Inception Kink Meme - Arthur/Eames, blushing
Title: Blush
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG
Prompt: Blushing. It's a very tame kink, I know, but oh maaan.
Arthur didn’t let too many people get close, especially not at first, but Eames had weaseled his way into his life almost the first day they’d met.
It was on a job that fell apart halfway through, but even after he had every excuse to head back to Chicago, Arthur hung around in Birmingham, having coffee with Eames in the afternoons and occasionally letting the time drag on until it was only natural that they stop for a quick bite to eat together before heading back home. Time moved at a more leisurely pace, back then, and Arthur could easily chart the days they spent together, casually, before he made the first move and kissed Eames in the afternoon sun outside of a café that afterward seemed to show up in every dream Arthur designed.
Arthur, as an official policy, did not believe in romance. He did, however, believe that it was only sensible to forge a relationship with someone who was quick enough to dodge a sharp stab of humor, or at least parry with one of his own.
It was easy to get along with Eames, even when he was driving you nuts. It was a genial sort of antagonism, the kind that could be silenced and left room for affection, and Arthur didn’t balk when Eames started calling him darling.
But Eames was undeniably more demonstrative about his feelings than Arthur, and when he bought Arthur roses, Arthur told him in no uncertain terms that it was ridiculous.
Eames told him in the same confident voice that he was blushing.
After that, it became something of a campaign of Eames’ to make Arthur blush whenever he could. He would kiss the spot on Arthur’s neck that tickled, his beard scratching the sensitive skin, and Arthur would feel his ears get hot and the warmth start to spread across his cheeks. He’d find notes in the pockets of his jackets that would have scandalized his dry-cleaner, had one of them slipped past, and he would catch Eames watching him read them and go pink. The way Eames would loop an arm around his shoulders when they sat side-by-side, possessive and open, would leave him nearly scarlet, and those were just the things they could do in public.
Eames would call him beautiful under his breath in a crowded subway car, and Arthur would smile silently to himself, feeling content.
Of course, things change and people move on, but there’s never anything clear or neat about the end of a relationship, and Arthur knew he left a few messy pieces of himself on the tarmac when his plane lifted off, bearing him to the city Cobb had called from. Eames hadn’t accompanied him to the airport, had been gone when Arthur woke up.
It was some time before Arthur heard Eames’ name again. He was apparently "the best," now, where his résumé had only dared for “very good” before. Arthur hadn’t tried to keep track of what Eames had been doing, and he hoped that Eames had afforded him the same courtesy. It had been hard enough to move on when the circles they traveled in couldn’t have filled a movie theatre, let along wondering whether the other was happier.
Eames had greeted him by name when he came in the door, and that stung a little. They had never really been on a first name basis, skipped straight to endearments or never really needed to do more than speak to have the other’s attention. There was the same give-and-take, the same sparring of wits and tongues, but there was little behind it but habit now, and Arthur told himself firmly that it was because time healed wounds, not because they were both poking at the spots that were still sore.
So the next time Eames called him darling, Arthur only rolled his eyes, but he stayed up late that night wishing he’d felt again that heady sense of color rushing into his cheeks.
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG
Prompt: Blushing. It's a very tame kink, I know, but oh maaan.
Arthur didn’t let too many people get close, especially not at first, but Eames had weaseled his way into his life almost the first day they’d met.
It was on a job that fell apart halfway through, but even after he had every excuse to head back to Chicago, Arthur hung around in Birmingham, having coffee with Eames in the afternoons and occasionally letting the time drag on until it was only natural that they stop for a quick bite to eat together before heading back home. Time moved at a more leisurely pace, back then, and Arthur could easily chart the days they spent together, casually, before he made the first move and kissed Eames in the afternoon sun outside of a café that afterward seemed to show up in every dream Arthur designed.
Arthur, as an official policy, did not believe in romance. He did, however, believe that it was only sensible to forge a relationship with someone who was quick enough to dodge a sharp stab of humor, or at least parry with one of his own.
It was easy to get along with Eames, even when he was driving you nuts. It was a genial sort of antagonism, the kind that could be silenced and left room for affection, and Arthur didn’t balk when Eames started calling him darling.
But Eames was undeniably more demonstrative about his feelings than Arthur, and when he bought Arthur roses, Arthur told him in no uncertain terms that it was ridiculous.
Eames told him in the same confident voice that he was blushing.
After that, it became something of a campaign of Eames’ to make Arthur blush whenever he could. He would kiss the spot on Arthur’s neck that tickled, his beard scratching the sensitive skin, and Arthur would feel his ears get hot and the warmth start to spread across his cheeks. He’d find notes in the pockets of his jackets that would have scandalized his dry-cleaner, had one of them slipped past, and he would catch Eames watching him read them and go pink. The way Eames would loop an arm around his shoulders when they sat side-by-side, possessive and open, would leave him nearly scarlet, and those were just the things they could do in public.
Eames would call him beautiful under his breath in a crowded subway car, and Arthur would smile silently to himself, feeling content.
Of course, things change and people move on, but there’s never anything clear or neat about the end of a relationship, and Arthur knew he left a few messy pieces of himself on the tarmac when his plane lifted off, bearing him to the city Cobb had called from. Eames hadn’t accompanied him to the airport, had been gone when Arthur woke up.
It was some time before Arthur heard Eames’ name again. He was apparently "the best," now, where his résumé had only dared for “very good” before. Arthur hadn’t tried to keep track of what Eames had been doing, and he hoped that Eames had afforded him the same courtesy. It had been hard enough to move on when the circles they traveled in couldn’t have filled a movie theatre, let along wondering whether the other was happier.
Eames had greeted him by name when he came in the door, and that stung a little. They had never really been on a first name basis, skipped straight to endearments or never really needed to do more than speak to have the other’s attention. There was the same give-and-take, the same sparring of wits and tongues, but there was little behind it but habit now, and Arthur told himself firmly that it was because time healed wounds, not because they were both poking at the spots that were still sore.
So the next time Eames called him darling, Arthur only rolled his eyes, but he stayed up late that night wishing he’d felt again that heady sense of color rushing into his cheeks.