[Fic] The Unforgettable 720
Fandom: Inception. Eames/Arthur. K+ / PG. 737 words.
Written for the prompt: "So, in honor of my amazing mother, I implore you, dear anon, to write me some Arthur/Eames. Dancing (or something) to Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien. I actually plan on having her read it." Over at inception_kink
---
The headphones feel heavy against his ears as he sits up, lingering effects of the sedative wearing off quickly. Arthur's frown deepens at the sound of the French words lilting through his mind, Edith Piaf's rich voice drowning out the sounds of the warehouse around him. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, letting the rest of his team-mates filter out of the building. This wasn't the first time that he had sat back while everyone congratulated each-other over a job well done; silently waiting for solitude before cleaning up any traces of their activities.
Arthur blinks as Edith's words suddenly cut off, his eyes easily finding the presence seated beside him. Eames seems to consider the MP3 player in his hands with a small smile. "You always did like this song."
Arthur frowns and pulls the headphones away from his ears. Eames turns up the volume on the music player to max and restarts the song, the sound of trumpets drifting up from the padded headphones resting at Arthur's collar bones.
"That's bad for the speakers." Arthur states with a frown, the frown deepening when Eames pulls him to his feet and slides a hand to his waist. "Eames..."
"For old time's sake, Love."
Arthur sighs. It's pointless to try and resist and he knows from experience. His hands slide up along Eames thick shoulders, thumbs rubbing despairingly at the hideous tweed jacket beneath them.
Their dance might be better described as a broad shuffle, their feet barely leaving the ground as they sway with the soft music. Arthur thinks Eames is holding back for his own sake, recalling the few times they had danced when together and the flashy way Eames would sweep him across the dance floor.
As if reading his mind, Eames threw him into a low dip as the song faded to a close, Arthur's pointer and middle fingers raising instinctively to stop the larger man's lips from moving to his, knowing too well Eames' secret agendas. The full lips part ever so slightly, soft kiss pressing into the pads of his fingers. He's pulled back up against Eames' chest as soft trumpets begin playing again and he realizes Eames has set the device to "repeat".
"You didn't think you were going to get away with just one dance, did you?"
Arthur shrugged. "I did, but I'm not sure why."
Eames huffed in amusement. "Silly Arthur." He smiled, fingers rubbing circles into the Arthur's hip, one particularly adventurous finger slipping up beneath the black vest he wore. "So... would you call this our song?"
Arthur couldn't help but laugh at that. "You never were very good at French."
"Nope, absolute rubbish." He smiled, almost looking sad. "But I do know that the ending is the most important part of a story." At Arthur's raised brow his smile turns warm, eyes shining with sincerity. "Because from today, my life, my happiness, everything, starts with you." He translated roughly.
Arthur sighs. "Please don't do this."
Eames hand pauses where it was moving towards Arthur's cheek, pained frown forming stiffly on his lips. "Do you still think we would end up like them? Even now after we've seen all the mistakes they made?"
Arthur winces. They. Dom and Mal. It had been two weeks before their second anniversary when they received news of Mal's suicide. Arthur had been devastated, and interpreted it as a slap in the face to remind him why relationships were risky in their business.
He had ended it with Eames just four days later, packing up and leaving to find Cobb as soon as it was done.
Arthur's forehead falls against the bigger man's shoulder, head shaking sadly. "Just stop."
Eames pulls back, stepping away carefully. "I'll give it up when you stop carrying around that die I gave you when we met." And then he's moving.
Arthur watches as the other man heads towards the door, resigning himself to his fate as he quickly follows after. His hands grab at thicker wrists and pull back, smiling softly into warm lips that he hasn't tasted in two years as his hand wraps around the small weight in his pocket that stands symbol for 720 memories he'd sooner relive than forget.
Written for the prompt: "So, in honor of my amazing mother, I implore you, dear anon, to write me some Arthur/Eames. Dancing (or something) to Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien. I actually plan on having her read it." Over at inception_kink
---
The headphones feel heavy against his ears as he sits up, lingering effects of the sedative wearing off quickly. Arthur's frown deepens at the sound of the French words lilting through his mind, Edith Piaf's rich voice drowning out the sounds of the warehouse around him. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, letting the rest of his team-mates filter out of the building. This wasn't the first time that he had sat back while everyone congratulated each-other over a job well done; silently waiting for solitude before cleaning up any traces of their activities.
Arthur blinks as Edith's words suddenly cut off, his eyes easily finding the presence seated beside him. Eames seems to consider the MP3 player in his hands with a small smile. "You always did like this song."
Arthur frowns and pulls the headphones away from his ears. Eames turns up the volume on the music player to max and restarts the song, the sound of trumpets drifting up from the padded headphones resting at Arthur's collar bones.
"That's bad for the speakers." Arthur states with a frown, the frown deepening when Eames pulls him to his feet and slides a hand to his waist. "Eames..."
"For old time's sake, Love."
Arthur sighs. It's pointless to try and resist and he knows from experience. His hands slide up along Eames thick shoulders, thumbs rubbing despairingly at the hideous tweed jacket beneath them.
Their dance might be better described as a broad shuffle, their feet barely leaving the ground as they sway with the soft music. Arthur thinks Eames is holding back for his own sake, recalling the few times they had danced when together and the flashy way Eames would sweep him across the dance floor.
As if reading his mind, Eames threw him into a low dip as the song faded to a close, Arthur's pointer and middle fingers raising instinctively to stop the larger man's lips from moving to his, knowing too well Eames' secret agendas. The full lips part ever so slightly, soft kiss pressing into the pads of his fingers. He's pulled back up against Eames' chest as soft trumpets begin playing again and he realizes Eames has set the device to "repeat".
"You didn't think you were going to get away with just one dance, did you?"
Arthur shrugged. "I did, but I'm not sure why."
Eames huffed in amusement. "Silly Arthur." He smiled, fingers rubbing circles into the Arthur's hip, one particularly adventurous finger slipping up beneath the black vest he wore. "So... would you call this our song?"
Arthur couldn't help but laugh at that. "You never were very good at French."
"Nope, absolute rubbish." He smiled, almost looking sad. "But I do know that the ending is the most important part of a story." At Arthur's raised brow his smile turns warm, eyes shining with sincerity. "Because from today, my life, my happiness, everything, starts with you." He translated roughly.
Arthur sighs. "Please don't do this."
Eames hand pauses where it was moving towards Arthur's cheek, pained frown forming stiffly on his lips. "Do you still think we would end up like them? Even now after we've seen all the mistakes they made?"
Arthur winces. They. Dom and Mal. It had been two weeks before their second anniversary when they received news of Mal's suicide. Arthur had been devastated, and interpreted it as a slap in the face to remind him why relationships were risky in their business.
He had ended it with Eames just four days later, packing up and leaving to find Cobb as soon as it was done.
Arthur's forehead falls against the bigger man's shoulder, head shaking sadly. "Just stop."
Eames pulls back, stepping away carefully. "I'll give it up when you stop carrying around that die I gave you when we met." And then he's moving.
Arthur watches as the other man heads towards the door, resigning himself to his fate as he quickly follows after. His hands grab at thicker wrists and pull back, smiling softly into warm lips that he hasn't tasted in two years as his hand wraps around the small weight in his pocket that stands symbol for 720 memories he'd sooner relive than forget.