight, and he says instead, "Could you maybe drop us off at the bridge?"
Mal laughs and says, "Certainly, dear" - and she turns to Dom, offers up her cheek for a kiss.
Arthur looks at Eames. "You okay with just running around for a little?"
"Looking forward to it. Iggy Pop will still be around. He's not going anywhere for a while."
Arthur smiles, tentatively, and Eames grins back at him.
///
Mal stops the car just short of the bridge and gets out to kiss them both.
Eames grins when she kisses him on each cheek, watches with a quiet chuckle as Arthur kisses her and then gives her a hug.
"Do not do anything that either Dom and I would not do," is her parting shot.
Everyone ignores the mock-offended "Hey," from the front passenger seat.
"See you again soon," Arthur offers as Mal and Dom drive off in a roar of engines.
"So, plans for tonight," Eames says. "What, exactly, are you carrying around in that bag of yours?"
Instead of getting any answers, Eames lets himself be taken by the hand and follows Arthur, who looks like he knows exactly where he's going, and they wind through several little streets, doubling back several times in the direction of the bridge.
"Here we are," Arthur finally says, and Eames looks up at a ramshackle brick building. It is almost on the waterfront, and he hears the river loudly here, a whoosh of pure energy, liquid black and the reflections of the lights from the other shore. He watches as Arthur produces a pair of keys from his pockets.
Arthur takes his hand again when they're going up the stairs.
There's a wild pounding in his head, and it mirrors the pulse that he feels in his fingers. Is it Arthur's, too, or is it just him, thrumming with life and this boy next to him?
"We're here," Arthur says suddenly, and he stops, and Eames immediately runs into his back.
"Ow, oof, sorry," Eames is saying - but Arthur is solid and unmoving, and he's turning to look at Eames and there is definitely a hint of a smile in his eyes.
Eames looks down and he realizes he's got his arms around Arthur's waist.
Arthur bumps his nose deliberately into his.
And Eames smiles back, and he can barely see Arthur's face for the dark corridor. His hands come up and he's holding the back of Arthur's head gently, he's cupped one hand around Arthur's neck, and they're kissing.
///
Eames finishes carving a line from Hamlet into the crumbling wallpaper: "Where be your gibes now, your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?"
"Do you want a skull to go with that?" Arthur asks. He's a little distracted since he's rolling a joint.
"And where were you planning to get one?" Eames asks as he digs a decorative flourish into the wall beneath the question mark.
"I haven't gotten that far yet."
"I'm sure you'll find something up those sleeves of yours," Eames says, and then his footsteps are walking around Arthur. "Is this your idea of a date, by any chance?"
Arthur laughs and shrugs, then lights the joint and inhales. The world falls away, the four walls disappear. He holds out his hand, calls Eames's name. "Your turn."
"Thanks." Eames puffs and then lies down on the bare floor, following Arthur's example.
A friendly silence.
Arthur thinks about the house where he's supposed to be living, and he thinks about this abandoned place, and he wonders why it feels comfortable. Sure, the floor is hard and it takes a while to warm under him, and every single window is broken and the cold breezes off the river are coming in, making him huddle into his jacket.
But the joint is filling the room with a familiar sickly-sweet smell, the burr of leaf ash burrowing under his tongue and his skin. He can forget the skittering of whatever else is living in the corners of this place. He can drift away, he can forget that this night has to end.
Arthur gets up after a moment, takes another hit off the joint, and then when he lies back down he pillows his head on Eames's thigh. "Do you mind?" he slurs, after a moment.
"Negatory," Eames says, and then he gets up and takes the joint and finishes it off. "That was a short one."
"Don't have much," Arthur says, and when he looks up Eames's eyes are already red-rimmed. "Trying to make it last. We've got a long way to go till morning."
"Well, when you put it that way." Pause, then: "Knowing you were going to ask for half of dear Mallorie's stash, I got us something to eat."
There are hands dangling a plastic-wrapped sandwich in front of his face, and Arthur moves to take it, feeling like he's swimming against a slow, heavy current. Egg salad, nothing fancy, but he's pleasantly surprised at the tangy crunch of pickle between his teeth.
Eames is still looming over him, and he looks huge, all shoulders and the curls and curves of black ink on his skin. He's tearing into some kind of pita sandwich, and there's a bottle of fruit juice next to him.
He wonders if he imagines the slightly disappointed sound that Eames makes when he gets up, uncaps the bottle, and takes a long swig.
There are other things to eat in the bag, but Arthur immediately goes for the chocolate bars, and he offers one to Eames even as he's unwrapping his choice with his teeth.
Eames is laughing around his pita, and he takes the chocolate bar with good grace, and Arthur watches him eat.
///
Eames rolls the next joint and passes it to Arthur after taking the first hit. They're surrounded by half the wrappers from the rucksack.
He watches Arthur get unsteadily to his feet with the joint still in hand, watches him take two hits in a row as he's standing just inside one of the broken windows. He thinks about complaining about Arthur and his bogarting tendencies, but then Arthur is sighing and turning away from the river.
He's looking straight at Eames, and those long fingers are beckoning to him.
Eames gets up like there's a string tied around his heart and he's being reeled in, like Arthur's tugging him closer, tangling them up in each other.
Arthur holds the joint up to his lips and Eames finishes it off, winds his fingers into Arthur's and stubs out the burning bit. There is a brief flash of something in Arthur's eyes - and then he's moving forward, kissing Eames, and this is nothing like the friendly kiss from when they'd come in here.
This is Arthur growling, his knuckles white. This is Eames trying to tell him so many things. This is the two of them exchanging wordless secrets.
The world flows away from Eames and he plunges headlong into Arthur, Arthur who is surrounding him and screaming to be let in, and Eames hurriedly breaks all the locks on all the doors and he's screaming back, come in, come in, I want you here, don't go.
Someone grunts, and that breaks the spell, and Eames opens his eyes wide in shock and, oh, why is Arthur looking at him like that?
"You just backed me straight into this brick wall, fucker," Arthur says, and Eames realizes that he's just spoken out loud, and he must look a proper berk but Arthur is only bringing up their still-joined hands, stroking Eames's face. "Eames?"
"Arthur?"
"Kiss me again?"
Eames doesn't really have to be told twice.
At some point he's catching himself, embarrassed to be suddenly grinding into Arthur - only to stop short because Arthur is already grinding back and Eames laughs into the kiss, and he's practically pushing Arthur into the wall in his need.
///
Arthur wakes slowly from his post-orgasmic haze, and is momentarily amazed and glad at the same time, because Eames is grinning dopily at him, because Eames is running his huge hands over Arthur's back.
He levers himself up onto his elbows and then leans over to kiss Eames, a quick and chaste one this time.
There are so many things he should tell Eames. He should tell Eames that he doesn't ever want to let him go. He should tell Eames about his crazy ideas. He wants to leave the shitty pile he's supposed to call home. He wants to finally take up Mal and Dom on their offer of moving in. He wants to be something better, and he wants to do it all with Eames at his side.
But the sky is finally turning light over the river and he thinks these things can keep, and he curls into Eames's shoulder, feels Eames's arm hold him in place.
///
When Eames drifts off it's to the amused realization that he has, after all, wound up changing them both around so that he's spooning Arthur.
He also knows that he wants to stay with him forever. He doesn't care if it's the drugs talking. He just wants to be with Arthur.
Eames thinks they'll talk about it soon, if the things Arthur is murmuring in his sleep are any indication, and he simply wants to say yes to every single thing Arthur says.