stuff from the kinkmeme.
A Hard Day's Night
Arthur/Eames, PG, prompt: " It’s early in the morning wherever the team has gathered, and Arthur’s sleepy."
1429 words
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They are summoned back to the warehouse at four in the morning. Emergency meeting, Cobb said over the phone, with the kind of tone people often employed when involved in various government conspiracies and only made Eames roll his eyes.
Eames feels, vaguely, that he has every right to be pissed. He had, after all, hobbled out of bed as soon as he'd gotten the call, shrugging into the clothes he'd worn the night before. They felt good and comfortable back then but now they smelled a little and fell a little too tight.
Dom has yet to arrive, despite the fact that he had been the one to call them here. Next to Eames, Ariadne is nodding off, body twitching each time she catches herself dozing. She has eyeliner smeared in remnants, spreading out in wings across her cheeks. Her knitcap sits in a ball on her lap, and she smiles sheepishly at Eames when he catches her eye.
Yusuf is passed out in the corner, head pillowed in his arms. There isn't room for comfort in Eames' seat; the hard plastic digs painfully into the small of his back every time he shifts. He contemplates taking a cab back to the hotel but decides against it because it requires too much effort and movement.
Arthur arrives a few minutes later, shoes clicking against the floor. Eames hasn't seen him since last night after Arthur had insisted on working over time. ( "Over time?" he'd repeated, incredulous. "We're talking about Cobb here; he doesn't compensate for overtime.") Arthur looks worse for wear with circles around his eyes, creases in his suit. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone, and his tie is hanging loose around his neck.
"Eames," Arthur smiles wryly when he stops by the edge of the lawn chair. He has a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, a copy of yesterday's morning paper in the other. Eames grabs him by the arm until Arthur sits down with him. He maneuvers them quickly, pushing his legs aside to give Arthur more room.
"Coffee?" Arthur asks, mouth twitching in the corners. Eames ruffles the top of Arthur's hair with his hand, disturbing the neat parting, and shrugs one shoulder.
"Don't mind if I do."
He winces when the coffee sears his tongue and then hands it back to Arthur who smirks but pats him on the knee. "Too hot?"
"Oh, not at all. Perfect, thank you." Eames bites the inside of his cheek.
"I'll kiss it better later." Arthur grins and despite the teasing promise Eames still feels a little irritable. Arthur puts the mug on the floor and bumps his knee into Eames' and Eames bumps his back and smiles because now that Ariadne is asleep the two of them can get away with it. There's a bit of loose thread sticking out of Arthur's sleeve. Eames picks at it until Arthur makes a noise of disapproval, so instead Eames settles for rubbing the pad of his thumb over Arthur's knuckles.
"So where's Cobb?" Eames asks. Arthur sighs, shivering a little, but the tension in his shoulders eases and he sinks against Eames' side so that they're pressed arm to arm and leg to leg. Eames turns Arthur's hand over his knee, tracing the soft lines of his palm with his fingernail.
"He's with Saito." Arthur shrugs. "Maurice Fischer just died over an hour ago. Probably finishing up last minute plans."
"You have too much faith in Cobb." Eames laughs.
"Why? Don't you?"
Eames grins but doesn't respond. He thinks about it for a minute and then gives up in favor of curling his arm around Arthur's waist. The feeble warmth of Arthur's skin digs into his bones and he is filled with the momentary urge to pull Arthur down with him, follow the taut line of his back with his hands and his tongue, or else drag Arthur to bed, force him to sleep, because he's looking worn around the edges, barely able to hold himself upright.
"I missed you last night." Eames says. This is a fact -- he'd waited outside the warehouse for an hour, on the pretense of retrieving something he'd forgotten. And then in the hotel, another hour, tossing and turning in bed before having a good, proper wank in the shower.
Still, Arthur looks surprised, like he doesn't expect Eames' honesty. He pops his neck, leaning back on his palms and smiling softly as Eames watches him, Arthur's eyelids lowered as Eames follows the bob of his throat and then swipes a thumb across Arthur's jaw.
"I was working." Arthur shrugs, opening his mouth to nip at the edge of Eames' thumbnail. He lets it go a second later but not after giving it a tiny bite.
"My Arthur, ever the hardworker." Eames sighs, smiling faintly. He reaches up to muss Arthur's hair again and wishes, for a moment, that they're back at the hotel, legs twisted under the covers, stretched along the length of each other's bodies. Arthur mouthing the disappearing lines of his tattoos, cock half-hard and pressed to Eames' belly. His hair, undone, and falling around his face like bird feathers, soft against Eames' neck, tickling his nose.
"Mm." Eames says vaguely. "You're right. Somebody has to, as you would say, 'pick up the slack' around here." He puts down his hand and leans back, closing his eyes to the ceiling and cracking his eyes open a second later to glance at Arthur.
There are vague noises coming from outside, squeaking tires and Saito's clipped tones mingling with the grate of Cobb's voice, hitching in argument, and then the slam of doors.
Arthur shoots the door a look, frowning, then tugs Eames in by his shirt for a quick, fierce kiss, hand pressed to Eames' chest. It startles Eames at first but he kisses back a moment later, open-mouthed, and tangling his fingers into Arthur's softened hair. Arthur tastes like coffee, sweet, bitter, a little wet and warm, and when Arthur pulls away without warning, knotting his tie and climbing up to his feet, Eames' lips are still parted, faintly swollen and covered in a sheen of saliva.
Eames pulls him back down by the end of his tie and loops an arm around his waist. They kiss again, and Arthur climbs up Eames' lap, just get a better angle, fitting their hips together. Then another kiss, longer, harder, just for luck, Arthur stroking the sides of Eames' face with his thumbs as their teeth clink. They shudder when they break apart, grinning drunkenly through half-lidded eyes.
"Break it up, boys. We have work to do. Time is money and this is costing me."
Saito claps his hands and pulls out a chair. They spring apart, glancing at each other guiltily and Arthur nearly careens into Cobb who is standing by Eames' elbow.
"Cobb." Arthur says, and swallows. "Saito." His ears are red but he lifts his chin with dignity. Eames, meanwhile, tucks his hands under his arms, sniffing, chewing his lip. Ariadne is stirring in her seat and Eames's sour mood is starting to return.
"I'll see you later." Arthur says tightly to him, nodding, picking up his coffee from the floor. He heads to his desk, presumably to mimic being otherwise engaged, and Eames watches him as he goes, and stretches leisurely in the lawn chair, despite the protesting creak of plastic. He sighs mournfully.
Eames ignores the look Cobb is sending his way, and is immensely relieved when Cobb says nothing as he deposits a stack of folders in Eames' lap. It's business as usual but five minutes later Cobb sits next to him and crosses his arms.
"So you and Arthur," Cobb says casually, "How long?"
Eames caves fairly quickly. "Since you were in grad school," he says, ducking his head and coloring a bit. It's a rough estimate because back then they'd just been sneaking around behind Cobb's back and meeting up at haphazard times of the day. They didn't like each other enough to commit but several years later, here they were. Here they were, Eames thinks. It's a bit odd, to be fairly honest.
"Were you going to tell me?" Cobb asks.
"It crossed my mind a few times, yeah." Eames shrugs.
"Doubtful." Cobb says, but he raises his eyebrows and laughs when he catches Eames' eye. He pats Eames on the shoulder before getting up and joining Saito across the room, and Eames sits back, bewildered, wondering what just happened before laughing too, shoulders shaking in relief.
The Kids Are All Right
Arthur/Eames, PG, AU prompt: " The other kids make fun of Arthur when he wears his new red bowtie to school. Eames tell them STFU and makes them eat dirt."
1237 words
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He tries to, you know, fit in, not because he harbors any real desire but mostly because his mom worries about him not having any friends in school. There is Yusuf who lives down the road who keeps chewing the erasers off his pencils and keeps pebbles in his pockets, who smells damp and dirty and likes amphibians and once told Arthur that his dad was the President. But his mom says he doesn't count, because Yusuf doesn't even go to the same school and the only time Yusuf ever talks to Arthur is when he wants to borrow his toys.
So Arthur doesn't have any friends. But it's not as if he's worried. He figures he'll grow out of it, that he'll get them when he's ready, like when milk teeth fall out to make way for new teeth or when people grow out of their old clothes and have to buy new ones. He'll have friends. Someday, maybe, just not now.
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Arthur likes puzzles. When he was younger, he'd play with building blocks at the daycare where his mom left him when she went to work. Now that he's older, he's moved on to puzzles. It's a great pastime. He likes figuring out which parts go together, assembling the pieces to form a whole and buidling something out of nothing.
That's what his problem is, his mom tells him, he likes spending far too much time alone.
"You should try making friends, dear," she says, ushering him out the front door. "Have fun outside. Come on. It's a beautiful day! No?"
"The other kids eat mud," Arthur says worryingly, "and worms," he adds as an afterthought, remembering the time Billy dug one up from the ground, squirming and wet and held it near his mouth, the other kids cheering him on, the girls squealing and turning away their heads. His mom sighs and pats him on the head, and even then Arthur knows how much he's disappointed her.
The summer Arthur turns seven, they move to Ohio. Yusuf stands on his toes and peers into the passenger side of the car and says goodbye, I'll miss you, and then hands Arthur a matchbox with a live spider inside. "Going away present," Yusuf says, nodding. "Don't forget to write."
Arthur doesn't know what Yusuf's address is so of course he doesn't write. Arthur's first day in his new school makes him inexplicably nervous. But he's a big boy now, he's grown taller over the summer although his mom says he's been looking a bit pale from the lack of outdoor activity. She sends him to school in a crisp red bowtie and tweed shorts. Arthur wants to be a Professor some day, like his grandfather, so he kind of likes the ensemble. He squeezes his mom's hand in pulses before she leaves, three times for good luck before following the long line of kids filing into the classroom.
The teacher's name is Mallorie. She has wavy dark brown hair and says to call her Mal. Mal talk about things Arthur already knows like counting from one to one hundred and who invented electricity. They paint over some macaroni, which a kid sitting next to Arthur, a bigger kid in a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt, starts stuffing into his pockets.
"Don't tell," he says, grinning.
Arthur ignores him.
After recess they get thirty minutes of playtime. All the other kids run out of the door, heading for the slides and swings while Arthur calmly leads the rear, toting the paper bag of oatmeal cookies his mom made for him this morning.
He sits under the shade of a tree, eating his cookies and playing with the rubik's cube he'd picked up at the park last weekend. He's almost figured the pattern out, the whites and reds and greens are all in place and only the orange and blues are mismatched. Soon, Arthur thinks. And then he can show mom.
"You look like a faggot in that bowtie."
Arthur looks up. It's one of the bigger kids from the other class, whose head Arthur thinks is too small for his body. His face pink and splotchy and he's got cheetoh stains all over his mouth.
"I said, you look like a faggot in that bowtie." The kid repeats. He snickers at himself, thinking he's being particularly clever, and Arthur frowns but doesn't rise to the bait. He's had his fair of schoolyard bullies but he finds that they leave you alone if you try not to let them get to you.
"Did you hear what I said?"
Arthur shrugs.
"Are you retarded or something? Huh?" He kicks the rubik's cube out of Arthur's hands and it skitters across the ground. Arthur scowls and climbs to his feet to pick it up but the kid kicks it again, laughing when it slides several feet away.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that." Arthur says hotly.
"Yeah, well, who's gonna stop me huh? Puny kid like you? I'm nine years old!" He shoves Arthur on the shoulder, hard enough to send Arthur toppling backwards on his hands.
"Hey!" someone yells from across the schoolyard. "Leave him alone fucko!"
"Fucko?" Arthur repeats, then realizes he's said a bad word. The kid in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt comes skidding over toward them, helping Arthur off the ground and glaring at the other, bigger kid.
"Are you okay?" he asks Arthur. Arthur nods. His palms hurt. He looks at them and finds them scratched raw and dirty.
"Go away Peter! Or I'm telling Mister Cobb!" The kid in the Turtles shirt puffs up his chest, curling his fists at his sides. This intimidate Peter who just sneers and huffs but walks off, muttering something about faggots under his breath.
"He's such an arsehole, I swear," the kids mutters.
Arthur blinks at him. "You swear a lot."
The kid shrugs. "I'm Eames." he says, thrusting out a hand. He's got an accent that Arthur can't place but is sure he's heard somewhere before, like on TV. Arthur looks at Eames' hand warily and nods his head but doesn't take it. "Arthur."
"It's all right," Eames says, wiping his hand on the front of his shirt, twice. "I didn't pick my nose or anything, you can shake it. It's clean."
"Okay." Arthur says slowly. They shake like proper gentlemen. Eames smiles and then throws himself on the grass, lying there with his arms crossed behind his head.
Arthur sits cross-legged and goes back to his rubik's cube.
"Want some jujubes?" Eames asks.
"Nah," Arthur says. "Want some cookies?"
"What kind are they?" Eames asks in interest, sitting up. "Chocolate chip cookies?"
"Oatmeal," Arthur says.
Eames frowns for a moment. "Eh, well, they'll have to do," he sniffs, rubbing both hands together. Arthur hands him a piece and they eat in silence for awhile, scattering crumbs on the ground and watching the other kids play tag.
"Hey, if that guy ever gives you trouble," Eames begins to say, "Or if anyone out here gives you trouble, you just tell me alright? I'll give them a proper beating."
"I really didn't need any help back there." Arthur says.
Eames shrugs, looking unconvinced. After a moment, he says, "You look like a traveling salesman with that bowtie on."
Arthur's face warms. "Thanks," he says. "I think."
Eames shakes his head at him and laughs.