[fic] Not So Bad

[kiyala.livejournal.com]

Title: Not So Bad
Author: kiyala
Word Count: 1,580
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames (both of them genderbent)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: genderbender, explicit sex
Notes: I told 1st_eggokage that I'd write her a 200 word genderbent A/E drabble if she got out of bed. It turned into this.

Claire Arthur is not having a good day. She hates that she’s still so loyal to Cobb that she’ll agree to take the boring, militarization jobs he agrees to because they’re safe (for him) even if they’re mind-numbing (for her). She’s annoyed that joining their team this time is one Elizabeth Eames, too flirtatious, too damn good-looking for her own good. And she’s had it up to here with their client Mr. Simon, the fucking bastard, who knows he’s dreaming, who is happy to sit back and let Cobb work his magic, only he’s not so much sitting back as he is crowding into her space and trying to simultaneously slide a hand up her skirt and look down her blouse. Fuck this, she decides. She’s up before he even has the chance to realise, all feline grace and wild fury. She picks up her chair as she turns, lifting it just high enough to smack him across the face with the back of it. He falls to the floor and every projection in the room is staring at her, silent and calculating. “What are you—” “Quiet,” she says, calmly, not even taking a step closer to him, but he obediently shuts his mouth. “Not a word.” He stares up at her for a long moment, and she thinks she has him cowed, but then he has the bad sense to lick his lips and say, “Feisty, aren’t you?” Her gun is in her hands and standing her ground, she shoots him, once in the kneecap just to hear him scream, and then in the stomach to make sure he’ll stay alive but wish he wasn’t. Across the room full of people staring at her, she settles on one face. Eames, staring with her full lips parted in a small o, forgetting for a moment that she has work to do, in favour of standing there and gaping. They stare at each other for a long moment, listening to their client gasping for breath he doesn’t really want, and then Arthur holds her gun against her own temple, feeling the cool metal against her skin, and presses the trigger. She wakes up knowing that Eames was watching the entire time. She feels no remorse for putting a bullet through Simon’s head topside. Cobb bitches at her, but that’s what Cobb does. She ditches his body, frames Simon’s business rival, and calls it a day. She’s beyond the point of giving a shit about anything right now, and that’s why she doesn’t even stop to question the fact that Eames quietly helps her with everything she needs to do, which means that at least she doesn’t have to cover up a spur-of-the-moment murder by herself because Cobb’s stormed off muttering under his breath about how this job was meant to be a clean one, for fuck’s sake. Except then, instead of dropping her off at her hotel, Eames drives right past it and all the way back to hers. She answers Arthur’s questioning look with a smile and, “you need a drink.” Arthur could kiss her, but then if she’s being honest, that isn’t really any different to usual. Eames’ hotel room is luxurious. Not that Arthur’s room is the spartan, single-room bed-and-desk arrangement people seem to assume of her, but Eames’ is richly decorated. There’s a soft leather couch and Arthur leans her briefcase against the side of it, following Eames as she raids the fridge, which she’s kept well-stocked with good liquor. “How are you?” Eames asks as she presses a glass into Arthur’s hand. Their fingers are warm against each other and her blue-green eyes are serious. They’re close enough that Arthur is sure she can count every single eyelash if she tries. Close enough that Arthur can feel the warmth of Eames’ body so close to her own and fuck if she isn’t holding onto this memory when she digs her vibrator out of the bottom of her travel bag later tonight. “I’m fine,” she says, once the silence has stretched a little too long to be comfortable. She sips from her glass so she doesn’t need to say any more, but she doesn’t move away from Eames. “I’m glad you did what you did, for what it’s worth,” Eames murmurs. “The man was a pig. If you didn’t do it, I would have.” “For being a pig?” “For touching you,” Eames replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Usually, Arthur would dismiss it as more of the same meaningless flirting, but this time, she can see the desire in Eames’ eyes (they’re still standing close. Twenty three eyelashes and counting) and if Arthur isn’t going to let the job stop her from emptying a clip into Simon’s head, fuck if she’s going to let it stop her from grabbing Eames and pulling her into a kiss. So she does. Their tumblers clink loudly as they both set them down on the nearby table before grabbing for each other. Arthur’s always thought of herself to be demanding, but it’s nothing compared to the way Eames kisses like it’s a fight, lips and tongue and teeth and Arthur’s most coherent thought as she’s pushed towards the couch is, I never realised how much I liked being bitten. “Eames—” she gasps, the backs of her knees hitting the couch, Eames’ hands pushing her down so she’s half-sitting, half-lying on it. “Want you,” Eames kisses her again, sucking on Arthur’s bottom lip until she draws out a quiet moan. “You’re mine Claire, and no one’s touching you except for me.” Arthur’s breath hitches as Eames’ warm hand slides up her thigh, following the same path Simon’s hand took. It’s far more welcome this time, and then the touch is gone, Eames pulling off Arthur’s sweater vest, unbuttoning her blouse and mouthing at her nipples through her bra, unfastening her bra to swipe her tongue across them, taking one into her mouth and rolling the other between her fingers. “Eames,” Arthur gasps, more urgently this time, and Eames slides a hand up her skirt again, across her thigh and between her legs, rubbing two fingers across her panties, humming in approval when she finds them already wet. Arthur moans, her voice stuttering as Eames rubs through the fabric, letting it soak, crooking her fingers and teasing with the contact that’s just a little shy of what Arthur wants. “Fuck, please.” Eames teases, because she’s good at that. Her fingers stroke at a steady pace, getting wetter as she continues sucking on Arthur’s nipple. She pulls her hand away and Arthur groans in protest at the lack of contact, then again when Eames leans back, away from her breast to stick her finger in her mouth, tasting Arthur, deciding that she needs more. “Fuck, yes,” Arthur gasps when Eames pulls her skirt and underwear down in a swift motion, discarding them off to the side. Arthur spreads her legs as Eames leans in, scattering hot kisses along the inside of her thigh. “You’ve no idea what you do to me,” Eames declares, voice husky, her accent thicker than usual, as she pushes her index into Arthur and licks it clean. She looks up, holding Arthur’s gaze for a long moment before lowering her head, lips closed around Arthur’s clit. Arthur lets out a shaky breath, but she’s otherwise silent. Eames can feel Arthur tensing under her hands, but she needs to hear it, needs to be told just how much Arthur’s enjoying this. She sucks harder, tongue flicking across her clit without mercy, pushing a finger into Arthur and fucking her with it. “Eames!” Arthur’s voice is high, breathless, and she has a hand resting on Eames’ head, fingers tangled in her long, brown curls. Her hips jerk and she tries to spread her legs further, letting out a shuddering, “Ohhh.” “Talk to me,” Eames murmurs, “tell me you like it.” “Fucking amazing Eames — oh fuck, fuck, fuck — like that, yeah,” Arthur gasps in that same breathless voice, “I’m gonna come — fuck, million times better than my vibrator.” Arthur’s trembling as she tries to hold back, but then she has her head thrown back, whining at the back of her throat as she comes. She whimpers from the oversensitivity when Eames’ tongue swipes over her clit, and then Eames is pulling away, kissing up her stomach and latching onto a nipple again, sucking slowly until Arthur comes back down, running a hand through Eames’ hair and pulling her up for a kiss. “Your turn,” Arthur smiles, dimples and all, and Eames melts at the sight. “It can wait a while, darling, I have two requirements,” Eames kisses the tip of Arthur’s nose. “First, they’ve given me a queen-sized bed and I want to fuck you until the sheets smell like you.” “And second?” Arthur asks, the corner of her lips quirking up in a half-smile. Eames grins slyly. “You mentioned a vibrator.” Arthur’s lips spread into a full-fledged smile. “Well, then. Maybe you can come to my room with me so we can take care of the second, and then tomorrow, we can get to work on the first. I’m not taking any jobs until Cobb calms down, or he’ll get even pissier. So we’ve got a good week.” Eames looks like Christmas has come early. With a slightly glazed look in her eyes, she declares, “I’m buying Cobb chocolates.”

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