Arthur/Eames: Goldie [Part 1/?]
Rating: PG-13(?)
Word Count:1000
Warnings: prostitution
Summary: Arthur is a common street whore, Eames takes him in, Arthur mistakes it for love.
Author's Note: Written for this prompt in inception_kink
Four days. No sleep. Four days. Arthur turns off a dark street into a darker alley. Even here, the dim lights from car headlights and windows hurt his eyes, sending lightning bolts of pain to his brain, making him stumble and slump against the rough brick wall.
Four days, no sleep, and he can still feel congealed blood in his hair. It’s a catch-22. There’s no shower until there’s a client, but there’s definitely no client until there’s a shower.
Everything is spinning. Arthur slides down the wall, his stomach threatening to reject what little sustenance is in there. He has a flat, somewhere, but the city surrounds him like the mazes he’s drawn all over his walls during his fits of insomnia. He is in someone else’s dream. Well, on any other night. Tonight, though, he’s someone’s nightmare.
The world steadies. Arthur rises from the walk and stumbles into the street again. He trips over his own feet, his leather shoes scuffed beyond the help of polish. Arthur can’t help but laugh at himself. Who would want to take such a ragged creature to bed?
Another street Arthur is sure he’s never seen before, but maybe he has... How did he get this far from home?
That’s right. He hasn’t been home in four days.
He’s about to knock on a random door to ask where he is when a town car pulls up and stops in the street beside him. The tinted window rolls down in the backseat, and a husky man with a 5 o’clock shadow and soft lips calls out to Arthur.
“How much?”
Arthur turns around, disbelieving. Not another pervert, he thinks. Not another sick fuck who just wants bruises. “What?”
The man beckons Arthur over, and Arthur cautiously obeys.
“How much?”
Arthur backs up a couple short steps, his heart beating a dangerously irregular rhythm. “I’m not into what you’re into, if you’re into me looking like how I’m looking at you... Me... Looking... At me...”
Darkness.
No ground rushing at his face, no buckling of the knees. Just incoherence, then black.
The smell of running water wakes Arthur. It’s the scent of clean, of grime being washed away.
Water.
But utilities were cut off a week ago -
Arthur sits up, but is forced to lie back down as the world has decided to take that moment to lurch again. He opens his eyes slowly.
He’s on a leather couch in a dark room. A clock on some electronic device nearby says 4am.
4am.
That’s three missing hours.
Arthur begins to panic. He checks all his belongings. Key in the front left pocket, wallet in the back right. Leather jacket... Arthur feels around and finds it draped over the back of the couch.
The fuck...
A lamp flicks on in another room. The door is open, and light washes over Arthur. He sits up again, this time slowly and carefully.
A silhouette appears in the doorway. Broad, muscular shoulders; thick neck, short hair. The man from earlier.
“Hey! What are you-” Arthur tries to eke out a statement of protest, a demand to desist, but the man has already lifted Arthur off the couch and is carrying him towards the sound of the running water.
Arthur wants to make him stop, to push himself out of this man’s arms and run away, but he can’t find it in him. Instead, he goes limp, trying to absorb as much warmth from the other body as possible.
When they get into the bathroom, a hot bath is running. Arthur looks at the man, but neither of them says a word. He places Arthur on the edge of the tub and begins to undress him. There is no pause, and the motions are quick and practiced. Stained t-shirt, jeans, socks, shoes. All off, and Arthur is in the tub.
Arthur hisses from the heat, but can feel his muscles relaxing and his shaking stops.
He hadn’t realized he was shaking.
“Get yourself cleaned up. You look like a bloody train wreck.”
And he is gone.
Arthur spends thirty minutes getting every grain of dirt off his body and every bit of grease out of his hair. When he climbs out of the tub, the water is a sick shade of brownish-grey and Arthur feels human again.
He grabs a towel from the rack, wraps it around his waist, and begins to look around for his clothes. They’re not in the bathroom.
Cautiously, Arthur opens the bathroom door. It’s connected to the master bedroom. The lights are dim, but Arthur can see the man sitting at the end of the king-size bed, wearing red boxers and a white t-shirt.
“Feel a bit better now?” The man asks.
Arthur merely nods.
“Your things are on the dresser, and your clothes are being washed.”
Arthur nods again.
There is a pause, Arthur standing in the doorway wearing only a thick white towel, and the man sitting on the end of the bed.
“Thank you,” Arthur says softly.
“You needed the help,” the man replies.
“Arthur.”
“What?”
“My name. It’s Arthur.”
“Oh.”
“I like to know the name of my clients,” Arthur hints.
“That’s rather bold, isn’t it, coming from someone I literally picked up off the street?”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Well, I rather thought it was implied.”
More silence, then the man speaks again.
“Eames. I’ll pay you $500 for a fuck in the morning, but right now I need to sleep.” And with that, he gets up, walks around to the far side of the bed, and slips under the covers. Arthur stands there, unsure of what to do next. “Well, join me. I’m not paying you to sleep on my couch.”
Arthur approaches the bed. He allows the towel to fall over his narrow hips and thin thighs.
Eames’s bed is warm and soft. As the two drift off to sleep, Eames turns to hold Arthur to him.
Arthur is asleep within moments.
Word Count:1000
Warnings: prostitution
Summary: Arthur is a common street whore, Eames takes him in, Arthur mistakes it for love.
Author's Note: Written for this prompt in inception_kink
Four days. No sleep. Four days. Arthur turns off a dark street into a darker alley. Even here, the dim lights from car headlights and windows hurt his eyes, sending lightning bolts of pain to his brain, making him stumble and slump against the rough brick wall.
Four days, no sleep, and he can still feel congealed blood in his hair. It’s a catch-22. There’s no shower until there’s a client, but there’s definitely no client until there’s a shower.
Everything is spinning. Arthur slides down the wall, his stomach threatening to reject what little sustenance is in there. He has a flat, somewhere, but the city surrounds him like the mazes he’s drawn all over his walls during his fits of insomnia. He is in someone else’s dream. Well, on any other night. Tonight, though, he’s someone’s nightmare.
The world steadies. Arthur rises from the walk and stumbles into the street again. He trips over his own feet, his leather shoes scuffed beyond the help of polish. Arthur can’t help but laugh at himself. Who would want to take such a ragged creature to bed?
Another street Arthur is sure he’s never seen before, but maybe he has... How did he get this far from home?
That’s right. He hasn’t been home in four days.
He’s about to knock on a random door to ask where he is when a town car pulls up and stops in the street beside him. The tinted window rolls down in the backseat, and a husky man with a 5 o’clock shadow and soft lips calls out to Arthur.
“How much?”
Arthur turns around, disbelieving. Not another pervert, he thinks. Not another sick fuck who just wants bruises. “What?”
The man beckons Arthur over, and Arthur cautiously obeys.
“How much?”
Arthur backs up a couple short steps, his heart beating a dangerously irregular rhythm. “I’m not into what you’re into, if you’re into me looking like how I’m looking at you... Me... Looking... At me...”
Darkness.
No ground rushing at his face, no buckling of the knees. Just incoherence, then black.
The smell of running water wakes Arthur. It’s the scent of clean, of grime being washed away.
Water.
But utilities were cut off a week ago -
Arthur sits up, but is forced to lie back down as the world has decided to take that moment to lurch again. He opens his eyes slowly.
He’s on a leather couch in a dark room. A clock on some electronic device nearby says 4am.
4am.
That’s three missing hours.
Arthur begins to panic. He checks all his belongings. Key in the front left pocket, wallet in the back right. Leather jacket... Arthur feels around and finds it draped over the back of the couch.
The fuck...
A lamp flicks on in another room. The door is open, and light washes over Arthur. He sits up again, this time slowly and carefully.
A silhouette appears in the doorway. Broad, muscular shoulders; thick neck, short hair. The man from earlier.
“Hey! What are you-” Arthur tries to eke out a statement of protest, a demand to desist, but the man has already lifted Arthur off the couch and is carrying him towards the sound of the running water.
Arthur wants to make him stop, to push himself out of this man’s arms and run away, but he can’t find it in him. Instead, he goes limp, trying to absorb as much warmth from the other body as possible.
When they get into the bathroom, a hot bath is running. Arthur looks at the man, but neither of them says a word. He places Arthur on the edge of the tub and begins to undress him. There is no pause, and the motions are quick and practiced. Stained t-shirt, jeans, socks, shoes. All off, and Arthur is in the tub.
Arthur hisses from the heat, but can feel his muscles relaxing and his shaking stops.
He hadn’t realized he was shaking.
“Get yourself cleaned up. You look like a bloody train wreck.”
And he is gone.
Arthur spends thirty minutes getting every grain of dirt off his body and every bit of grease out of his hair. When he climbs out of the tub, the water is a sick shade of brownish-grey and Arthur feels human again.
He grabs a towel from the rack, wraps it around his waist, and begins to look around for his clothes. They’re not in the bathroom.
Cautiously, Arthur opens the bathroom door. It’s connected to the master bedroom. The lights are dim, but Arthur can see the man sitting at the end of the king-size bed, wearing red boxers and a white t-shirt.
“Feel a bit better now?” The man asks.
Arthur merely nods.
“Your things are on the dresser, and your clothes are being washed.”
Arthur nods again.
There is a pause, Arthur standing in the doorway wearing only a thick white towel, and the man sitting on the end of the bed.
“Thank you,” Arthur says softly.
“You needed the help,” the man replies.
“Arthur.”
“What?”
“My name. It’s Arthur.”
“Oh.”
“I like to know the name of my clients,” Arthur hints.
“That’s rather bold, isn’t it, coming from someone I literally picked up off the street?”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Well, I rather thought it was implied.”
More silence, then the man speaks again.
“Eames. I’ll pay you $500 for a fuck in the morning, but right now I need to sleep.” And with that, he gets up, walks around to the far side of the bed, and slips under the covers. Arthur stands there, unsure of what to do next. “Well, join me. I’m not paying you to sleep on my couch.”
Arthur approaches the bed. He allows the towel to fall over his narrow hips and thin thighs.
Eames’s bed is warm and soft. As the two drift off to sleep, Eames turns to hold Arthur to him.
Arthur is asleep within moments.