[fic] The truth
Aug. 11th, 2010 02:43 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
kiyala.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
shannys_cornerTitle: The truth
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kiyala
Word Count: 1793
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG
Warnings: Men kissing
Disclaimer: Inception is the wonderful brainchild of Christopher Nolan
Notes: A kind-of fill for this prompt on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
inception_kink
“Truth serum,” Arthur says, his eyebrow raised, face steadily becoming paler. “You’re saying you just accidentally released truth serum, in its gas form, into the air.”
Yusuf shifts under the cold, hard stare directed at him and clears his throat. “…Yes. It isn’t as strong when it’s not paired with the sedative, but with the amount in that flask, it will remain in our systems for the next twenty-four hours.”
“I see,” Arthur says, and then promptly gets to his feet, clamps his hand over his mouth, and leaves.
The rest of the team watches him leave in silence. Cobb’s eyebrows are raised, Ariadne chews on her bottom lip as she considers the effect of the truth serum. Eames looks around and shakes his head in disbelief.
“You’re kidding me,” he says to the room. “Nobody’s even the slightest bit curious as to why he got out of here as soon as possible?”
He stands and leaves as well, and when he's at the door, he thinks he hears Cobb say something about respecting privacy. He doesn’t pay much attention.
* * *
Arthur sits back in the soft, black, recliner beside the window and lets out a long sigh. No matter where he goes, which apartment he stays in, he always makes sure he has this. He likes consistency, the same way he likes order. His life as a point man is unpredictable. He’ll take whatever little consistency he can take, even if that’s a comfortable seat that costs him a few hundred each time, placed at a roughly forty-five degree angle from the window.
Arthur rubs his temples, his eyes shut, and reaches for the mug of coffee sitting on the black, wooden, coffee table. The truth is…
Well, that’s the problem.
The truth is complicated, and more than a little uncomfortable to dwell on.
For all his straight lines and precise angles, Arthur craves chaos. Confusion, disarray; without these, his order is meaningless. If Arthur was happy to live a plain and boring existence, he would never have gone into the business of dreams.
The mind is unpredictable, and this fact is exhilarating. Every time he goes under, Arthur isn’t sure what awaits him in their mark’s subconscious and having to the think on the run, having to bring order to the confusion that surrounds him; these are the things that make him feel alive.
So of course, when he finds the same disarray in somebody else…
Arthur stops the thought right there, alarmed at the realisation that this truth serum seems to be seeping into his thoughts, too.
There is a loud knock on his door that startles him, making him jump in his seat, looking up with wide eyes.
Before he can suppress the thought, he hopes it is Eames.
* * *
Of course, it is Eames, standing at Arthur’s door with his eyebrows raised and a small smirk tugging at his lips.
Even if Arthur is unable to pretend to himself that he is extremely unenthused to see him, it doesn’t mean Eames has to know that. He keeps his mouth shut, not trusting himself to refrain from saying something stupid, but gives Eames an exasperated look, all the power of why are you even here?, but without words.
“You know, Arthur,” Eames says casually, like he’s talking about the weather, “Everyone has secrets, but you’re surprisingly bad at hiding the fact that you do.”
Arthur doesn’t reply, simply stepping aside and closing the door behind Eames as he walks into the small apartment and promptly makes himself at home, spreading himself out on the brown three-seater that faces the window. Arthur is immeasurably pleased by the fact that Eames allows him his black recliner as always, then does his best to push the thought out of his mind, along with the sudden urge to smile at him.
He stands awkwardly in the small lounge room and Eames gives him a look somewhere between pity and amusement.
“Do you have any tea?” he prompts and Arthur nods, mouth still firmly shut, disappearing into the kitchen.
Eames sighs and stretches out in the couch, leaning back and looking out of the large window across from him. The view is bland; the street by the apartment block. Arthur’s is a corner apartment which affords him a something a little more interesting than the side of another building, but Eames doubts Arthur even looks.
He returns soon, carrying two cups of tea, made to their respective tastes and places Eames’ on the table in front of him without a word, returning to his chair and sipping from his own cup.
“You know, Arthur,” Eames leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, “I inhaled that serum too, and I’m not blurting my secrets left right and centre. I’m sure your head won’t explode if you speak.”
Arthur frowns and sets his cup down. “But I’m not going to hound you for secrets.”
Eames raises his eyebrows. “You don’t trust me?”
Arthur clears his throat and looks away. Eames smiles mirthlessly at his cup, unable to pretend it doesn’t hurt.
“I... trust you,” Arthur says with some difficulty. He looks up at Eames with an honesty in his eyes that takes the other man by surprise. “I just don’t think I can trust you to stay out of my head right now.”
Eames sips his tea, surprised and pleased. “You wouldn’t have let me in here if you didn’t want me to ask.”
Arthur can’t deny the truth. That’s his entire problem. Eames is clever; he reads people by what they don’t say, just as much as what they do. Arthur knows that he doesn’t need a question to unravel him, all Eames needs to do is figure out what he can’t deny.
“What are you doing here, Eames?” Arthur asks with a sigh.
“You have a secret. I’m a thief, Arthur, you did the equivalent of showing me something precious and telling me I can’t have it.”
Arthur frowns. “Precious, Mr. Eames.”
“Naturally,” Eames says and then clears his throat. “After all—it’s important to know who you are working with.”
“Is that all?” Arthur asks, and Eames gives him nothing more than a tight-lipped smile in reply.
“Not only do you have something to hide, but it’s something you wish to hide from the team. Perhaps one of the team members? You don’t have a crush on Ariadne now, do you?”
“No,” Arthur replies, too indignant, too worried about Eames methodically going through every team member’s name to notice the way his lips quirk upwards for a brief moment in relief.
“Come now, won’t you feel much better once it’s off your chest?”
“No,” Arthur replies bluntly. Which, thankfully, is the truth. He can just imagine the awkward explanations they’d need to go into if Eames ever knew—
“You’re staring at me,” Eames points out, again sounding like he’s commenting on nothing more than the weather, before turning back to his teacup.
“Yes,” Arthur blurts out before he can quite stop himself. He hopes he succeeds at keeping the horror out of his eyes.
“Shall I leave?”
Arthur doesn’t reply, because he can't say that he wants to be left alone. The truth serum stops that.
Eames smiles at the lack of reply. “Wonderful. Then, here I shall stay until I get your little secrets out of you.”
I hate you, Arthur desperately wants to say. The truth serum keeps that in, too. Instead, he rubs his temples as though Eames’ presence is a headache and mumbles without quite thinking, “It’s not a little secret.”
“Oh, a big one, then. Can we play a guessing game?”
“Let’s not.”
“You like ruining my fun, don’t you?” Eames asks, shaking his head with a smile. “Did Yusuf tell you about the new sedative he’s making?”
“With the truth serum? No.”
“Pity. Interesting stuff, really. The whole point is to lower inhibitions in the dream state. Induces a more honest representation of the dreamers, making it easier to get to a mark’s secrets.” Eames grins. “The serum itself gets stronger while it’s in the system, which is why it’s only supposed to be added in small doses. Nothing like what we got a good whiff of back there. Isn’t that good to know?”
“Stronger?” Arthur frowns, already dreading the explanation.
“Sooner or later, you’ll be compelled to tell the truth about things. Without having to be prompted.”
Arthur is on his feet immediately. “Get out.”
“What, now? And miss the fun?”
“You have a very skewed view of fun, Mr. Eames. Leave now.”
“So your secret’s about me, then.”
Arthur's silence is the best answer Eames could possibly have asked for. He grins and takes another sip of tea. “Think I'll stay right here. I want to hear your deep, dark secret about me.”
“Eames, I do not want to discuss my feelings for you—“ Arthur promptly shuts his mouth, but the damage is already done.
“Oh,” Eames slowly rises to his feet, bringing himself into Arthur’s personal space. “But darling, I most certainly do.”
Arthur looks away, glaring at the soft carpet on the floor, at the coffee table, at anything and everything but Eames himself. He flinches at the touch on his chin, Eames’ fingers gently bringing his face up until they look at each other.
“Tell me, Arthur.”
Arthur clenches his jaw together tightly and shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Eames. Let me go. Leave. Now. Please.”
“No.” Eames is so close that Arthur can feel his breath on his own lips, and wonders if he’s doing it on purpose. He already knows what Arthur will say; that much is clear. Just as obvious is how Eames will react to it. Arthur wonders why it’s still so difficult to just say it, when he’s been thinking it for so long, when he knows that whether he likes it or not, this simple truth is part of what defines him. Even under the influence of a truth serum, he still tries to hide it.
“Eames,” he says, voice rougher than normal. He unconsciously licks his lips. “God, you drive me insane.”
“In a good way, I hope.”
“In a good way,” Arthur repeats. “Mostly.”
Eames’ lips are pressed to his and Arthur's mind, still being extremely honest with him, thinks, finally. He kisses back, pulling Eames closer and getting enough space between their lips to murmur, “Fine. You win. I like you.”
“Like me, darling?”
“A lot. Shut up. I’m not good at this.”
“You’re doing perfectly well,” Eames assures him with a smile. “Though of course, if you’re more inclined to let your actions speak louder than words…”
Arthur, still being entirely honest, replies, “My bedroom is this way, Mr. Eames.”
x
Author:
kiyalaWord Count: 1793
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG
Warnings: Men kissing
Disclaimer: Inception is the wonderful brainchild of Christopher Nolan
Notes: A kind-of fill for this prompt on
inception_kink“Truth serum,” Arthur says, his eyebrow raised, face steadily becoming paler. “You’re saying you just accidentally released truth serum, in its gas form, into the air.”
Yusuf shifts under the cold, hard stare directed at him and clears his throat. “…Yes. It isn’t as strong when it’s not paired with the sedative, but with the amount in that flask, it will remain in our systems for the next twenty-four hours.”
“I see,” Arthur says, and then promptly gets to his feet, clamps his hand over his mouth, and leaves.
The rest of the team watches him leave in silence. Cobb’s eyebrows are raised, Ariadne chews on her bottom lip as she considers the effect of the truth serum. Eames looks around and shakes his head in disbelief.
“You’re kidding me,” he says to the room. “Nobody’s even the slightest bit curious as to why he got out of here as soon as possible?”
He stands and leaves as well, and when he's at the door, he thinks he hears Cobb say something about respecting privacy. He doesn’t pay much attention.
Arthur sits back in the soft, black, recliner beside the window and lets out a long sigh. No matter where he goes, which apartment he stays in, he always makes sure he has this. He likes consistency, the same way he likes order. His life as a point man is unpredictable. He’ll take whatever little consistency he can take, even if that’s a comfortable seat that costs him a few hundred each time, placed at a roughly forty-five degree angle from the window.
Arthur rubs his temples, his eyes shut, and reaches for the mug of coffee sitting on the black, wooden, coffee table. The truth is…
Well, that’s the problem.
The truth is complicated, and more than a little uncomfortable to dwell on.
For all his straight lines and precise angles, Arthur craves chaos. Confusion, disarray; without these, his order is meaningless. If Arthur was happy to live a plain and boring existence, he would never have gone into the business of dreams.
The mind is unpredictable, and this fact is exhilarating. Every time he goes under, Arthur isn’t sure what awaits him in their mark’s subconscious and having to the think on the run, having to bring order to the confusion that surrounds him; these are the things that make him feel alive.
So of course, when he finds the same disarray in somebody else…
Arthur stops the thought right there, alarmed at the realisation that this truth serum seems to be seeping into his thoughts, too.
There is a loud knock on his door that startles him, making him jump in his seat, looking up with wide eyes.
Before he can suppress the thought, he hopes it is Eames.
Of course, it is Eames, standing at Arthur’s door with his eyebrows raised and a small smirk tugging at his lips.
Even if Arthur is unable to pretend to himself that he is extremely unenthused to see him, it doesn’t mean Eames has to know that. He keeps his mouth shut, not trusting himself to refrain from saying something stupid, but gives Eames an exasperated look, all the power of why are you even here?, but without words.
“You know, Arthur,” Eames says casually, like he’s talking about the weather, “Everyone has secrets, but you’re surprisingly bad at hiding the fact that you do.”
Arthur doesn’t reply, simply stepping aside and closing the door behind Eames as he walks into the small apartment and promptly makes himself at home, spreading himself out on the brown three-seater that faces the window. Arthur is immeasurably pleased by the fact that Eames allows him his black recliner as always, then does his best to push the thought out of his mind, along with the sudden urge to smile at him.
He stands awkwardly in the small lounge room and Eames gives him a look somewhere between pity and amusement.
“Do you have any tea?” he prompts and Arthur nods, mouth still firmly shut, disappearing into the kitchen.
Eames sighs and stretches out in the couch, leaning back and looking out of the large window across from him. The view is bland; the street by the apartment block. Arthur’s is a corner apartment which affords him a something a little more interesting than the side of another building, but Eames doubts Arthur even looks.
He returns soon, carrying two cups of tea, made to their respective tastes and places Eames’ on the table in front of him without a word, returning to his chair and sipping from his own cup.
“You know, Arthur,” Eames leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, “I inhaled that serum too, and I’m not blurting my secrets left right and centre. I’m sure your head won’t explode if you speak.”
Arthur frowns and sets his cup down. “But I’m not going to hound you for secrets.”
Eames raises his eyebrows. “You don’t trust me?”
Arthur clears his throat and looks away. Eames smiles mirthlessly at his cup, unable to pretend it doesn’t hurt.
“I... trust you,” Arthur says with some difficulty. He looks up at Eames with an honesty in his eyes that takes the other man by surprise. “I just don’t think I can trust you to stay out of my head right now.”
Eames sips his tea, surprised and pleased. “You wouldn’t have let me in here if you didn’t want me to ask.”
Arthur can’t deny the truth. That’s his entire problem. Eames is clever; he reads people by what they don’t say, just as much as what they do. Arthur knows that he doesn’t need a question to unravel him, all Eames needs to do is figure out what he can’t deny.
“What are you doing here, Eames?” Arthur asks with a sigh.
“You have a secret. I’m a thief, Arthur, you did the equivalent of showing me something precious and telling me I can’t have it.”
Arthur frowns. “Precious, Mr. Eames.”
“Naturally,” Eames says and then clears his throat. “After all—it’s important to know who you are working with.”
“Is that all?” Arthur asks, and Eames gives him nothing more than a tight-lipped smile in reply.
“Not only do you have something to hide, but it’s something you wish to hide from the team. Perhaps one of the team members? You don’t have a crush on Ariadne now, do you?”
“No,” Arthur replies, too indignant, too worried about Eames methodically going through every team member’s name to notice the way his lips quirk upwards for a brief moment in relief.
“Come now, won’t you feel much better once it’s off your chest?”
“No,” Arthur replies bluntly. Which, thankfully, is the truth. He can just imagine the awkward explanations they’d need to go into if Eames ever knew—
“You’re staring at me,” Eames points out, again sounding like he’s commenting on nothing more than the weather, before turning back to his teacup.
“Yes,” Arthur blurts out before he can quite stop himself. He hopes he succeeds at keeping the horror out of his eyes.
“Shall I leave?”
Arthur doesn’t reply, because he can't say that he wants to be left alone. The truth serum stops that.
Eames smiles at the lack of reply. “Wonderful. Then, here I shall stay until I get your little secrets out of you.”
I hate you, Arthur desperately wants to say. The truth serum keeps that in, too. Instead, he rubs his temples as though Eames’ presence is a headache and mumbles without quite thinking, “It’s not a little secret.”
“Oh, a big one, then. Can we play a guessing game?”
“Let’s not.”
“You like ruining my fun, don’t you?” Eames asks, shaking his head with a smile. “Did Yusuf tell you about the new sedative he’s making?”
“With the truth serum? No.”
“Pity. Interesting stuff, really. The whole point is to lower inhibitions in the dream state. Induces a more honest representation of the dreamers, making it easier to get to a mark’s secrets.” Eames grins. “The serum itself gets stronger while it’s in the system, which is why it’s only supposed to be added in small doses. Nothing like what we got a good whiff of back there. Isn’t that good to know?”
“Stronger?” Arthur frowns, already dreading the explanation.
“Sooner or later, you’ll be compelled to tell the truth about things. Without having to be prompted.”
Arthur is on his feet immediately. “Get out.”
“What, now? And miss the fun?”
“You have a very skewed view of fun, Mr. Eames. Leave now.”
“So your secret’s about me, then.”
Arthur's silence is the best answer Eames could possibly have asked for. He grins and takes another sip of tea. “Think I'll stay right here. I want to hear your deep, dark secret about me.”
“Eames, I do not want to discuss my feelings for you—“ Arthur promptly shuts his mouth, but the damage is already done.
“Oh,” Eames slowly rises to his feet, bringing himself into Arthur’s personal space. “But darling, I most certainly do.”
Arthur looks away, glaring at the soft carpet on the floor, at the coffee table, at anything and everything but Eames himself. He flinches at the touch on his chin, Eames’ fingers gently bringing his face up until they look at each other.
“Tell me, Arthur.”
Arthur clenches his jaw together tightly and shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Eames. Let me go. Leave. Now. Please.”
“No.” Eames is so close that Arthur can feel his breath on his own lips, and wonders if he’s doing it on purpose. He already knows what Arthur will say; that much is clear. Just as obvious is how Eames will react to it. Arthur wonders why it’s still so difficult to just say it, when he’s been thinking it for so long, when he knows that whether he likes it or not, this simple truth is part of what defines him. Even under the influence of a truth serum, he still tries to hide it.
“Eames,” he says, voice rougher than normal. He unconsciously licks his lips. “God, you drive me insane.”
“In a good way, I hope.”
“In a good way,” Arthur repeats. “Mostly.”
Eames’ lips are pressed to his and Arthur's mind, still being extremely honest with him, thinks, finally. He kisses back, pulling Eames closer and getting enough space between their lips to murmur, “Fine. You win. I like you.”
“Like me, darling?”
“A lot. Shut up. I’m not good at this.”
“You’re doing perfectly well,” Eames assures him with a smile. “Though of course, if you’re more inclined to let your actions speak louder than words…”
Arthur, still being entirely honest, replies, “My bedroom is this way, Mr. Eames.”
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Date: 2010-08-10 07:13 pm (UTC)*swoons*
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Date: 2010-08-12 12:47 am (UTC)[/de-anoned OP]
Date: 2010-08-10 10:32 pm (UTC)Thank you so very much for the fill, dear writer! ♥♥♥
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Date: 2010-08-21 12:11 am (UTC)So, adored this!