Fic: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Title: You don't know what you have, until someone else has it
Author: Ladye Black
Rating: T
Word Count: ~1900
Summary: Arthur keeps "hitting on" Eames. Eames would like for it to stop...until someone else starts getting all of the attention.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. That's Chris Nolan. I just borrowed them.
Notes: This story first originated from a prompt that was given to an author on their lj for said author to write. But only the first part. The rest is entirely my own, and has therefore been reworked so much it barely resembles the original prompt that started this in the first place.
Arthur’s littlest finger brushed against the sleeve of Eames’s shirt. Eames stared in horrified fascination at the spot that the other man had just touched. Arthur pulled back, pencil in hand. It was the second time that day that Arthur had touched him, and it was only eleven o’clock in the morning. Eames wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take.
For weeks now, Arthur had been coming on to him.
It was subtle. Mostly, just little touches like what had just occurred with the pencil, but it happened constantly. Once, Arthur had found seven different ways to brush up against Eames in five hours. It was driving him mad. Eames wasn’t looking for the attention, but Arthur kept giving it to him, even after Eames had turned it down multiple times. Arthur’s persistence on the matter was bordering on just this side of ridiculous. Obviously, Eames was going to have to put his foot down a little harder.
He sat up straight from his slouch on Arthur’s desk to better look down his nose at the other man. And then proceeded to watch as Arthur neatly added some lines to the blueprint Ariadne had drawn up for their job. She had a real job now as an architecture consultant for a major corporation; though at the moment it mainly consisted of getting cups of coffee and running blueprints back and forth between different offices. Still, she occasionally offered designs for levels in extraction jobs both because she was still fascinated by the dream world and because she needed the money to pay off her loans. She would be by later to discuss anymore additions or subtractions that needed to be made to the plans.
For now, Arthur was tailoring the original maze Ariadne had made to suit their needs better. He was making notes in neat, precise lettering with each addition; Eames, stared, fascinated by the whole process.
Maybe he was wrong when he said Arthur lacked imagination.
***
He wouldn’t have minded so much, if Arthur had been his type. But, he wasn’t. Too serious and withdrawn. Arthur rarely smiled and seemed to have the personality of a piece of driftwood. Dry and utterly boring. Eames liked his partners to have a little more spice to them.
Arthur had a nice body though, from what Eames could guess. He hid it well under the suits, but if one looked close enough, they would see the sinewy strength hidden just beneath cloth.
Eames was never going to get close enough to confirm his suspicions though. Things were complicated enough as it was without adding false hope to Arthur’s advances.
***
The knuckles grazing his cheek brought him out of his stupor. He looked up into Arthur’s dark eyes, reading the concern, and possibly something else, in them.
“Looks like they roughed you up pretty bad,” Arthur grabbed a bottle of Isopropyl Alcohol and a cotton swab before turning his attention back to the graze on Eames’s cheek.
“I’ve had worse,” he replied, voice a little rough with pain.
“This is going to sting,” was all the warning Eames was given before the swab is judiciously applied. Eames winced, but otherwise managed to keep still throughout the process of cleaning the wound. The application of the bandage was a little different.
Arthur smoothed it over his cheekbone carefully. Almost…lovingly, Eames thought. He pulled way abruptly, needing space between himself and the other man. “I think that’s got it,” he said by way of explanation before hopping off the table he’d been perched on.
Arthur’s confused stare followed him out the door.
***
The next time it happened, Eames finally felt he had to say something.
“Look, I just don’t think of you that way,” he said before turning and leaving Arthur with one hand in the air, holding onto a piece of paper with dried macaronis stuck to it.
Arthur shrugged. If Eames didn’t want the art piece that James had made for him, then Arthur would just hold onto it. It was rather good for a four-year-old, after all. He’d thought Eames would have at least appreciated the effort.
***
They didn't see or hear from each other again for weeks.
***
It wasn't until Eames saw Arthur interact with the new crew that he had any inkling that maybe he had some signals crossed.
He watched with narrowed eyes as Ben, their new architect, laughed at something Arthur said, leaning towards the point man. Arthur smiled back, reaching for a pencil absentmindedly.
Arthur never smiled when reaching for a pencil near Eames. At best, he looked tolerant. And that was when the forger realized that maybe, just maybe, he had read Arthur wrong.
He also came to realize that Arthur divided his time fairly equally amongst all of the new team members by answering questions and giving out reassurances to the fairly new inductees into dream sharing. Eames received the least amount of Arthur’s time. He told himself that it was only logical since he didn’t need Arthur’s help; he’d been doing this for years. Besides, Arthur couldn’t forge anyway, and so wasn’t of much help in the process other than collecting information in the real world and critiquing Eames’s performance in the dream world. Really, there was no reason for him to take anymore of Arthur’s time than he already did. Somehow, irrationally, that didn’t stop him from wanting more of it.
He certainly wasn’t jealous of the others.
***
Eames started finding ways to interrupt conversations between Ben and Arthur.
It had started innocently enough. He wanted to know if Arthur was ready to see his latest revisions on his forge of the mark’s younger sister and he had just happened to step in on them laughing together. Again. It seemed to be happening a lot lately; Ben and Arthur laughing together. Whispering to each other. Heads bent close together sharing secret smiles. Eames was relieved that he was no longer the target of Arthur’s affections. Really.
That didn’t stop the swell of…something that made him step a little louder into the room, causing the other two men to break apart. Neither had the decency to look guilty…for what, Eames wasn’t sure. He asked his question, and Arthur replied. In a few minutes, I’m just finishing up the final level with Ben. He was always with Ben. Eames told himself that he wasn’t jealous.
It was starting to ring less and less true. But Eames was an adult, so he quietly turned back around, and went to prepare the PASIV.
Afterwards, however, Arthur and Ben could scarcely have a conversation together without Eames interrupting for one thing or another.
Sometimes, to throw them off, Eames sent Jill, their fledgling extractor, with a question for Arthur. A question he could have easily answered himself, but Ben had bent a little closer than Eames liked over Arthur, and Eames was pretty sure he had already used up Arthur’s tolerance for him that day, and really he was too busy doing his job to answer questions, and Arthur was obviously not being busy and letting Ben hang all over him.
Eames thought maybe it was time he admitted to himself that he had a problem, one that was decidedly Arthur-shaped.
***
He was losing Arthur. To an untrained architect. And not just any untrained architect, but one with perfectly blonde hair, perfectly elegant fingers, and a perfectly white smile. He had to do something before poor Arthur was whisked away in a whirlwind of utterly boring perfectness. He had to make Arthur see that Ben wasn’t perfect at all, and instead that Eames was.
They were extracting from the mark in three days. Eames was going to make sure that when it was all over and Arthur was ready to be swept away, he was going to be swept away by Eames.
***
“Eames…what are these?” Arthur had the cutest, little confused frown Eames had ever seen.
“They’re chocolates.” It should have been obvious. It said so on the box.
“Well, yes, I can see that, but why are you handing them to me?”
“Because I’m giving them to you.” Really, was there something wrong with Arthur? Maybe he was getting cold and it was impairing his vision.
“But, I’m allergic to chocolate. You know that.”
Eames gaped. “When?!”
“You don’t remember? The cookies Ariadne made for us on our last job with her? I bit into one before I realized that the white bits weren’t nuts. I went into anaphylaxis and she had to take me to the hospital.” Arthur’s brow furrowed a little.
Eames did remember. “I thought you were joking.” Well, that and how it was a clever ploy to get him to kiss Arthur. He wasn’t born yesterday, thank you very much.
“Well, you were mistaken.”
“Indeed.” He turned away, chocolates in hand, and almost walked straight into Ben.
“Ooh, chocolates! Can I have one?”
Eames dumped the entire box into the trash can. “No.”
As he walked out of the room, he heard Ben ask, “Geez, what’s gotten into him? He sick or something?”
He didn’t hear Arthur’s reply.
***
The night before the extraction, he took Arthur out to dinner at his favorite Mexican restaurant. Eames ate with gusto, telling Arthur amusing stories about other teams he had worked with, and the marks they had extracted from. It wasn’t until he was over half-way done with his plate that he noticed that Arthur had barely touched his.
“Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.
Arthur gave him a quick little smile. Eames’s heart began to beat a little faster. “I’m fine.”
“You’ve barely eaten a thing. Are you sick?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then why…?”
Eames was fascinated by the blush that started crawling up Arthur’s neck.
“Um, it’s not really a big deal.”
Arthur said ‘um.’ Arthur never said ‘um.’ Alarm bells were going off in Eames’s head.
“Please, tell me.”
The blush deepened. “I just-well, I don’t really like Mexican cuisine,” Arthur said quietly, head down.
“But, what about the… or the…” Actually, come to think of it, Eames had never seen Arthur eat Mexican. The carry out bags had all been from Ben. Eames had just assumed Arthur ate it too because the bags seemed to always find themselves on Arthur’s desk.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
Arthur’s head jerked up. “What? No! It’s fine.”
Eames’s lips thinned slightly into a grim line. “It’s not fine. You’re not enjoying yourself. We’ll go.” He motioned to their waiter for their check.
“But, Eames-“
“It’s fine, Arthur.” He placed enough money in the holder containing the check to cover the bill and a generous tip for the poor waiter since they were cutting out early. He stood up. “Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand.
Arthur stared up at him for a moment. He had a slightly lost expression his face, along with something else Eames wasn’t sure he could name. “I…yes,” he said, before placing his hand in Eames’s. The forger closed his fingers around the other man’s lightly, pulling him up.
“Where would you like to go?”
Arthur smiled shyly. Eames’s heart skipped a beat. “How about we just walk around until we find something?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Maybe Arthur wasn’t so bad after all, Eames thought. Obviously, he had a wonderful personality, warm and kind. And maybe, Eames was a little in love with him after all. He just hadn’t realized it until it had almost slipped away from him. Well, he had a hold now, and he wasn’t going to let go.
Eames squeezed the fingers in his hand a little tighter. The fingers squeezed back.
I am considering writing another fic from Arthur's side explaining how manipulative he really is. (Or, "How Arthur Came To Be Charmed So Fast")
Author: Ladye Black
Rating: T
Word Count: ~1900
Summary: Arthur keeps "hitting on" Eames. Eames would like for it to stop...until someone else starts getting all of the attention.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. That's Chris Nolan. I just borrowed them.
Notes: This story first originated from a prompt that was given to an author on their lj for said author to write. But only the first part. The rest is entirely my own, and has therefore been reworked so much it barely resembles the original prompt that started this in the first place.
Arthur’s littlest finger brushed against the sleeve of Eames’s shirt. Eames stared in horrified fascination at the spot that the other man had just touched. Arthur pulled back, pencil in hand. It was the second time that day that Arthur had touched him, and it was only eleven o’clock in the morning. Eames wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take.
For weeks now, Arthur had been coming on to him.
It was subtle. Mostly, just little touches like what had just occurred with the pencil, but it happened constantly. Once, Arthur had found seven different ways to brush up against Eames in five hours. It was driving him mad. Eames wasn’t looking for the attention, but Arthur kept giving it to him, even after Eames had turned it down multiple times. Arthur’s persistence on the matter was bordering on just this side of ridiculous. Obviously, Eames was going to have to put his foot down a little harder.
He sat up straight from his slouch on Arthur’s desk to better look down his nose at the other man. And then proceeded to watch as Arthur neatly added some lines to the blueprint Ariadne had drawn up for their job. She had a real job now as an architecture consultant for a major corporation; though at the moment it mainly consisted of getting cups of coffee and running blueprints back and forth between different offices. Still, she occasionally offered designs for levels in extraction jobs both because she was still fascinated by the dream world and because she needed the money to pay off her loans. She would be by later to discuss anymore additions or subtractions that needed to be made to the plans.
For now, Arthur was tailoring the original maze Ariadne had made to suit their needs better. He was making notes in neat, precise lettering with each addition; Eames, stared, fascinated by the whole process.
Maybe he was wrong when he said Arthur lacked imagination.
***
He wouldn’t have minded so much, if Arthur had been his type. But, he wasn’t. Too serious and withdrawn. Arthur rarely smiled and seemed to have the personality of a piece of driftwood. Dry and utterly boring. Eames liked his partners to have a little more spice to them.
Arthur had a nice body though, from what Eames could guess. He hid it well under the suits, but if one looked close enough, they would see the sinewy strength hidden just beneath cloth.
Eames was never going to get close enough to confirm his suspicions though. Things were complicated enough as it was without adding false hope to Arthur’s advances.
***
The knuckles grazing his cheek brought him out of his stupor. He looked up into Arthur’s dark eyes, reading the concern, and possibly something else, in them.
“Looks like they roughed you up pretty bad,” Arthur grabbed a bottle of Isopropyl Alcohol and a cotton swab before turning his attention back to the graze on Eames’s cheek.
“I’ve had worse,” he replied, voice a little rough with pain.
“This is going to sting,” was all the warning Eames was given before the swab is judiciously applied. Eames winced, but otherwise managed to keep still throughout the process of cleaning the wound. The application of the bandage was a little different.
Arthur smoothed it over his cheekbone carefully. Almost…lovingly, Eames thought. He pulled way abruptly, needing space between himself and the other man. “I think that’s got it,” he said by way of explanation before hopping off the table he’d been perched on.
Arthur’s confused stare followed him out the door.
***
The next time it happened, Eames finally felt he had to say something.
“Look, I just don’t think of you that way,” he said before turning and leaving Arthur with one hand in the air, holding onto a piece of paper with dried macaronis stuck to it.
Arthur shrugged. If Eames didn’t want the art piece that James had made for him, then Arthur would just hold onto it. It was rather good for a four-year-old, after all. He’d thought Eames would have at least appreciated the effort.
***
They didn't see or hear from each other again for weeks.
***
It wasn't until Eames saw Arthur interact with the new crew that he had any inkling that maybe he had some signals crossed.
He watched with narrowed eyes as Ben, their new architect, laughed at something Arthur said, leaning towards the point man. Arthur smiled back, reaching for a pencil absentmindedly.
Arthur never smiled when reaching for a pencil near Eames. At best, he looked tolerant. And that was when the forger realized that maybe, just maybe, he had read Arthur wrong.
He also came to realize that Arthur divided his time fairly equally amongst all of the new team members by answering questions and giving out reassurances to the fairly new inductees into dream sharing. Eames received the least amount of Arthur’s time. He told himself that it was only logical since he didn’t need Arthur’s help; he’d been doing this for years. Besides, Arthur couldn’t forge anyway, and so wasn’t of much help in the process other than collecting information in the real world and critiquing Eames’s performance in the dream world. Really, there was no reason for him to take anymore of Arthur’s time than he already did. Somehow, irrationally, that didn’t stop him from wanting more of it.
He certainly wasn’t jealous of the others.
***
Eames started finding ways to interrupt conversations between Ben and Arthur.
It had started innocently enough. He wanted to know if Arthur was ready to see his latest revisions on his forge of the mark’s younger sister and he had just happened to step in on them laughing together. Again. It seemed to be happening a lot lately; Ben and Arthur laughing together. Whispering to each other. Heads bent close together sharing secret smiles. Eames was relieved that he was no longer the target of Arthur’s affections. Really.
That didn’t stop the swell of…something that made him step a little louder into the room, causing the other two men to break apart. Neither had the decency to look guilty…for what, Eames wasn’t sure. He asked his question, and Arthur replied. In a few minutes, I’m just finishing up the final level with Ben. He was always with Ben. Eames told himself that he wasn’t jealous.
It was starting to ring less and less true. But Eames was an adult, so he quietly turned back around, and went to prepare the PASIV.
Afterwards, however, Arthur and Ben could scarcely have a conversation together without Eames interrupting for one thing or another.
Sometimes, to throw them off, Eames sent Jill, their fledgling extractor, with a question for Arthur. A question he could have easily answered himself, but Ben had bent a little closer than Eames liked over Arthur, and Eames was pretty sure he had already used up Arthur’s tolerance for him that day, and really he was too busy doing his job to answer questions, and Arthur was obviously not being busy and letting Ben hang all over him.
Eames thought maybe it was time he admitted to himself that he had a problem, one that was decidedly Arthur-shaped.
***
He was losing Arthur. To an untrained architect. And not just any untrained architect, but one with perfectly blonde hair, perfectly elegant fingers, and a perfectly white smile. He had to do something before poor Arthur was whisked away in a whirlwind of utterly boring perfectness. He had to make Arthur see that Ben wasn’t perfect at all, and instead that Eames was.
They were extracting from the mark in three days. Eames was going to make sure that when it was all over and Arthur was ready to be swept away, he was going to be swept away by Eames.
***
“Eames…what are these?” Arthur had the cutest, little confused frown Eames had ever seen.
“They’re chocolates.” It should have been obvious. It said so on the box.
“Well, yes, I can see that, but why are you handing them to me?”
“Because I’m giving them to you.” Really, was there something wrong with Arthur? Maybe he was getting cold and it was impairing his vision.
“But, I’m allergic to chocolate. You know that.”
Eames gaped. “When?!”
“You don’t remember? The cookies Ariadne made for us on our last job with her? I bit into one before I realized that the white bits weren’t nuts. I went into anaphylaxis and she had to take me to the hospital.” Arthur’s brow furrowed a little.
Eames did remember. “I thought you were joking.” Well, that and how it was a clever ploy to get him to kiss Arthur. He wasn’t born yesterday, thank you very much.
“Well, you were mistaken.”
“Indeed.” He turned away, chocolates in hand, and almost walked straight into Ben.
“Ooh, chocolates! Can I have one?”
Eames dumped the entire box into the trash can. “No.”
As he walked out of the room, he heard Ben ask, “Geez, what’s gotten into him? He sick or something?”
He didn’t hear Arthur’s reply.
***
The night before the extraction, he took Arthur out to dinner at his favorite Mexican restaurant. Eames ate with gusto, telling Arthur amusing stories about other teams he had worked with, and the marks they had extracted from. It wasn’t until he was over half-way done with his plate that he noticed that Arthur had barely touched his.
“Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.
Arthur gave him a quick little smile. Eames’s heart began to beat a little faster. “I’m fine.”
“You’ve barely eaten a thing. Are you sick?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then why…?”
Eames was fascinated by the blush that started crawling up Arthur’s neck.
“Um, it’s not really a big deal.”
Arthur said ‘um.’ Arthur never said ‘um.’ Alarm bells were going off in Eames’s head.
“Please, tell me.”
The blush deepened. “I just-well, I don’t really like Mexican cuisine,” Arthur said quietly, head down.
“But, what about the… or the…” Actually, come to think of it, Eames had never seen Arthur eat Mexican. The carry out bags had all been from Ben. Eames had just assumed Arthur ate it too because the bags seemed to always find themselves on Arthur’s desk.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
Arthur’s head jerked up. “What? No! It’s fine.”
Eames’s lips thinned slightly into a grim line. “It’s not fine. You’re not enjoying yourself. We’ll go.” He motioned to their waiter for their check.
“But, Eames-“
“It’s fine, Arthur.” He placed enough money in the holder containing the check to cover the bill and a generous tip for the poor waiter since they were cutting out early. He stood up. “Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand.
Arthur stared up at him for a moment. He had a slightly lost expression his face, along with something else Eames wasn’t sure he could name. “I…yes,” he said, before placing his hand in Eames’s. The forger closed his fingers around the other man’s lightly, pulling him up.
“Where would you like to go?”
Arthur smiled shyly. Eames’s heart skipped a beat. “How about we just walk around until we find something?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Maybe Arthur wasn’t so bad after all, Eames thought. Obviously, he had a wonderful personality, warm and kind. And maybe, Eames was a little in love with him after all. He just hadn’t realized it until it had almost slipped away from him. Well, he had a hold now, and he wasn’t going to let go.
Eames squeezed the fingers in his hand a little tighter. The fingers squeezed back.
I am considering writing another fic from Arthur's side explaining how manipulative he really is. (Or, "How Arthur Came To Be Charmed So Fast")