[fic] Chair
Aug. 14th, 2010 03:00 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: Chair
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kiyala
Word Count: 1578
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: R
Warnings: Men having sex
Disclaimer: Inception is the wonderful brainchild of Christopher Nolan
Notes: A fill for this prompt on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
inception_kink
The grass is soft, the air is clean and the sun warms his face as he lies back, arms folded behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles. This moment of peace isn’t real, but perhaps that is why he is so content with it. In his dreams, he can stretch out under the sun and let his guard down. Here, he doesn’t even need to carry a gun unless he wants to.
Eames tosses his poker chip into the air, and two land in his open palm. The dream is a break from the real world, and he’s designed it to be peaceful. Dull. Not the type of place he would lose himself in and become addicted to.
“Nice weather.”
He looks up, and Arthur sits down beside him on the grass that comes from Eames’ childhood memory of his favourite park.
“Hello Arthur,” he says with a smile, not bothering to hide the pleasure that comes with seeing his projection of the point man.
“Mr. Eames,” Arthur returns the greeting with a nod and looks around them. “How very peaceful.”
Sitting up, Eames grins. “Were you after some action and excitement?”
“I’m quite prepared to settle for something safer than a gambling house,” Arthur replies and Eames holds back the urge to say he’d change just about anything in the dream if it makes him happy. Even if it’s true, it’s frankly just a little embarrassing that he can fall this hard for anyone. Particularly when he can’t even make his own projection of them crack a smile.
“Drink?” he asks, offering up a glass of chilled wine.
Arthur accepts it and Eames pours another for himself. They sit back, enjoying the warmth, the good wine, and each other’s company.
“This is pleasant,” Arthur murmurs, his lips against the rim of his wine glass. “I’m amazed, really.”
Eames’ lips curl into a smile a touch too bitter for his own liking. “I always appreciate it when you assume the worst of me, Arthur.”
“That’s not it,” he replies softly. “It’s just…”
“What?” Eames realises that he’s getting irritated at his own projection, but that doesn’t make him feel it any less.
“It’s things like this that make me realise that sometimes, I have you all wrong.”
Eames raises an eyebrow. He hasn’t heard this before. He looks at his two poker chips and rubs them together. A third falls out between them. He isn’t sure whether he wants this to be a dream or real anymore.
“Eames?”
“You’re damn complex for a projection, you know that?” Eames shakes his head. “God knows how much I must be thinking of you without realising it, to get you like this. And I'm not even counting the time I consciously spend thinking about you—”
“Eames,” Arthur says again, and leans forward to press their lips together.
For a moment, Eames is frozen with surprise. Then, before he can question it and cause this projection to stop, he kisses right back. Arthur’s lips are warm, his mouth even hotter. They kiss deeper, harder, nipping and sucking on each other’s lips until Eames pushes Arthur down to lie on the grass.
“Eames,” Arthur murmurs as his tie is hastily undone so Eames can kiss his neck. He tips his head back, “Eames, Eames, listen—”
“Yes, love?”
Arthur holds the sides of Eames’ face and looks into his eyes. “I’m not a projection.”
Eames raises his eyebrows, but the world is beginning to fade. He checks his wristwatch and curses, realising he’s out of time as he descends into darkness.
* * *
He wakes, gasping and sitting up in the lounge chair. Pulling the tube from his arm, Eames looks around him and finds Arthur sitting back in the lounge chair beside him, watching him carefully, holding his own tube in his hand.
“Not a projection,” Eames repeats, but Arthur’s expression doesn’t change as he sits there. Waiting.
They wind the tubes back up into the briefcase and Eames turns, taking a step towards Arthur and pushing him down to sit. Arthur raises an eyebrow as Eames steps closer again, leaning over the chair.
“I know you’re more observant than most people, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind, Mr. Eames.”
“Oh really?” Eames asks, licking his lips. “So I won’t have a gun aimed at my head if I kiss you?”
Arthur’s lips curve upward in one corner, in what Eames would almost call a smile. “No. For starters, my gun is all the way on my desk.”
“Good to know,” Eames murmurs, and places his knee between Arthur’s legs for balance, closing the gap between their lips.
It feels just amazing as before, with the added bonus of knowing that this is real. One of Arthur’s hands settles on the back of Eames’ neck, holding him close, and the other rests on his shoulder. Their kisses soon become more demanding as they both realise just how long they’ve been waiting for this to happen. Their grip tightens and Eames is pulled down until he’s straddling Arthur’s lap.
They pull apart, gasping, staring wide-eyed at each other, when their bodies come together in just the right way. They can feel their erections pressed together between them and they both know that there is only one way this is going to go. Neither of them mind. Not today, when no one else is going to come into work, and they have the workshop to themselves.
Arthur’s hands are already on Eames’ belt, unbuckling it, undoing his pants, pulling them down. Eames takes a moment to breathe, to realise that this is actually happening, and then he begins taking Arthur’s jacket off.
Eames expects Arthur to be, well, exactly the way he is with everything else. Needing order and neatness. It comes as a pleasant surprise when he finds that in truth, Arthur is very easily reduced to an incoherent mess. All Eames needs to do is roll his hips against Arthur’s, and bite his neck, and he is rewarded with a delicious moan that may very well be his own undoing as well.
They abandon their endeavours to undress each other, settling for simply holding onto each other for dear life and grinding. They share another searing kiss and Arthur pulls away panting, resting his head against the back of the chair and finds the presence of mind to mumble, “My suit—I can’t get this one wrecked, it’s my good suit.”
“Darling,” Eames chuckles, “They’re all your good suits.”
Arthur looks as though he’s about to argue the point further, but then Eames slips a hand between their bodies and into Arthur’s pants, effectively cutting off any possibility of coherent thought.
They manage to get their pants down to their knees and then the rest doesn’t matter because all they care about is the friction, the sweet, maddening friction, and the taste of each other’s mouths.
“Eames,” Arthur gasps, breathless, right against the forger’s ear. Eames has never seen him so desperate, so out of control, and he absolutely loves it. Their movements become jerkier, losing whatever little rhythm they could manage and Arthur throws his head back with a loud, soundless moan. “Oh! Fuck. Eames, Eames, Eames.”
“Arthur,” Eames growls, his voice rough with pleasure, and they’re both suddenly letting go. They’re reeling as their world turns unbearably bright for a moment and they slump against each other, hearts pounding and mouths open as they pant for breath.
Their embrace is short-lived and they pull apart once they can breathe evenly. Arthur takes stock of himself and groans at the mess they’ve made, pulling his pants back up.
“You’re so very fortunate that I drove here and my car is parked right near the door,” he mutters and Eames snorts, pressing another wet kiss to his lips.
“You’re blaming me, darling? You’re the one who decided to entire my dream and start snogging me.”
“Yes, well—”
Eames chuckles, bringing his lips to Arthur’s once more, already addicted to the taste of his kiss. “You are absolutely adorable when flustered, Arthur.”
Arthur wants to tell Eames to shut up, but his arms wrap about the broad shoulders, pulling him closer once again.
The sound of someone quietly clearing their throat makes them freeze.
They turn to the door, finding Cobb standing there, looking a little confused and very uncomfortable. The three of them are silent for a long moment before the extractor takes a breath and begins with, “…What—?”
“Cobb, my man!” Eames greets amiably. “So good to see you! Unfortunately, we can’t stay for long. Arthur and I were just discussing our plans for lunch. Weren’t we?”
“Ah… yes,” Arthur says with a nod. He hopes Eames will get off him, but he doesn’t. He does his best to make it look like it’s completely natural to have the forger draped over him. “In fact, we were just leaving now. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Cobb nods vaguely. “I’ll… be at my desk.”
They watch him retreat to the back corner of the workshop and Eames stands, offering Arthur a hand which is ignored. Arthur carries his wrinkled jacket in front of him to cover up the worst of the stains. Eames doesn’t bother.
“Lunch plans,” Arthur says, once they’re outside the door of the workshop.
“Indeed.” Eames winks. “With a starter like that, who wouldn’t want more? Your place or mine?”
Arthur hits him, and walks to his car.
“…Yours.”
x
Author:
kiyalaWord Count: 1578
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: R
Warnings: Men having sex
Disclaimer: Inception is the wonderful brainchild of Christopher Nolan
Notes: A fill for this prompt on
inception_kinkThe grass is soft, the air is clean and the sun warms his face as he lies back, arms folded behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles. This moment of peace isn’t real, but perhaps that is why he is so content with it. In his dreams, he can stretch out under the sun and let his guard down. Here, he doesn’t even need to carry a gun unless he wants to.
Eames tosses his poker chip into the air, and two land in his open palm. The dream is a break from the real world, and he’s designed it to be peaceful. Dull. Not the type of place he would lose himself in and become addicted to.
“Nice weather.”
He looks up, and Arthur sits down beside him on the grass that comes from Eames’ childhood memory of his favourite park.
“Hello Arthur,” he says with a smile, not bothering to hide the pleasure that comes with seeing his projection of the point man.
“Mr. Eames,” Arthur returns the greeting with a nod and looks around them. “How very peaceful.”
Sitting up, Eames grins. “Were you after some action and excitement?”
“I’m quite prepared to settle for something safer than a gambling house,” Arthur replies and Eames holds back the urge to say he’d change just about anything in the dream if it makes him happy. Even if it’s true, it’s frankly just a little embarrassing that he can fall this hard for anyone. Particularly when he can’t even make his own projection of them crack a smile.
“Drink?” he asks, offering up a glass of chilled wine.
Arthur accepts it and Eames pours another for himself. They sit back, enjoying the warmth, the good wine, and each other’s company.
“This is pleasant,” Arthur murmurs, his lips against the rim of his wine glass. “I’m amazed, really.”
Eames’ lips curl into a smile a touch too bitter for his own liking. “I always appreciate it when you assume the worst of me, Arthur.”
“That’s not it,” he replies softly. “It’s just…”
“What?” Eames realises that he’s getting irritated at his own projection, but that doesn’t make him feel it any less.
“It’s things like this that make me realise that sometimes, I have you all wrong.”
Eames raises an eyebrow. He hasn’t heard this before. He looks at his two poker chips and rubs them together. A third falls out between them. He isn’t sure whether he wants this to be a dream or real anymore.
“Eames?”
“You’re damn complex for a projection, you know that?” Eames shakes his head. “God knows how much I must be thinking of you without realising it, to get you like this. And I'm not even counting the time I consciously spend thinking about you—”
“Eames,” Arthur says again, and leans forward to press their lips together.
For a moment, Eames is frozen with surprise. Then, before he can question it and cause this projection to stop, he kisses right back. Arthur’s lips are warm, his mouth even hotter. They kiss deeper, harder, nipping and sucking on each other’s lips until Eames pushes Arthur down to lie on the grass.
“Eames,” Arthur murmurs as his tie is hastily undone so Eames can kiss his neck. He tips his head back, “Eames, Eames, listen—”
“Yes, love?”
Arthur holds the sides of Eames’ face and looks into his eyes. “I’m not a projection.”
Eames raises his eyebrows, but the world is beginning to fade. He checks his wristwatch and curses, realising he’s out of time as he descends into darkness.
He wakes, gasping and sitting up in the lounge chair. Pulling the tube from his arm, Eames looks around him and finds Arthur sitting back in the lounge chair beside him, watching him carefully, holding his own tube in his hand.
“Not a projection,” Eames repeats, but Arthur’s expression doesn’t change as he sits there. Waiting.
They wind the tubes back up into the briefcase and Eames turns, taking a step towards Arthur and pushing him down to sit. Arthur raises an eyebrow as Eames steps closer again, leaning over the chair.
“I know you’re more observant than most people, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind, Mr. Eames.”
“Oh really?” Eames asks, licking his lips. “So I won’t have a gun aimed at my head if I kiss you?”
Arthur’s lips curve upward in one corner, in what Eames would almost call a smile. “No. For starters, my gun is all the way on my desk.”
“Good to know,” Eames murmurs, and places his knee between Arthur’s legs for balance, closing the gap between their lips.
It feels just amazing as before, with the added bonus of knowing that this is real. One of Arthur’s hands settles on the back of Eames’ neck, holding him close, and the other rests on his shoulder. Their kisses soon become more demanding as they both realise just how long they’ve been waiting for this to happen. Their grip tightens and Eames is pulled down until he’s straddling Arthur’s lap.
They pull apart, gasping, staring wide-eyed at each other, when their bodies come together in just the right way. They can feel their erections pressed together between them and they both know that there is only one way this is going to go. Neither of them mind. Not today, when no one else is going to come into work, and they have the workshop to themselves.
Arthur’s hands are already on Eames’ belt, unbuckling it, undoing his pants, pulling them down. Eames takes a moment to breathe, to realise that this is actually happening, and then he begins taking Arthur’s jacket off.
Eames expects Arthur to be, well, exactly the way he is with everything else. Needing order and neatness. It comes as a pleasant surprise when he finds that in truth, Arthur is very easily reduced to an incoherent mess. All Eames needs to do is roll his hips against Arthur’s, and bite his neck, and he is rewarded with a delicious moan that may very well be his own undoing as well.
They abandon their endeavours to undress each other, settling for simply holding onto each other for dear life and grinding. They share another searing kiss and Arthur pulls away panting, resting his head against the back of the chair and finds the presence of mind to mumble, “My suit—I can’t get this one wrecked, it’s my good suit.”
“Darling,” Eames chuckles, “They’re all your good suits.”
Arthur looks as though he’s about to argue the point further, but then Eames slips a hand between their bodies and into Arthur’s pants, effectively cutting off any possibility of coherent thought.
They manage to get their pants down to their knees and then the rest doesn’t matter because all they care about is the friction, the sweet, maddening friction, and the taste of each other’s mouths.
“Eames,” Arthur gasps, breathless, right against the forger’s ear. Eames has never seen him so desperate, so out of control, and he absolutely loves it. Their movements become jerkier, losing whatever little rhythm they could manage and Arthur throws his head back with a loud, soundless moan. “Oh! Fuck. Eames, Eames, Eames.”
“Arthur,” Eames growls, his voice rough with pleasure, and they’re both suddenly letting go. They’re reeling as their world turns unbearably bright for a moment and they slump against each other, hearts pounding and mouths open as they pant for breath.
Their embrace is short-lived and they pull apart once they can breathe evenly. Arthur takes stock of himself and groans at the mess they’ve made, pulling his pants back up.
“You’re so very fortunate that I drove here and my car is parked right near the door,” he mutters and Eames snorts, pressing another wet kiss to his lips.
“You’re blaming me, darling? You’re the one who decided to entire my dream and start snogging me.”
“Yes, well—”
Eames chuckles, bringing his lips to Arthur’s once more, already addicted to the taste of his kiss. “You are absolutely adorable when flustered, Arthur.”
Arthur wants to tell Eames to shut up, but his arms wrap about the broad shoulders, pulling him closer once again.
The sound of someone quietly clearing their throat makes them freeze.
They turn to the door, finding Cobb standing there, looking a little confused and very uncomfortable. The three of them are silent for a long moment before the extractor takes a breath and begins with, “…What—?”
“Cobb, my man!” Eames greets amiably. “So good to see you! Unfortunately, we can’t stay for long. Arthur and I were just discussing our plans for lunch. Weren’t we?”
“Ah… yes,” Arthur says with a nod. He hopes Eames will get off him, but he doesn’t. He does his best to make it look like it’s completely natural to have the forger draped over him. “In fact, we were just leaving now. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Cobb nods vaguely. “I’ll… be at my desk.”
They watch him retreat to the back corner of the workshop and Eames stands, offering Arthur a hand which is ignored. Arthur carries his wrinkled jacket in front of him to cover up the worst of the stains. Eames doesn’t bother.
“Lunch plans,” Arthur says, once they’re outside the door of the workshop.
“Indeed.” Eames winks. “With a starter like that, who wouldn’t want more? Your place or mine?”
Arthur hits him, and walks to his car.
“…Yours.”
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