[fic] Cyclical
Aug. 15th, 2010 01:23 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: Cyclical
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kiyala
Word Count: 1538
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of men having sex
Disclaimer: Inception is the wonderful brainchild of Christopher Nolan
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
500themes, prompt being #015 - last time.
The view is magnificent from here, the window overlooking the city below. The buildings are bathed in the warm glow of sunset; shining golden on one side, the shadow of the night creeping in from the other. It’s serene and for a moment, he feels entirely at peace.
A hand settles on his side and he frowns lightly, the peace quickly fading as he turns.
“You have a particular fondness for France, don’t you darling?”
Arthur's frown deepens. To him, France is the beginning. Where he met Dom, where he met Mal, where he began to learn everything he knows. He doesn’t say this. He simply shrugs.
“It’s familiar.”
“We could make a day trip into Paris tomorrow. Explore the city of love…”
“Eames,” he says, sounding tired. “Don’t.”
Eames doesn’t need to ask don’t what?, because this is a repetition of a repeated conversation. He simply nods, taking a step backward to give Arthur his space, but remaining close enough to touch.
“What are we still doing here, Arthur?”
Arthur turns back to the window, not knowing how to reply. It’s already been half a week since they’ve finished the job together, but he still lingers, staying in the same hotel he and Eames had booked in together a month ago.
It keeps coming to this. Him and Eames and a hotel room somewhere, anywhere, just waiting for something to happen. He’s just unsure of what, and he hates the feeling. He’s the best point man out there and that means it’s his job to be sure of everything. Work is one thing, but once they’re back in the real world, without IV tubes connected to them, Arthur is never sure of anything with Eames.
“Arthur…” Eames’ voice is soft and his touch is gentle as he places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He knows exactly what it is that they both want, he just doesn’t know why Arthur won’t admit it.
With a loud sigh, Arthur leans back into the touch. He feels Eames’ chin on his shoulder and turns his head so their foreheads are touching. He’s thankful that Eames has his eyes closed, because it means he can’t see the tortured look on his own face.
“This is the last time, Eames. The last time.”
“Yes Arthur,” Eames murmurs, before he turns the point man around and covers his lips with his own.
* * *
It’s always their last time. Perhaps once, a long time ago, Eames believed it when he heard it. Now, he knows better than to think that when Arthur says that this time is definitely the last time, he will never give into his utter need for Eames ever again.
It breaks Eames’ heart a little every time, when they wake up from a passionate night and Arthur has already slipped back into his shell of clinical, mechanical efficiency. Arthur doesn’t know this, because while he is good at seeing through most of Eames’ disguises and masks now, there are some that he doesn’t want to read.
It isn’t the sex that Arthur has an issue with. Not when they’ve been sleeping with each other for almost as long as they’ve known each other. It’s everything else that bothers him, like the fact that now, being with Eames is when Arthur feels most at home. It shouldn’t make sense, the way one man can make a hotel room in a foreign city more like home than his own apartment in L.A. but somehow, it does.
“Darling, stay in bed a little longer. There's no rush. Not if this is the last time.”
Arthur sighs, but lies back down on his side, facing Eames. “Don't call me that.”
“Yes Arthur,” the forger murmurs, not even trying to keep the contentment out of his voice as he wraps an arm around Arthur’s naked waist and kisses his shoulder.
“Eames,” Arthur says at length, doing his best to sound detached even as he strokes Eames’ lips with his thumb. “You have a terrible understanding of the word last.”
“Do I, now?” Eames looks at him and Arthur thinks, not for the first time, that his lover has a very intense gaze—wait, his lover? Eames shifts a little so he’s lying on top of the point man and continues to look at him in that piercing way that makes Arthur feel like his shell is being stripped away, layer by layer. “And of course, when you use that word… when you speak in terms of finality, you mean it.”
Arthur hesitates. “I… Eames…”
“I’m pushing it, I know.” Eames sits up in their bed and for the briefest moment, he looks incredibly worn before the casual smirk is back on his lips and he makes his way to the bathroom.
By the time they’re both dressed and are eating breakfast, they're back to treating each other with something that would barely pass as friendship between two other people, bickering and exchanging barbs over hot croissants and rich coffee.
“I think I’ll go back to the States,” Arthur says towards the end of the meal. Eames isn’t too surprised by this; Arthur usually leaves fairly soon after one of his last times. He is, however, surprised when Arthur looks up at him and asks, “What about you?”
“Back to Mombasa. I’m surprised you asked. I believe there are some poker chips with my name on them.”
“It’s dangerous there.”
“It’s lively.”
“You may not have any hitmen after you right now, but I’m sure you will if you stay there long enough.”
Eames flashes him a broad grin, “Darling, are you concerned for my safety?”
“Don't call me that.”
“Why?”
Because you mean it, Arthur thinks, but he says nothing to Eames, placing the correct amount of money on the table to cover his half of the bill and leaving the café.
Later that afternoon, they say their goodbyes in an airport waiting lounge. Arthur’s flight is first and Eames insists on waiting with him, though he knows better than to say as much. When it’s time for Arthur to board, they nod their goodbyes to each other and it isn’t until he's sitting on the plane that he realises that they were both staring at each other’s lips.
* * *
It’s barely a month later and they’ve found themselves in Dubai on another extraction job. The new extractor doesn’t meet their standards, because he is no Dominic Cobb, but Arthur finds himself pleased to walk into the office and find Eames leaning back in a chair playing with his poker chip.
They nod at each other in greeting, but don’t have the conversation they’re both anticipating until their work is done.
“I’ve been eyeing a nice suite with enough room for two,” Eames says conversationally as they walk away from their temporary office for the last time. He looks at Arthur and raises an eyebrow. “In case you haven’t made plans to be elsewhere already.”
Arthur huffs in response. He never makes plans immediately after a job with Eames. Not even he is that good at lying to himself.
They spend the night entangled on the comfortable king size bed, panting each other’s names, familiarising themselves with each other’s bodies once again.
This is the part Arthur can handle. He’ll never admit to Eames that he loves the way they fuck after not seeing each other for a while, but he does. He can handle the way Eames pins him to the mattress and makes him beg, just like he can handle his own desire to leave Eames looking utterly wrecked when they’re done.
What he can’t handle—what he doesn’t know how to handle—is when they’re done and Eames drapes an arm over him and mumbles, ’night, love you, missed you. Because he thinks Eames might actually mean it. Because he thinks that he wants Eames to mean it.
The morning after, Eames always showers him in more affection than he’d dare at other times. Fond looks, affectionate touches and passionate kisses; Arthur feels guilty for wanting them and enjoying them, and so he accepts them with the usual reluctance.
Eames takes Arthur out to lunch, and Arthur takes Eames out to dinner. Just to even things out, he says, but he barely buys it and Eames most certainly does not. Their conversation is light as they exchange stories of the past month, but it changes tone once they’re in their suite again.
“So,” Eames says lightly, checking his watch, “I do believe that this is about the time you start telling me this is the last time we do this and how you’re never going to give in to this again.”
Arthur wonders if the brief flicker of emotion in Eames’ eyes is anger or sadness. He realises that it’s probably both.
“Well then,” Arthur replies, taking hold of the tie Eames has put on for tonight, “I’m sorry to say you’re wrong.”
When Eames is pulled into the most gentle and sincere kiss he’s ever received, he considers that perhaps being wrong isn’t such a bad thing.
x
Author:
kiyalaWord Count: 1538
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of men having sex
Disclaimer: Inception is the wonderful brainchild of Christopher Nolan
Notes: Written for
500themes, prompt being #015 - last time.The view is magnificent from here, the window overlooking the city below. The buildings are bathed in the warm glow of sunset; shining golden on one side, the shadow of the night creeping in from the other. It’s serene and for a moment, he feels entirely at peace.
A hand settles on his side and he frowns lightly, the peace quickly fading as he turns.
“You have a particular fondness for France, don’t you darling?”
Arthur's frown deepens. To him, France is the beginning. Where he met Dom, where he met Mal, where he began to learn everything he knows. He doesn’t say this. He simply shrugs.
“It’s familiar.”
“We could make a day trip into Paris tomorrow. Explore the city of love…”
“Eames,” he says, sounding tired. “Don’t.”
Eames doesn’t need to ask don’t what?, because this is a repetition of a repeated conversation. He simply nods, taking a step backward to give Arthur his space, but remaining close enough to touch.
“What are we still doing here, Arthur?”
Arthur turns back to the window, not knowing how to reply. It’s already been half a week since they’ve finished the job together, but he still lingers, staying in the same hotel he and Eames had booked in together a month ago.
It keeps coming to this. Him and Eames and a hotel room somewhere, anywhere, just waiting for something to happen. He’s just unsure of what, and he hates the feeling. He’s the best point man out there and that means it’s his job to be sure of everything. Work is one thing, but once they’re back in the real world, without IV tubes connected to them, Arthur is never sure of anything with Eames.
“Arthur…” Eames’ voice is soft and his touch is gentle as he places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He knows exactly what it is that they both want, he just doesn’t know why Arthur won’t admit it.
With a loud sigh, Arthur leans back into the touch. He feels Eames’ chin on his shoulder and turns his head so their foreheads are touching. He’s thankful that Eames has his eyes closed, because it means he can’t see the tortured look on his own face.
“This is the last time, Eames. The last time.”
“Yes Arthur,” Eames murmurs, before he turns the point man around and covers his lips with his own.
It’s always their last time. Perhaps once, a long time ago, Eames believed it when he heard it. Now, he knows better than to think that when Arthur says that this time is definitely the last time, he will never give into his utter need for Eames ever again.
It breaks Eames’ heart a little every time, when they wake up from a passionate night and Arthur has already slipped back into his shell of clinical, mechanical efficiency. Arthur doesn’t know this, because while he is good at seeing through most of Eames’ disguises and masks now, there are some that he doesn’t want to read.
It isn’t the sex that Arthur has an issue with. Not when they’ve been sleeping with each other for almost as long as they’ve known each other. It’s everything else that bothers him, like the fact that now, being with Eames is when Arthur feels most at home. It shouldn’t make sense, the way one man can make a hotel room in a foreign city more like home than his own apartment in L.A. but somehow, it does.
“Darling, stay in bed a little longer. There's no rush. Not if this is the last time.”
Arthur sighs, but lies back down on his side, facing Eames. “Don't call me that.”
“Yes Arthur,” the forger murmurs, not even trying to keep the contentment out of his voice as he wraps an arm around Arthur’s naked waist and kisses his shoulder.
“Eames,” Arthur says at length, doing his best to sound detached even as he strokes Eames’ lips with his thumb. “You have a terrible understanding of the word last.”
“Do I, now?” Eames looks at him and Arthur thinks, not for the first time, that his lover has a very intense gaze—wait, his lover? Eames shifts a little so he’s lying on top of the point man and continues to look at him in that piercing way that makes Arthur feel like his shell is being stripped away, layer by layer. “And of course, when you use that word… when you speak in terms of finality, you mean it.”
Arthur hesitates. “I… Eames…”
“I’m pushing it, I know.” Eames sits up in their bed and for the briefest moment, he looks incredibly worn before the casual smirk is back on his lips and he makes his way to the bathroom.
By the time they’re both dressed and are eating breakfast, they're back to treating each other with something that would barely pass as friendship between two other people, bickering and exchanging barbs over hot croissants and rich coffee.
“I think I’ll go back to the States,” Arthur says towards the end of the meal. Eames isn’t too surprised by this; Arthur usually leaves fairly soon after one of his last times. He is, however, surprised when Arthur looks up at him and asks, “What about you?”
“Back to Mombasa. I’m surprised you asked. I believe there are some poker chips with my name on them.”
“It’s dangerous there.”
“It’s lively.”
“You may not have any hitmen after you right now, but I’m sure you will if you stay there long enough.”
Eames flashes him a broad grin, “Darling, are you concerned for my safety?”
“Don't call me that.”
“Why?”
Because you mean it, Arthur thinks, but he says nothing to Eames, placing the correct amount of money on the table to cover his half of the bill and leaving the café.
Later that afternoon, they say their goodbyes in an airport waiting lounge. Arthur’s flight is first and Eames insists on waiting with him, though he knows better than to say as much. When it’s time for Arthur to board, they nod their goodbyes to each other and it isn’t until he's sitting on the plane that he realises that they were both staring at each other’s lips.
It’s barely a month later and they’ve found themselves in Dubai on another extraction job. The new extractor doesn’t meet their standards, because he is no Dominic Cobb, but Arthur finds himself pleased to walk into the office and find Eames leaning back in a chair playing with his poker chip.
They nod at each other in greeting, but don’t have the conversation they’re both anticipating until their work is done.
“I’ve been eyeing a nice suite with enough room for two,” Eames says conversationally as they walk away from their temporary office for the last time. He looks at Arthur and raises an eyebrow. “In case you haven’t made plans to be elsewhere already.”
Arthur huffs in response. He never makes plans immediately after a job with Eames. Not even he is that good at lying to himself.
They spend the night entangled on the comfortable king size bed, panting each other’s names, familiarising themselves with each other’s bodies once again.
This is the part Arthur can handle. He’ll never admit to Eames that he loves the way they fuck after not seeing each other for a while, but he does. He can handle the way Eames pins him to the mattress and makes him beg, just like he can handle his own desire to leave Eames looking utterly wrecked when they’re done.
What he can’t handle—what he doesn’t know how to handle—is when they’re done and Eames drapes an arm over him and mumbles, ’night, love you, missed you. Because he thinks Eames might actually mean it. Because he thinks that he wants Eames to mean it.
The morning after, Eames always showers him in more affection than he’d dare at other times. Fond looks, affectionate touches and passionate kisses; Arthur feels guilty for wanting them and enjoying them, and so he accepts them with the usual reluctance.
Eames takes Arthur out to lunch, and Arthur takes Eames out to dinner. Just to even things out, he says, but he barely buys it and Eames most certainly does not. Their conversation is light as they exchange stories of the past month, but it changes tone once they’re in their suite again.
“So,” Eames says lightly, checking his watch, “I do believe that this is about the time you start telling me this is the last time we do this and how you’re never going to give in to this again.”
Arthur wonders if the brief flicker of emotion in Eames’ eyes is anger or sadness. He realises that it’s probably both.
“Well then,” Arthur replies, taking hold of the tie Eames has put on for tonight, “I’m sorry to say you’re wrong.”
When Eames is pulled into the most gentle and sincere kiss he’s ever received, he considers that perhaps being wrong isn’t such a bad thing.
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