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kiyala.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
shannys_corner2010-09-28 12:05 am
kiyala.livejournal.com) wrote in shannys_corner2010-09-28 12:05 am
[fic] an empty glass of scotch and a poker chip
Title: an empty glass of scotch and a poker chip
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kiyala
Word Count: 1,435
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: men kissing
Summary: Eames has the talent to slip in and out of people's houses without leaving a sign of his presence. Arthur wonders why he's made it a habit to break into his apartment, and make sure Arthur knows.
Disclaimer: Inception is the wonderful brainchild of Christopher Nolan.
Notes: Yay, taking a break from my big bang fic to write something smaller!
This is also written as part of the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
500themes challenge, using prompt #13 – left behind
Eames is a brilliant thief. He can get in and out of a heavily guarded establishment quicker than others can even begin to wonder how they’d accomplish such a feat. He is good at making his presence known when he needs it, and he’s even better at leaving without a trace. When he wants to—and he usually does—he can leave a place and make it look like he’s never been there at all.
Which is what confuses Arthur about the way he’ll always leave an indication that he’s been in the point man’s apartment, or hotel room, or wherever it is that Arthur stays.
Well, one of the things.
Arthur is also confused as to why exactly Eames has decided to make a tradition of breaking into his place at all. It’s become something he has simply learned to expect, returning to his room to discover the subtle signs of Eames having been there. A drawer not fully shut; a glass of scotch sitting on the table with only a few drops left; the faint smell of cigarettes and aftershave and ink that is Eames.
(Arthur is also confused as to why he can identify Eames by his smell.)
And there is always a poker chip. Not chips like the one Eames likes to play with so that he’s never keeping himself entirely still, Arthur knows, because Eames’ is red and the ones he leaves behind for Arthur are all black and white. Sometimes, he wonders where Eames’ never ending supply of poker chips comes from, but he decides that he really doesn’t want to know.
Eames never steals anything from Arthur. Arthur knows this because he’s taken stock of all of his belongings before and after Eames’ visits and there is never any discrepancy beyond a drink here and there. Honestly, this is just even more confusing because he can’t imagine what Eames would be doing if he isn’t there with the intention to actually steal something.
He doesn’t ask Eames. He doesn’t even acknowledge the fact that Eames effortlessly breaks into every single room or apartment he stays in. Sometimes he’ll add extra locks, or place an obstacle in the way of any entry, just to make things difficult, to see if it stops him. It never does, and everything is left exactly where Arthur has placed them, leaving him with three extra locks to undo, or tables he needs to climb over to get into his own room.
Eames doesn’t mention the break-ins himself, but there’s always a slightly amused turn to his lips whenever they next meet after Arthur just ends up making things difficult for himself like this. He sorely wishes that he could find a way to wipe that smirk off the forger’s face, to somehow show him up.
He’s kept every single poker chip Eames has left behind for him. Arthur isn’t sure if Eames knows this, if he’s found where he stores them, in a shoebox stacked beneath several others that actually store his shoes. Regardless, he leaves them out one afternoon before leaving his apartment. Eames is in the area for a few weeks, and Arthur knows he’ll pay a visit. He stacks all twenty seven of them on the coffee table, three by three by three.
He returns a few hours later to find that the centre pile of poker chips now has four instead of three, and that Eames has helped himself to more scotch than usual.
Interesting.
(Arthur tries not to dwell on how pleased he is with Eames for leaving the arrangement symmetrical.)
They aren’t working together just yet, but when Cobb announces the next day that they’ll be using a forger, Arthur doesn’t bat an eyelid.
Eames, on the other hand, walks into the workspace and stares at Arthur as if he’s seeing him for the first time. His handshake is still firm, the quips still come as easily and irritatingly often as usual, but there’s a look in his eyes that makes Arthur feel as if he’s being reassessed, as if Eames’ mental file on him is being entirely rewritten.
Odd, Arthur thinks. All this just because of the poker chips?
When their meeting is done for the day, Eames is the first to leave. Arthur knows where he will be going. Instead of killing an hour the way he usually does with additional research before heading off himself, he gets in his car and drives straight home.
He comes home to Eames sitting on his couch, looking so comfortable that he may as well belong there, and two glasses of scotch on his coffee table. Sitting on coasters. Arthur approves.
The door clicks shut behind him and he crosses the room without a word and sits on the other end of the couch. Eames simply smiles at him and lifts a glass, offering it to Arthur. They both drink, and Arthur isn’t quite sure of why he can’t look away from the sight of Eames slowly swallowing, his lips wet, his Adam’s apple bobbing just above the collar of his shirt.
He’s here because he wants to ask Eames why he’s here, but sitting with him now in the apartment, he feels as if he already knows the answer. Eames is waiting for him; has been waiting for him all this time.
It’s Eames who speaks first, “Took you bloody long enough, didn’t it? I’d always figured you’d be a little bit quicker on the uptake.”
“And I’d always thought you were a whole lot less patient,” Arthur says, and finds himself turning on his side, so he’s facing Eames. “Seriously, Eames. All this time, and you’ve just been…”
“I’ve been here,” Eames finishes for him. “Waiting. Thinking that perhaps you’d find the pattern. Know that I was waiting for you to come join me.”
Arthur laughs quietly. “All this time, I’ve been focusing on the actual act of you breaking into my place. I didn’t think about you actually being here.”
“Perhaps I put a little too much faith in your brilliance,” Eames smiles and then before Arthur can take offence, adds, “Of course, I refer only to your ability to figure things out when they aren’t related to your work.”
“I should have, though,” Arthur murmurs, and doesn’t move away as Eames slides closer to him on the couch. “Instead of making you wait. I should have just done this long ago, come here before you left, and maybe just not let you leave.”
Eames chuckles at this, and they’re close enough now that Arthur can feel his warm breath on his own lips. Eames’ lips are turned up at one end in a grin, and Arthur’s lips are parted without him quite realising.
“You’re right. You should have done this sooner. But I’m not complaining… and the poker chips were a very nice touch. I’m flattered you’ve kept them.”
“Of course I did,” Arthur says, and he could say a million other things too, about how he’s come to look forward to his apartment looking like someone’s been in it, how he loves that it ends up smelling a little like Eames, how he tips those last few drops of scotch into his mouth from Eames’ glass before he washes it. But he can also just simply close that gap between their lips and so he does that instead, leaning into Eames, shutting his eyes and sighing softly at the warm, strong arms that wrap around him.
“You’re worth the wait,” Eames says, so bluntly that Arthur has to look away from the honesty in his eyes to hide his smile. Eames grins and presses a kiss to his jaw. “You are. You’ve absolutely no idea how mad I am about you.”
“Mad? Yes,” Arthur replies, not even bothering to hide his smile. He brushes his thumb across Eames’ lower lip before kissing him. “But about me?”
“You’d better believe it.” Eames pulls him close and proceeds to kiss him until he’s incoherent. “And now that I’ve finally gotten your attention, I intend to romance you properly. Candlelit dinners, moonlit visits to the shooting range, anything you want.”
“Anything?”
“Well.” Eames smiles. “Perhaps not the casino. I’m fairly sure the security there will be after my head for stealing all of those poker chips for you.”
“You stole them… oh, of course. You would.”
Affecting an innocent look, Eames asks, “Would you prefer if we took them back?”
Snorting quietly, Arthur pulls him close again. “Hell no.”
(Arthur realises that he’s been waiting for this too. Eames is right; it’s definitely worth the wait.)
x
Author:
kiyalaWord Count: 1,435
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: men kissing
Summary: Eames has the talent to slip in and out of people's houses without leaving a sign of his presence. Arthur wonders why he's made it a habit to break into his apartment, and make sure Arthur knows.
Disclaimer: Inception is the wonderful brainchild of Christopher Nolan.
Notes: Yay, taking a break from my big bang fic to write something smaller!
This is also written as part of the
500themes challenge, using prompt #13 – left behindEames is a brilliant thief. He can get in and out of a heavily guarded establishment quicker than others can even begin to wonder how they’d accomplish such a feat. He is good at making his presence known when he needs it, and he’s even better at leaving without a trace. When he wants to—and he usually does—he can leave a place and make it look like he’s never been there at all.
Which is what confuses Arthur about the way he’ll always leave an indication that he’s been in the point man’s apartment, or hotel room, or wherever it is that Arthur stays.
Well, one of the things.
Arthur is also confused as to why exactly Eames has decided to make a tradition of breaking into his place at all. It’s become something he has simply learned to expect, returning to his room to discover the subtle signs of Eames having been there. A drawer not fully shut; a glass of scotch sitting on the table with only a few drops left; the faint smell of cigarettes and aftershave and ink that is Eames.
(Arthur is also confused as to why he can identify Eames by his smell.)
And there is always a poker chip. Not chips like the one Eames likes to play with so that he’s never keeping himself entirely still, Arthur knows, because Eames’ is red and the ones he leaves behind for Arthur are all black and white. Sometimes, he wonders where Eames’ never ending supply of poker chips comes from, but he decides that he really doesn’t want to know.
Eames never steals anything from Arthur. Arthur knows this because he’s taken stock of all of his belongings before and after Eames’ visits and there is never any discrepancy beyond a drink here and there. Honestly, this is just even more confusing because he can’t imagine what Eames would be doing if he isn’t there with the intention to actually steal something.
He doesn’t ask Eames. He doesn’t even acknowledge the fact that Eames effortlessly breaks into every single room or apartment he stays in. Sometimes he’ll add extra locks, or place an obstacle in the way of any entry, just to make things difficult, to see if it stops him. It never does, and everything is left exactly where Arthur has placed them, leaving him with three extra locks to undo, or tables he needs to climb over to get into his own room.
Eames doesn’t mention the break-ins himself, but there’s always a slightly amused turn to his lips whenever they next meet after Arthur just ends up making things difficult for himself like this. He sorely wishes that he could find a way to wipe that smirk off the forger’s face, to somehow show him up.
He’s kept every single poker chip Eames has left behind for him. Arthur isn’t sure if Eames knows this, if he’s found where he stores them, in a shoebox stacked beneath several others that actually store his shoes. Regardless, he leaves them out one afternoon before leaving his apartment. Eames is in the area for a few weeks, and Arthur knows he’ll pay a visit. He stacks all twenty seven of them on the coffee table, three by three by three.
He returns a few hours later to find that the centre pile of poker chips now has four instead of three, and that Eames has helped himself to more scotch than usual.
Interesting.
(Arthur tries not to dwell on how pleased he is with Eames for leaving the arrangement symmetrical.)
They aren’t working together just yet, but when Cobb announces the next day that they’ll be using a forger, Arthur doesn’t bat an eyelid.
Eames, on the other hand, walks into the workspace and stares at Arthur as if he’s seeing him for the first time. His handshake is still firm, the quips still come as easily and irritatingly often as usual, but there’s a look in his eyes that makes Arthur feel as if he’s being reassessed, as if Eames’ mental file on him is being entirely rewritten.
Odd, Arthur thinks. All this just because of the poker chips?
When their meeting is done for the day, Eames is the first to leave. Arthur knows where he will be going. Instead of killing an hour the way he usually does with additional research before heading off himself, he gets in his car and drives straight home.
He comes home to Eames sitting on his couch, looking so comfortable that he may as well belong there, and two glasses of scotch on his coffee table. Sitting on coasters. Arthur approves.
The door clicks shut behind him and he crosses the room without a word and sits on the other end of the couch. Eames simply smiles at him and lifts a glass, offering it to Arthur. They both drink, and Arthur isn’t quite sure of why he can’t look away from the sight of Eames slowly swallowing, his lips wet, his Adam’s apple bobbing just above the collar of his shirt.
He’s here because he wants to ask Eames why he’s here, but sitting with him now in the apartment, he feels as if he already knows the answer. Eames is waiting for him; has been waiting for him all this time.
It’s Eames who speaks first, “Took you bloody long enough, didn’t it? I’d always figured you’d be a little bit quicker on the uptake.”
“And I’d always thought you were a whole lot less patient,” Arthur says, and finds himself turning on his side, so he’s facing Eames. “Seriously, Eames. All this time, and you’ve just been…”
“I’ve been here,” Eames finishes for him. “Waiting. Thinking that perhaps you’d find the pattern. Know that I was waiting for you to come join me.”
Arthur laughs quietly. “All this time, I’ve been focusing on the actual act of you breaking into my place. I didn’t think about you actually being here.”
“Perhaps I put a little too much faith in your brilliance,” Eames smiles and then before Arthur can take offence, adds, “Of course, I refer only to your ability to figure things out when they aren’t related to your work.”
“I should have, though,” Arthur murmurs, and doesn’t move away as Eames slides closer to him on the couch. “Instead of making you wait. I should have just done this long ago, come here before you left, and maybe just not let you leave.”
Eames chuckles at this, and they’re close enough now that Arthur can feel his warm breath on his own lips. Eames’ lips are turned up at one end in a grin, and Arthur’s lips are parted without him quite realising.
“You’re right. You should have done this sooner. But I’m not complaining… and the poker chips were a very nice touch. I’m flattered you’ve kept them.”
“Of course I did,” Arthur says, and he could say a million other things too, about how he’s come to look forward to his apartment looking like someone’s been in it, how he loves that it ends up smelling a little like Eames, how he tips those last few drops of scotch into his mouth from Eames’ glass before he washes it. But he can also just simply close that gap between their lips and so he does that instead, leaning into Eames, shutting his eyes and sighing softly at the warm, strong arms that wrap around him.
“You’re worth the wait,” Eames says, so bluntly that Arthur has to look away from the honesty in his eyes to hide his smile. Eames grins and presses a kiss to his jaw. “You are. You’ve absolutely no idea how mad I am about you.”
“Mad? Yes,” Arthur replies, not even bothering to hide his smile. He brushes his thumb across Eames’ lower lip before kissing him. “But about me?”
“You’d better believe it.” Eames pulls him close and proceeds to kiss him until he’s incoherent. “And now that I’ve finally gotten your attention, I intend to romance you properly. Candlelit dinners, moonlit visits to the shooting range, anything you want.”
“Anything?”
“Well.” Eames smiles. “Perhaps not the casino. I’m fairly sure the security there will be after my head for stealing all of those poker chips for you.”
“You stole them… oh, of course. You would.”
Affecting an innocent look, Eames asks, “Would you prefer if we took them back?”
Snorting quietly, Arthur pulls him close again. “Hell no.”
(Arthur realises that he’s been waiting for this too. Eames is right; it’s definitely worth the wait.)
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Awww cute. Love the poker chips, the using of coasters, and Eames having an ink-scent *g*
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(and oh my god your icon is so adorable)
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And you have no idea how happy this line made me:
(Arthur tries not to dwell on how pleased he is with Eames for leaving the arrangement symmetrical.)
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This is the cutest. Love Arthur's realization that Eames was waiting for him all that time. <333 And, of course Eames stole the chips. :)
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I'm in love with this fic.
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This line pretty much speaks for the whole fic, but of course there's so much more to it than that, and it's all so well written and interesting that it's a true pleasure to read. ^_^ I really do adore this fic, and just wanted to let you know that. Thank you so much for writing it and for posting! <3
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