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shannys_corner2010-08-16 11:57 pm
kiyala.livejournal.com) wrote in shannys_corner2010-08-16 11:57 pm
[fic] Dreaming Bigger
Title: Dreaming Bigger
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kiyala
Word Count: 1533
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG
Warnings: Men kissing.
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 #012 - aurora borealis
No sense of imagination in that pretty head of yours, is there, darling?
It frustrates Arthur because sometimes, he wonders if Eames is right. He’s perfectly capable of following a plan once it’s been laid down in detail—in fact, it’s something he prides himself on. It’s what makes him the best point man around, and it has people willing to throw money at him to work for them. For the longest time, he’s believed that this is all he needs.
Enter Eames, and the ridiculously overvalued notion he brings with him every time, that what Arthur needs is creativity. Imagination.
To begin with, Arthur would just shrug it off, along with the claims that he’s a stick in the mud. What would Eames know about anything?
Except as time passes, he begins to realise just how much Eames sees in everything around him, and the uncanny way he can understand something if he tries hard enough. Because this is what forgers do, and just as Arthur is the best at what he does, Eames is the best forger.
It doesn’t make Eames right, Arthur tells himself. He has plenty of imagination. Except when he looks for it, he can’t see it anywhere.
So he makes a plan. He’ll prove to Eames that he does have an imagination. While he proves it to himself.
* * *
“That’s a terribly big textbook, Arthur, would you like any help researching our mark?”
“Not necessary, Eames. This has nothing to do with our job.”
Eames raises an eyebrow. “Really? You’re reading that tome willingly? For fun?”
Arthur looks up from his book with his best look of superiority. “Some of us do more than gamble our earnings away and drink ourselves senseless for fun.”
“Oh, Arthur. Where would I be without that condescension of yours?”
Arthur doesn’t reply, his attention already back to the heavy book in his hands. Eames shrugs, turning away.
He doesn’t comment on it again, knowing the reaction it will get him, but at every spare chance Arthur has for the rest of the week, he is immersed in an assortment of thick textbooks, scribbling notes into his own notebook and reviewing them. Cobb doesn’t know what Arthur is reading about when he is asked, and Eames simply resigns himself to not finding out. A pity, he thinks, because he’s extremely curious about what could possibly have Arthur this absorbed.
* * *
Arthur leans back in his chair with a sigh, shutting his eyes to give them a break from staring at his laptop. They water in protest to all the books with tiny text and hours spent scrutinising photographs online, and he wipes them and lets himself completely relax; something he only ever does here, in the privacy of his own apartment.
It’s tiring work, and he suspects he may be going a little overboard, but if it proves him correct in the end, that’s all that matters.
Without realising, he falls asleep at his desk and wakes with a crick in his neck and the fleeting memory of a dream of stars and bright colours. He shakes his head at himself with a wry smile. He still dreams, but not as vividly as before he learned to construct his own dreamscapes. This dream reminds him of before, when everything was still fantastical.
He decides that it’s a good idea to just approach Eames and get this out of his system before it completely takes over his thoughts.
Unfortunately, when he goes into work the next day, they have a new job that will require the full extent of their resources for the next two weeks. Arthur does his work as precisely as always, and if he sees a little more colour in the sky than there strictly should be when he goes under, he ignores it.
Eames, the master of being uncomfortably insightful, notices that there is something different about Arthur. Just the way he acts in reality, thankfully, and not the way his dreaming has slightly changed. Still, it isn’t something Arthur is keen on discussing until after their job is complete and so he ignores it, like the -darling-s, like the way Eames looks in his direction far too often, and like the way he enjoys it.
When they abandon their mark, still sound asleep, in a hotel room, Arthur decides that it’s about time. As they part ways at the workshop, Arthur speaks up.
“Mr. Eames. Would you come with me for a moment?”
“Gladly, Arthur,” Eames replies, even gladder when he realises they’re going to Arthur’s apartment.
“Come in.”
“You know, darling, I’d usually insist on someone buying me a drink first, but for you—”
“Shut up, Mr. Eames, and sit down.”
Eames raises his eyebrows and sits on the indicated recliner. He then frowns as Arthur opens up his PASIV and takes two IV lines out. “Arthur?”
“Let me show you my imagination, Eames.”
* * *
Eames looks around the frozen landscape and shivers despite the several layers he is wearing.
“You know, darling, I was hoping for something a little more raunchy than the Arctic.”
“And that is why we’re in my dream, not yours, Eames. This way.”
“Did you really recreate an island in the Arctic Circle to prove a point?”
“Just shut up and keep walking. We’re not too far.”
“From what?”
They stop at two chairs in the still snow. They’re both covered with sheets to reduce the biting cold of the metal beneath.
“Coffee?” Arthur offers, holding out a thermos.
“Much appreciated,” Eames says, taking it and sitting down as Arthur sits beside him. “But why are we here, other than to feel so cold that we can’t feel our noses?”
“Look.” Arthur points upwards, at the dark night sky.
Eames looks, and his breath hitches in amazement, so enthralled that he misses Arthur’s small smile of pleasure at the sound.
Above them, there are colours dancing in the sky, looking as if they’ve always been there. Beautiful curtains of light, impossibly beautiful reds and greens that hang suspended in the night sky. The still lake below reflects right back and in this moment, in the cold and dark, they feel like this place is magic. That this dream could never possibly have root in reality.
“Fuck me, this is—”
“Aurora Borealis,” Arthur finishes, now beyond his ability to hide his happiness. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“You thought this up on your own? I’m impressed, Arthur.”
The lights are too beautiful for Arthur to do anything but smile up at the sky.
“You know,” he murmurs, “The colours we see are photons from the ionosphere. This is just what happens when the oxygen and nitrogen—”
“Oh, Arthur,” Eames shook his head, his tone suddenly disappointed. “And you were doing so well, too.”
“What?” Arthur asks, his smile disappearing immediately in place of a frown.
“The textbooks, the hours you’ve spent poring over your laptop—it was all this, wasn’t it? You were researching your goddamned aurora.”
“Yes I was! So?” Arthur doesn’t quite understand why it’s Eames who sounds so angry.
“Arthur,” Eames massages his temples with a sigh. “Arthur, darling, you’re being the point man again. I’ll give you ten points for the idea, of course, but creating something after researching it to death? That doesn’t count.”
Arthur frowns, turning back to the sky. “What, so you expect me to just make it up on the fly?”
“Well,” Eames leans back in his chair and turns his gaze to the aurora. “…Yes.”
After a moment of concentration, a meteor shoots through the sky with a blazing tail that arcs over them. The stars become brighter. Arthur sighs and they fade, until it’s just the aurora above them once again, but he no longer wants to look at it.
“Don’t feel so disappointed.” Eames pats Arthur on the back. “This is a much better start than I would have ever expected.”
“How reassuring,” Arthur replies dryly, glaring at his boots.
“Are you doing that?” Eames asks, which is a little silly, really, when they’re in Arthur’s dream.
“Doing what?” Arthur looks up, eyebrows rising in surprise as he watches the aurora move, curtains of light dancing in the air and slowly changing colour. They become more red, then green, then blue, purple, orange, and a mix of everything. Arthur and Eames both sit and stare, transfixed.
“I—” Arthur’s eyes widen as he thinks blue, green, purple, red and the lights change accordingly. “I am.”
He almost wants to congratulate himself on how much this makes Eames smile.
“This is beautiful,” Eames murmurs, pulling his chair closer to Arthur’s, looking at him with bright eyes and a smile that just won’t leave his lips. “And I was wrong. You have a wonderful imagination. I’d never have thought of this myself.”
“We need to see this in the real world, now,” Arthur replies, vaguely aware that they are leaning into each other.
Eames hums happily. “We. I like that.”
As the sedative begins to wear off and the dreamscape fades to black, it isn’t the wonderful colours in the sky that Arthur remembers most clearly, it’s the feeling of Eames’ lips on his own.
x
Author:
kiyalaWord Count: 1533
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG
Warnings: Men kissing.
Disclaimer: Inception is the wonderful brainchild of Christopher Nolan
Notes: Written for
500themes, prompt being #012 - aurora borealisNo sense of imagination in that pretty head of yours, is there, darling?
It frustrates Arthur because sometimes, he wonders if Eames is right. He’s perfectly capable of following a plan once it’s been laid down in detail—in fact, it’s something he prides himself on. It’s what makes him the best point man around, and it has people willing to throw money at him to work for them. For the longest time, he’s believed that this is all he needs.
Enter Eames, and the ridiculously overvalued notion he brings with him every time, that what Arthur needs is creativity. Imagination.
To begin with, Arthur would just shrug it off, along with the claims that he’s a stick in the mud. What would Eames know about anything?
Except as time passes, he begins to realise just how much Eames sees in everything around him, and the uncanny way he can understand something if he tries hard enough. Because this is what forgers do, and just as Arthur is the best at what he does, Eames is the best forger.
It doesn’t make Eames right, Arthur tells himself. He has plenty of imagination. Except when he looks for it, he can’t see it anywhere.
So he makes a plan. He’ll prove to Eames that he does have an imagination. While he proves it to himself.
“That’s a terribly big textbook, Arthur, would you like any help researching our mark?”
“Not necessary, Eames. This has nothing to do with our job.”
Eames raises an eyebrow. “Really? You’re reading that tome willingly? For fun?”
Arthur looks up from his book with his best look of superiority. “Some of us do more than gamble our earnings away and drink ourselves senseless for fun.”
“Oh, Arthur. Where would I be without that condescension of yours?”
Arthur doesn’t reply, his attention already back to the heavy book in his hands. Eames shrugs, turning away.
He doesn’t comment on it again, knowing the reaction it will get him, but at every spare chance Arthur has for the rest of the week, he is immersed in an assortment of thick textbooks, scribbling notes into his own notebook and reviewing them. Cobb doesn’t know what Arthur is reading about when he is asked, and Eames simply resigns himself to not finding out. A pity, he thinks, because he’s extremely curious about what could possibly have Arthur this absorbed.
Arthur leans back in his chair with a sigh, shutting his eyes to give them a break from staring at his laptop. They water in protest to all the books with tiny text and hours spent scrutinising photographs online, and he wipes them and lets himself completely relax; something he only ever does here, in the privacy of his own apartment.
It’s tiring work, and he suspects he may be going a little overboard, but if it proves him correct in the end, that’s all that matters.
Without realising, he falls asleep at his desk and wakes with a crick in his neck and the fleeting memory of a dream of stars and bright colours. He shakes his head at himself with a wry smile. He still dreams, but not as vividly as before he learned to construct his own dreamscapes. This dream reminds him of before, when everything was still fantastical.
He decides that it’s a good idea to just approach Eames and get this out of his system before it completely takes over his thoughts.
Unfortunately, when he goes into work the next day, they have a new job that will require the full extent of their resources for the next two weeks. Arthur does his work as precisely as always, and if he sees a little more colour in the sky than there strictly should be when he goes under, he ignores it.
Eames, the master of being uncomfortably insightful, notices that there is something different about Arthur. Just the way he acts in reality, thankfully, and not the way his dreaming has slightly changed. Still, it isn’t something Arthur is keen on discussing until after their job is complete and so he ignores it, like the -darling-s, like the way Eames looks in his direction far too often, and like the way he enjoys it.
When they abandon their mark, still sound asleep, in a hotel room, Arthur decides that it’s about time. As they part ways at the workshop, Arthur speaks up.
“Mr. Eames. Would you come with me for a moment?”
“Gladly, Arthur,” Eames replies, even gladder when he realises they’re going to Arthur’s apartment.
“Come in.”
“You know, darling, I’d usually insist on someone buying me a drink first, but for you—”
“Shut up, Mr. Eames, and sit down.”
Eames raises his eyebrows and sits on the indicated recliner. He then frowns as Arthur opens up his PASIV and takes two IV lines out. “Arthur?”
“Let me show you my imagination, Eames.”
Eames looks around the frozen landscape and shivers despite the several layers he is wearing.
“You know, darling, I was hoping for something a little more raunchy than the Arctic.”
“And that is why we’re in my dream, not yours, Eames. This way.”
“Did you really recreate an island in the Arctic Circle to prove a point?”
“Just shut up and keep walking. We’re not too far.”
“From what?”
They stop at two chairs in the still snow. They’re both covered with sheets to reduce the biting cold of the metal beneath.
“Coffee?” Arthur offers, holding out a thermos.
“Much appreciated,” Eames says, taking it and sitting down as Arthur sits beside him. “But why are we here, other than to feel so cold that we can’t feel our noses?”
“Look.” Arthur points upwards, at the dark night sky.
Eames looks, and his breath hitches in amazement, so enthralled that he misses Arthur’s small smile of pleasure at the sound.
Above them, there are colours dancing in the sky, looking as if they’ve always been there. Beautiful curtains of light, impossibly beautiful reds and greens that hang suspended in the night sky. The still lake below reflects right back and in this moment, in the cold and dark, they feel like this place is magic. That this dream could never possibly have root in reality.
“Fuck me, this is—”
“Aurora Borealis,” Arthur finishes, now beyond his ability to hide his happiness. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“You thought this up on your own? I’m impressed, Arthur.”
The lights are too beautiful for Arthur to do anything but smile up at the sky.
“You know,” he murmurs, “The colours we see are photons from the ionosphere. This is just what happens when the oxygen and nitrogen—”
“Oh, Arthur,” Eames shook his head, his tone suddenly disappointed. “And you were doing so well, too.”
“What?” Arthur asks, his smile disappearing immediately in place of a frown.
“The textbooks, the hours you’ve spent poring over your laptop—it was all this, wasn’t it? You were researching your goddamned aurora.”
“Yes I was! So?” Arthur doesn’t quite understand why it’s Eames who sounds so angry.
“Arthur,” Eames massages his temples with a sigh. “Arthur, darling, you’re being the point man again. I’ll give you ten points for the idea, of course, but creating something after researching it to death? That doesn’t count.”
Arthur frowns, turning back to the sky. “What, so you expect me to just make it up on the fly?”
“Well,” Eames leans back in his chair and turns his gaze to the aurora. “…Yes.”
After a moment of concentration, a meteor shoots through the sky with a blazing tail that arcs over them. The stars become brighter. Arthur sighs and they fade, until it’s just the aurora above them once again, but he no longer wants to look at it.
“Don’t feel so disappointed.” Eames pats Arthur on the back. “This is a much better start than I would have ever expected.”
“How reassuring,” Arthur replies dryly, glaring at his boots.
“Are you doing that?” Eames asks, which is a little silly, really, when they’re in Arthur’s dream.
“Doing what?” Arthur looks up, eyebrows rising in surprise as he watches the aurora move, curtains of light dancing in the air and slowly changing colour. They become more red, then green, then blue, purple, orange, and a mix of everything. Arthur and Eames both sit and stare, transfixed.
“I—” Arthur’s eyes widen as he thinks blue, green, purple, red and the lights change accordingly. “I am.”
He almost wants to congratulate himself on how much this makes Eames smile.
“This is beautiful,” Eames murmurs, pulling his chair closer to Arthur’s, looking at him with bright eyes and a smile that just won’t leave his lips. “And I was wrong. You have a wonderful imagination. I’d never have thought of this myself.”
“We need to see this in the real world, now,” Arthur replies, vaguely aware that they are leaning into each other.
Eames hums happily. “We. I like that.”
As the sedative begins to wear off and the dreamscape fades to black, it isn’t the wonderful colours in the sky that Arthur remembers most clearly, it’s the feeling of Eames’ lips on his own.
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Also? This is just so freaking cute. Love it :)
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(Anonymous) 2010-08-16 03:45 pm (UTC)(link)Also? This is just so freaking cute. Love it :)
I know right? :)
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Heh, run on over to my lj, babe, two fics posted already... :)
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Heee! Awesome. And yes, the Auroras- at both ends of the world- are well worth seeing...
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I used this fic as an excuse to sit and stare at pictures of the auroras on google images. That was a wonderful ten minutes. I don't have many "before I die—" life goals, but seeing at least one aurora is definitely on the list ♥
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