19. He Has A Chemist 6/?
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Eames/Yusuf
Length: 1,903
Status: WIP
Disclaimer: just appreciating Nolan's ideas
Summary: They don't know each other that well, don't trust each other, but Eames has some demons to deal with and Yusuf's compounds are the only thing that let's him sleep at night. With time an attraction grows that can't be ignored. This prompt on the inception_kink is a little more specific about character types than this crap summary.
xv.
The sign in the door of the shop says closed.
Following some cats--a hobbit and one of the Ghostbusters, he thinks-- Eames is led through a propped-open door in the alley and up some stairs. He never realized there were apartments above Yusuf’s shop, but there is a short hallway that has three doors leading from it. A clothes line comes from one of them and crosses the hall, hung with white shirts. A stack of folding chairs is in the corner beside another. The door directly across from the top of the stairs has a cat door cut in it, and a little brass plate on the wall beside the doorknob reads, Dr. Ranjeet Yusuf, landlord.
He knocks.
Nerves make his lower back ache; Eames has never ever had to apologize for hitting on someone before. But he’s here to do it now, because like it or not, Eames is stuck with the only man who can make him sleep and he really wants the air to be clear between them; for some reason, he does not like the notion of his future visits to pick up more serum being like that customer he saw, quickly in, a handful of meaningless polite words, exchange of money and product and then gone.
For all the dreaming den and addictive drug pedaling and scrambled egg brain risking, Eames feels he has something of a friend in the scientist who enjoys Holmes and he would like to pursue it. If he has to, he’ll do it without the sex.
The door has no peep hole, opens on its chain and Yusuf peers out, “Mr. Eames.”
“I’ve come to apologize if I made you uncomfortable the other day.”
“Accepted. Good day,” Yusuf shuts the door.
Eames huffs and knocks again. Yusuf doesn’t open the door this time, asks through it.
“What are you here for--you won’t need more serum for weeks.”
“I’m here as a friend! Blimey, Yusuf, it’s like you think I’m only here because I want something!”
There is a long pause and the door opens again, Yusuf studies him intently, “You won’t make any more moves?”
Eames’ shoulders sag, “Considering how poorly it went last time, I don’t think I will. No.”
“Okay then,” Yusuf says.
“Okay then,” Eames echoes. Several moments pass and Eames shrugs, “May I come in?”
The door closes long enough for the chain to be removed and then Yusuf lets him in. Eames steps into the kitchen of a small apartment. He sees a door to a bathroom open and another door that must be a closet because a bed is in that corner nearest it. The sofa is crowded with pillows and blankets and the television is on.
“So why is the shop closed?”
“I’m not feeling well today,” Yusuf admits, returning to the nest on the couch. “Bad mixture in last night’s experiments.”
Eames chuckles, takes a seat at the little kitchen table, “Suppose that has to happen to you often enough.”
“We can’t find the good stuff without shifting through the shit first.”
“Wise,” Eames chortles. In the hall behind him, a dog starts yapping and a cat screeches and comes bolting through the cat door.
Eames gives a start at the dog bark--but instantly places it as the same dog from the dreaming den and Yusuf is already grumbling, “Damned mutt across the hall. He’s always teasing my cats but one of these days, they’re going to gang up on him and he’s going to wish he’d left them bloody well enough alone.”
Still shaking off the past, Eames can’t laugh at the image of fifteen cats lurking in wait and then pouncing on a little dog. Yusuf frowns, asks kindly, “You really have a problem with them, don’t you?” he doesn’t have to specify.
Eames clears his throat, thinks for a moment of denying it, but after what Yusuf had witnessed that night in Paris, there is no reason to try, “Was mauled and nearly killed by a couple of big ones, while back.”
“Bloody hell,”
“Bloody indeed,” Eames murmurs and he shakes himself, “But it’s all in the past. Wounds’ve practically healed up properly by now. I’ll be right as rain in a little while yet.”
Yusuf looks far away, saddened, says nothing. Eames draws in a breath and sighs, “Well, what’s on the telly?”
“Crap.”
Eames chuckles and Yusuf asks, “tea?”
“Yes, please,”
Yusuf goes to get up, but Eames waves him back down, “You’ve made yourself ill. I’ll help myself if I may?”
Having gotten halfway up rather quickly, Yusuf suddenly grabs his stomach, “That’ll be for the best--BLOODY HELL!” he darts into the bathroom, slams the door behind him and a moment later, Eames hears moaning. He makes Yusuf a cuppa and finds some biscuits in the cupboard, thinking its good he came around pushing his friendship on Yusuf now, when he needs some looking after.
xvi.
Because he nicks it and takes it with him on his next job, Eames is significantly ahead of the skull bookmark in the dragon book, half of a phonebook page from Denmark serving as his bookmark. He’s back in Mombassa now, finishing up the engrossing climax of the book and he has Snug and Ray and Starveling sharing the chair with him as he reads.
Yusuf is down stairs, checking on his dreamers when the bell above the door chimes and in walks a customer. He stands with polished shoes shoulder width apart, sweater vest removed in the heat and buttons of his shirt undone to show an undershirt. His trousers have crisp lines down the legs, his dark hair is slicked back and his crinkled-with-solemnity eyes widen in surprise when he sees Eames in the armchair,
“Eames?”
“Arthur!” Eames shuts the book and stands up, raining cats, beaming at his favorite fall-guy. His eyes sweep over him, “I do believe this is the least I’ve ever seen you in.” He wags his eyebrows, eyes lingering suggestively on the open collar of his shirt.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur’s eyes go to the thick fantasy paperback, “And reading, of all things?”
Eames shrugs, “Keeping dear Yusuf company, is all,”
Just then Yusuf arrives from downstairs. The man smiles, removes his glasses, “Arthur, excellent, I have your order over here; just got to pack it in the case.”
As Yusuf goes to work on that, Arthur’s dark eyes go between him and Eames and he smirks, “Just friends, huh?”
Eames bobs his head. Arthur doesn’t look convinced. Eames gives him the finger. Yusuf, having heard the question but didn’t see the finger asks, “What’s it to you?”
“He’s being nosey, Yusuf. Has to know everything, our little Arthur does.”
“I’ve warned you about calling me that.”
“And I’ve chosen to ignore the warning, haven’t I?” Eames grins. Arthur rolls his eyes.
“So what manner of work brings you out of the South Pacific?” Eames asks.
“Routine extraction,” Arthur murmurs, rapidly counting out the money for the compounds.
“Ah, not marketing yourself as an inceptor, then?”
“No.”
“Why not, Arthur Darling? Be specific,” Eames really has missed teasing the point man. It’s too easy to get him riled up and is endless fun to watch him struggle for control. Arthur’s eyes narrow, the first sign that Eames’ teasing is on the right track. “Oh, are we teasing me about specificity again? Go ahead, I’m not ashamed that I prefer being precise.”
“Oh, of course not,” Eames snorts, “Why should you be? Clearly you’ve chosen a worthy foe, continue on your mighty quest to rid the world of all the shameful ambiguity and imagination!”
“Definition is not a lack of imagination, asshole.”
“Here you go, Arthur,” Yusuf says, handing over the case and taking Arthur’s money. He pops the latches and opens the case, looks over the contents as if making sure he’s getting what he’s paid for.
“Can I ask you a quick question?” Yusuf asks.
Arthur shrugs a shoulder, shutting the case, satisfied.
“Do you choose to live in the S. Pacific Ocean so that you can tell people that you live in the Specific Ocean?”
There’s a beat and then Eames bursts out laughing, in love with Yusuf, and Arthur smiles, dimples showing and laughter tumbling out of him as he shakes his head, murmuring good naturedly, “Fuck you, Yusuf.”
“Cheers, mate,” Yusuf winks and Arthur leaves, still chuckling in amusement for having been teased by the quiet chemist, and Eames has collapsed on his arm chair, “Good one, Yusuf. Bloody hell, that was good.”
His chuckling is dying down when he feels Yusuf watching him. He looks up and sees Yusuf look away from the shape of his arm that he has curled on the chair arm, resting his head in that hand, and inadvertently bulging the bicep. His heart flutters at the thought that Yusuf was checking him out, but almost instantly he remembers that Yusuf isn’t interested.
“Are you involved with someone, then?” Eames asks, quite out of the blue, but he’s not going to beat around the bush. Yusuf is adorable and smart and his skin is amazing and Eames doesn’t know why he doesn’t have a chance.
“What?” Yusuf’s question is all breath, caught off guard and shy. Eames does not get up from the chair, no matter how badly he wants to cross the room and trap Yusuf against a shelf for this conversation; some deep seated forger instinct tells him pushing himself on Yusuf will only go badly. Something about the scatter-brained doctor is skittish like a horse that’s never known a saddle and bucks at the sight of them.
“Is that why you told me to leave that time? Is there someone else?”
Yusuf looks so uncomfortable that Eames considers dropping it, making excuses, leaving. But Yusuf is blushing and maybe, maybe, Eames can win the chance to feel the heat of that blush under his fingers tonight.
“No,” Yusuf answers shortly, clipped with embarrassment.
“Surely you don’t only date other nice Indian boys?” Eames snorts. Racist sounding or not, it is no more racist than an Indian only dating Indians.
“Course not,” Yusuf answers and his voice is strong in offense this time. His dark eyes catch Eames’ briefly, bounce down to the tools on his desk and he says, “I just. I don’t rush into things.”
It’s such an innocent, frankly precious, excuse that all Eames can do is smile in his relief. He stands and puts his hands in his pockets, “Is this notch above glacier speed still too fast for you?”
Yusuf snorts, “This isn’t glacier.”
“Feels that way to me, love,” Eames answers softly, eyes fixed on Yusuf’s. He sees that it causes Yusuf a great deal of nerve to hold his eye for a moment, and he finally looks away, saying, “I know hardly anything about you.”
“First dates are generally set up to remedy those situations.”
To his surprise, he sees Yusuf struggling with himself for a moment before his shoulders sag, his eyes close and he dips his head, says with a smile, “Sod it, okay. Yes, let’s--go out.” He looks up, saying resolutely, “But don’t expect anything. You know. I’m,” he laughs here, “I’m not that kind of girl.”
Puzzled by this behavior, but immensely pleased to have won a date, Eames nods, crosses his heart, “Eames the gentleman.”
part seven
Pairing: Eames/Yusuf
Length: 1,903
Status: WIP
Disclaimer: just appreciating Nolan's ideas
Summary: They don't know each other that well, don't trust each other, but Eames has some demons to deal with and Yusuf's compounds are the only thing that let's him sleep at night. With time an attraction grows that can't be ignored. This prompt on the inception_kink is a little more specific about character types than this crap summary.
xv.
The sign in the door of the shop says closed.
Following some cats--a hobbit and one of the Ghostbusters, he thinks-- Eames is led through a propped-open door in the alley and up some stairs. He never realized there were apartments above Yusuf’s shop, but there is a short hallway that has three doors leading from it. A clothes line comes from one of them and crosses the hall, hung with white shirts. A stack of folding chairs is in the corner beside another. The door directly across from the top of the stairs has a cat door cut in it, and a little brass plate on the wall beside the doorknob reads, Dr. Ranjeet Yusuf, landlord.
He knocks.
Nerves make his lower back ache; Eames has never ever had to apologize for hitting on someone before. But he’s here to do it now, because like it or not, Eames is stuck with the only man who can make him sleep and he really wants the air to be clear between them; for some reason, he does not like the notion of his future visits to pick up more serum being like that customer he saw, quickly in, a handful of meaningless polite words, exchange of money and product and then gone.
For all the dreaming den and addictive drug pedaling and scrambled egg brain risking, Eames feels he has something of a friend in the scientist who enjoys Holmes and he would like to pursue it. If he has to, he’ll do it without the sex.
The door has no peep hole, opens on its chain and Yusuf peers out, “Mr. Eames.”
“I’ve come to apologize if I made you uncomfortable the other day.”
“Accepted. Good day,” Yusuf shuts the door.
Eames huffs and knocks again. Yusuf doesn’t open the door this time, asks through it.
“What are you here for--you won’t need more serum for weeks.”
“I’m here as a friend! Blimey, Yusuf, it’s like you think I’m only here because I want something!”
There is a long pause and the door opens again, Yusuf studies him intently, “You won’t make any more moves?”
Eames’ shoulders sag, “Considering how poorly it went last time, I don’t think I will. No.”
“Okay then,” Yusuf says.
“Okay then,” Eames echoes. Several moments pass and Eames shrugs, “May I come in?”
The door closes long enough for the chain to be removed and then Yusuf lets him in. Eames steps into the kitchen of a small apartment. He sees a door to a bathroom open and another door that must be a closet because a bed is in that corner nearest it. The sofa is crowded with pillows and blankets and the television is on.
“So why is the shop closed?”
“I’m not feeling well today,” Yusuf admits, returning to the nest on the couch. “Bad mixture in last night’s experiments.”
Eames chuckles, takes a seat at the little kitchen table, “Suppose that has to happen to you often enough.”
“We can’t find the good stuff without shifting through the shit first.”
“Wise,” Eames chortles. In the hall behind him, a dog starts yapping and a cat screeches and comes bolting through the cat door.
Eames gives a start at the dog bark--but instantly places it as the same dog from the dreaming den and Yusuf is already grumbling, “Damned mutt across the hall. He’s always teasing my cats but one of these days, they’re going to gang up on him and he’s going to wish he’d left them bloody well enough alone.”
Still shaking off the past, Eames can’t laugh at the image of fifteen cats lurking in wait and then pouncing on a little dog. Yusuf frowns, asks kindly, “You really have a problem with them, don’t you?” he doesn’t have to specify.
Eames clears his throat, thinks for a moment of denying it, but after what Yusuf had witnessed that night in Paris, there is no reason to try, “Was mauled and nearly killed by a couple of big ones, while back.”
“Bloody hell,”
“Bloody indeed,” Eames murmurs and he shakes himself, “But it’s all in the past. Wounds’ve practically healed up properly by now. I’ll be right as rain in a little while yet.”
Yusuf looks far away, saddened, says nothing. Eames draws in a breath and sighs, “Well, what’s on the telly?”
“Crap.”
Eames chuckles and Yusuf asks, “tea?”
“Yes, please,”
Yusuf goes to get up, but Eames waves him back down, “You’ve made yourself ill. I’ll help myself if I may?”
Having gotten halfway up rather quickly, Yusuf suddenly grabs his stomach, “That’ll be for the best--BLOODY HELL!” he darts into the bathroom, slams the door behind him and a moment later, Eames hears moaning. He makes Yusuf a cuppa and finds some biscuits in the cupboard, thinking its good he came around pushing his friendship on Yusuf now, when he needs some looking after.
xvi.
Because he nicks it and takes it with him on his next job, Eames is significantly ahead of the skull bookmark in the dragon book, half of a phonebook page from Denmark serving as his bookmark. He’s back in Mombassa now, finishing up the engrossing climax of the book and he has Snug and Ray and Starveling sharing the chair with him as he reads.
Yusuf is down stairs, checking on his dreamers when the bell above the door chimes and in walks a customer. He stands with polished shoes shoulder width apart, sweater vest removed in the heat and buttons of his shirt undone to show an undershirt. His trousers have crisp lines down the legs, his dark hair is slicked back and his crinkled-with-solemnity eyes widen in surprise when he sees Eames in the armchair,
“Eames?”
“Arthur!” Eames shuts the book and stands up, raining cats, beaming at his favorite fall-guy. His eyes sweep over him, “I do believe this is the least I’ve ever seen you in.” He wags his eyebrows, eyes lingering suggestively on the open collar of his shirt.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur’s eyes go to the thick fantasy paperback, “And reading, of all things?”
Eames shrugs, “Keeping dear Yusuf company, is all,”
Just then Yusuf arrives from downstairs. The man smiles, removes his glasses, “Arthur, excellent, I have your order over here; just got to pack it in the case.”
As Yusuf goes to work on that, Arthur’s dark eyes go between him and Eames and he smirks, “Just friends, huh?”
Eames bobs his head. Arthur doesn’t look convinced. Eames gives him the finger. Yusuf, having heard the question but didn’t see the finger asks, “What’s it to you?”
“He’s being nosey, Yusuf. Has to know everything, our little Arthur does.”
“I’ve warned you about calling me that.”
“And I’ve chosen to ignore the warning, haven’t I?” Eames grins. Arthur rolls his eyes.
“So what manner of work brings you out of the South Pacific?” Eames asks.
“Routine extraction,” Arthur murmurs, rapidly counting out the money for the compounds.
“Ah, not marketing yourself as an inceptor, then?”
“No.”
“Why not, Arthur Darling? Be specific,” Eames really has missed teasing the point man. It’s too easy to get him riled up and is endless fun to watch him struggle for control. Arthur’s eyes narrow, the first sign that Eames’ teasing is on the right track. “Oh, are we teasing me about specificity again? Go ahead, I’m not ashamed that I prefer being precise.”
“Oh, of course not,” Eames snorts, “Why should you be? Clearly you’ve chosen a worthy foe, continue on your mighty quest to rid the world of all the shameful ambiguity and imagination!”
“Definition is not a lack of imagination, asshole.”
“Here you go, Arthur,” Yusuf says, handing over the case and taking Arthur’s money. He pops the latches and opens the case, looks over the contents as if making sure he’s getting what he’s paid for.
“Can I ask you a quick question?” Yusuf asks.
Arthur shrugs a shoulder, shutting the case, satisfied.
“Do you choose to live in the S. Pacific Ocean so that you can tell people that you live in the Specific Ocean?”
There’s a beat and then Eames bursts out laughing, in love with Yusuf, and Arthur smiles, dimples showing and laughter tumbling out of him as he shakes his head, murmuring good naturedly, “Fuck you, Yusuf.”
“Cheers, mate,” Yusuf winks and Arthur leaves, still chuckling in amusement for having been teased by the quiet chemist, and Eames has collapsed on his arm chair, “Good one, Yusuf. Bloody hell, that was good.”
His chuckling is dying down when he feels Yusuf watching him. He looks up and sees Yusuf look away from the shape of his arm that he has curled on the chair arm, resting his head in that hand, and inadvertently bulging the bicep. His heart flutters at the thought that Yusuf was checking him out, but almost instantly he remembers that Yusuf isn’t interested.
“Are you involved with someone, then?” Eames asks, quite out of the blue, but he’s not going to beat around the bush. Yusuf is adorable and smart and his skin is amazing and Eames doesn’t know why he doesn’t have a chance.
“What?” Yusuf’s question is all breath, caught off guard and shy. Eames does not get up from the chair, no matter how badly he wants to cross the room and trap Yusuf against a shelf for this conversation; some deep seated forger instinct tells him pushing himself on Yusuf will only go badly. Something about the scatter-brained doctor is skittish like a horse that’s never known a saddle and bucks at the sight of them.
“Is that why you told me to leave that time? Is there someone else?”
Yusuf looks so uncomfortable that Eames considers dropping it, making excuses, leaving. But Yusuf is blushing and maybe, maybe, Eames can win the chance to feel the heat of that blush under his fingers tonight.
“No,” Yusuf answers shortly, clipped with embarrassment.
“Surely you don’t only date other nice Indian boys?” Eames snorts. Racist sounding or not, it is no more racist than an Indian only dating Indians.
“Course not,” Yusuf answers and his voice is strong in offense this time. His dark eyes catch Eames’ briefly, bounce down to the tools on his desk and he says, “I just. I don’t rush into things.”
It’s such an innocent, frankly precious, excuse that all Eames can do is smile in his relief. He stands and puts his hands in his pockets, “Is this notch above glacier speed still too fast for you?”
Yusuf snorts, “This isn’t glacier.”
“Feels that way to me, love,” Eames answers softly, eyes fixed on Yusuf’s. He sees that it causes Yusuf a great deal of nerve to hold his eye for a moment, and he finally looks away, saying, “I know hardly anything about you.”
“First dates are generally set up to remedy those situations.”
To his surprise, he sees Yusuf struggling with himself for a moment before his shoulders sag, his eyes close and he dips his head, says with a smile, “Sod it, okay. Yes, let’s--go out.” He looks up, saying resolutely, “But don’t expect anything. You know. I’m,” he laughs here, “I’m not that kind of girl.”
Puzzled by this behavior, but immensely pleased to have won a date, Eames nods, crosses his heart, “Eames the gentleman.”
part seven