Inception fic: Say Anything (Arthur/Eames) (PG)
Title: Say Anything
Beta: maja_li
Rating: PG
Word Count: 300
Warning(s): none
Summary: Apparently Eames' life is a bad eighties movie. Eames is okay with this, in the long run.
Author's Notes: Written for the second week of Round Two of the Last Drabble Writer Standing competition at ae_ldws . Genre/cliche was "flangst" and the prompt was "you are such a fucking idiot".
Eames was never good at accepting criticism. Or admitting failure.
It didn't mean he hadn't had to do both. In fact, in this particular arena, he had to do it a lot.
He'd started out simple in his attempts to woo Arthur, leaving a muffin on his desk. He hadn't planned on Yusuf sitting down to work there and eating it, leaving only crumbs. Next, Eames left coffee after a particularly long night drafting notes. Arthur hadn't seen it until he'd knocked it over, spilling French roast all over his freshly typed reports. The flower he'd left had ended up tucked in Ariadne's hair, and the poem he had left had made Arthur actually shudder, shoving it into the bottom drawer of his desk. The last straw had been when he'd had Arthur's gun cleaned by a professional, who'd buffed out the victory notches on the barrel. Arthur'd looked ready for an aneurism.
Eames was ready to admit defeat.
Unfortunately, it also meant admitting more failure. As a forger, he survived by learning every detail about a mark in order to worm his way into their trust via the things they liked or expected. But Arthur resisted every attempt Eames could manage, until it had come to this: arriving slightly drunk at Arthur's hotel room and confessing his feelings while Peter Gabriel played in the background.
Arthur looked at him for a long time, his face blank. "You're a fucking idiot."
"You don't have to rub it in." Eames wanted to crawl into a hole, dragging a bottle of scotch with him.
Arthur shook his head and pulled Eames closer by his shirt, kissing him in a way that made Eames' head spin. "Such a fucking idiot," he whispered, grinning.
Eames found the criticism surprisingly easy to take, after all.
Beta: maja_li
Rating: PG
Word Count: 300
Warning(s): none
Summary: Apparently Eames' life is a bad eighties movie. Eames is okay with this, in the long run.
Author's Notes: Written for the second week of Round Two of the Last Drabble Writer Standing competition at ae_ldws . Genre/cliche was "flangst" and the prompt was "you are such a fucking idiot".
Eames was never good at accepting criticism. Or admitting failure.
It didn't mean he hadn't had to do both. In fact, in this particular arena, he had to do it a lot.
He'd started out simple in his attempts to woo Arthur, leaving a muffin on his desk. He hadn't planned on Yusuf sitting down to work there and eating it, leaving only crumbs. Next, Eames left coffee after a particularly long night drafting notes. Arthur hadn't seen it until he'd knocked it over, spilling French roast all over his freshly typed reports. The flower he'd left had ended up tucked in Ariadne's hair, and the poem he had left had made Arthur actually shudder, shoving it into the bottom drawer of his desk. The last straw had been when he'd had Arthur's gun cleaned by a professional, who'd buffed out the victory notches on the barrel. Arthur'd looked ready for an aneurism.
Eames was ready to admit defeat.
Unfortunately, it also meant admitting more failure. As a forger, he survived by learning every detail about a mark in order to worm his way into their trust via the things they liked or expected. But Arthur resisted every attempt Eames could manage, until it had come to this: arriving slightly drunk at Arthur's hotel room and confessing his feelings while Peter Gabriel played in the background.
Arthur looked at him for a long time, his face blank. "You're a fucking idiot."
"You don't have to rub it in." Eames wanted to crawl into a hole, dragging a bottle of scotch with him.
Arthur shook his head and pulled Eames closer by his shirt, kissing him in a way that made Eames' head spin. "Such a fucking idiot," he whispered, grinning.
Eames found the criticism surprisingly easy to take, after all.