fanficition cove

Originally written/posted: February 2011
Fandom: Inception (2010)
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, mentioned Yusuf/Ariadne, implied Saito/cobb
Rating: R (no NSFW)
Word Count: 4,439 words
Notes: Not reread…sorry! Inception was another one of my younger fandoms (entered it at the ripe old age of 15) so sorry in advance!

Arthur was a dog, Eames was a cat, and this was simply why they could never work.

He was the only one who seemed to notice.

It started out small, a casual mention by Ariadne to Dom that both Arthur and Eames had overheard; “I think they’d be absolutely charming together”, Ariadne had said. Dom answered with a non committal grunt but the affection was clear in his eyes. Eames had then looked at Arthur with this glint in his eyes that he couldn’t explain, but it was probably border lining on mysteriously mischievous.

Arthur should’ve taken that as his first warning that something was incredibly and dearly wrong, but he thought Eames was just being Eames, so he brushed it off.

After the casual mentions from Eames like ‘Maybe we should take what Ariadne said to heart and try to be a couple’ or ‘I think you, me and some dinner sounds particularly lovely this evening, don’t you think?’ they escalated quickly into something more.

This was how he was sitting at a dinner table with Eames, now, who was babbling about his cat, Sir Holden Fluff’s likes-to-eat (Eames call’s him ‘Holden for short). Arthur really hopes that this doesn’t mean that he chose the name, but wouldn’t be particularly surprised if that had been the case. Arthur would’ve found this fascinating, if he actually like cats, but he thought they were conniving little freaks that had a place more outside the home than inside.

Now that he thought about it, Eames reminding him dearly of a cat.

Why was he out with him again?

“You didn’t name your cat yourself did you?” He blurts before he could even begin to think, but he couldn’t help it because now the room was incredibly hot and uncomfortable and when he was uncomfortable, he said stuff he didn’t mean to say.

Eames smirks, amused, and then quirks an eyebrow. He took a sip of his wine before shaking his head, finally. “No, my niece named him. Darling little girl, but I’m in much too deep in adoration to break her heart by renaming him.”

Arthur would’ve found that cute, if he had liked kids.

This was why, Arthur stressed to everyone who deemed them a couple (which was basically everyone much to his disappointment and Eames excitement) that they would never work.

“I see,” He says, because the silence is now awkward and Eames is looking at him in a funny way that is doing weird things to his stomach. He blames it on the wine not being up to his standards, but not even he could fool himself this time.

“Steak?” Eames asks suddenly, after a few moments of silence. Arthur doesn’t want to know what he was asking him, if the stake was a good option or maybe something else entirely.

“Pardon?”

Eames laughs, low and easy in his throat, and he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought it was adorable. “I asked if you wanted to share the steak, darling,” He says, coolly, but one look in his eyes and Arthur can tell that this means a lot more to him than he lets on. The date, not the steak, or at least he hopes that’s the case. “It’s much to big and I won’t be able to finish it on my own.”

Arthur stares at him for a moment, unable to regain the composure that he once had before looking at Eames’ face, into his eyes. Arthur had thought that this was just a game to him. He always thought that Eames looked at everything like he would look at a platter of pizza, with much amusement and enough curiosity to take a bite, especially Arthur, but this was look sent a jolt through his body.

They really didn’t belong here together, but Arthur couldn’t find the voice in him to remind him that he particularly cared.
He clears his throat because he realizes that he’s been quiet for way too long (nothing out of the norm for him, but Eames was starting to look more nervous by the second, like by offering Arthur to share his steak, he was also offering a hand in marriage. That, Arthur realizes, is probably true) and then nods, feebly. “Sure,” he finally says, and then closes his menu and offers a tight-but-not-quite-a-smile smile.

Eames beams.

*

That voice came back the next morning, when Arthur gets promptly woken up by a phone call at five thirty in the morning, on a fucking Saturday. “Hghh,”

He thinks he says hello, he’s not really sure because his mind is still cloudy with sleep, and he really, really wants to go go back there.

“Why hello darling,”

Arthur’s eyes narrow, even if he barely has them open, making him look impossibly like a brunette Cobb. He knows the look is anything but charming on him.

“Eames,”

He could hear Eames smiling on the other end, and it really irritated him more than he thought it would, but, he was sleep deprived so maybe that was an excuse. “Darling,” he repeats, just to spite Arthur.

Arthur glares at nothing in particular before turning his attention back to his phone. “Why are you calling?” He mumbles, feeling himself drifting, drifting, drifting.

“I wanted to go get coffee,” says Eames, and he really, really wants to punch him or maybe even strangle him for not calling him about this later, when normal people were awake and thriving.

“It’s five in the morning. I doubt anything but McDonald’s will be open.” He snaps, tiredly, so theres no real malice behind the words and then sighs when Eames doesn’t answer after a while. “Why’re you calling this early? Even over-achiever’s aren’t up this early, and I know you’re far from that..” Arthur rambles on and on, honestly not realizing he was doing it.

Eames chuckles, fondly, and despite how tired he is, Arthur feels a sudden warmness in his chest. “I’m still messed up on the time zones,”

Arthur shakes his head, waiting for Eames to answer. Eventually it registers in his mind that Eames can’t see him, and is suddenly grateful for that fact, because he’s pretty sure he looks like shit, and Eames, who never looks like shit, even when he wears those stupid, repulsive suits, would definitely insult him insistently.

“No, I may be tired but I’m not stupid. You’ve been in the states for almost two years. It’s been two years since the Inception job and I know you’ve not left.” He whispers into the phone.

“Mm, and how do you know that?” Eames asks, completely and totally amused, probably holding a hand over his mouth to block his laughter. Arthur probably sounded like he was talking through water because that’s what it felt like. When Arthur didn’t answer, he chuckled. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?” His voice is softer now, and he lets himself enjoy the sound.

Arthur’s tired, and he’ll use that excuse if Eames’ puts that against him, so he nods off to no one again. “I always keep tabs on you.”

“Me too.”

If Arthur’s face flushes, well then that’s just because he’s tired and he’s hot and he really, really just wants to sleep. But something keeps him anchored toward British man, so he ignores the instinct to hang up.

After a while, Arthur’s sure he’s ready to fall asleep, before he hears Eames’ voice again, soft, gentle, almost purring. “Arthur,”

He opens his eyes, shifting around in the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position because Eames’ voice reminded him just how uncomfortable he was. “Mmph,” He makes a noncommittal noise, and then regains some higher thinking. “So why
are you calling me this early for coffee?”

Eames chuckles, “I know that you wont remember half of this conversation, and I knew that if I called you early enough, you’d forget it by the time you woke up, and then you wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’ because you would’ve already said yes.”

Arthur blinks, twice. “Huh?” He asks, intelligently, sinking down into the covers that were so, so, soft.

“Just go to sleep, Arthur dear,” Eames whispers, and he hears shuffling in the background. Probably him getting back into bed, or something. Maybe he really wasn’t used to the time differences, Arthur didn’t know, and he was too tired to care at this point.

“Mmm,  sleep,”

He hears a chuckle again, before that charming British voice comes over the line, and he’s close, so close. “So you’ll go?”

“Go?” Arthur asks, sleepily, before he nods. “Mhm,”

Eames grins, unbegntost to him. “Brilliant! I’ll be at your doorstep at nine, and don’t act so surprised when I show up, okay love?”

“Sure,” Arthur whispers, “G’night, Eames,”

“Goodnight Arthur,”

*

There was a knock at his door at 8:59 sharp. Arthur had just gotten out of the shower, a white, fluffy towel was tied dangerously low on his hips and he was about to make coffee (he had a weird thing about drinking coffee before he took a shower, something about a ‘possible caffeine panic attack’. He was sure he was full of shit, though).  He considers ignoring it, knowing it was probably his neighbor to tell him that he had forgotten to get his mail again, or something mildly uninteresting as that.

But the knocking was consistent, and as it carried on, it got louder, and eventually it became too much for him and he walks up to the door, opening it slightly, seeing Eames.

“Well, darling,” He drawls, and makes to attempt to cover up how his eyes travel up and down Arthurs long — and now bare — body. Arthur tries to cover up his blush, but he isn’t quick enough.

Arthur runs an annoyed hand through his wet hair, and sighs, letting the bastard in because he knows he wont go anywhere even if he doesn’t. He closes the door behind him and goes to make coffee, and then he feels a hand on his arm.

“Hm,” Eames starts, thoughtfully, and he experimentally rubs a thumb along Arthur’s smooth skin. If he shudders it’s because he just got out of the shower, and he didn’t completely dry off, and it’s cold. It was most certainly not because Eames was touching him. “When I invited you to go to coffee, I never expected this, but my, am I pleasantly surprised.” He winks, and Arthur really, really is proud of his self control because he very well could’ve lodged a painful fist into his skull.

Arthur narrows his eyes, squinting dangerously at him.

“Love, while I’m sure I’ll find everything you do adorable, that’s just a little too borderline ‘hey-look-I’m-helping-Eames-forge-Cobb for me.” He says, amusement and humor dripping from his tone.

Murder sounds just about delicious right now.

“Eames, why are you here?” He asks, as calmly as he can while he was currently trying to convince himself that murder was indeed illegal, and could get you in a lot of trouble.

It wasn’t working.

“Coffee, remember?”

Arthur furrows his brows. “Coffee?”

Eames smirks, like he knew this would happen, and of course he did because it’s Eames, and Eames’ knows practically everything. “I asked you this morning,”

“I don’t recall…” Arthur says, thoughtfully, before trying to wriggle his arm free. “Can I have my arm back?” He snaps.

“Only if you get your ass dressed and come with me for some coffee.” He says, looking over Arthur again, and really, he was all for flattery, but Eames was just being a pig now. Arthur should’ve found that incredibly unattractive, but he didn’t.

This was why they weren’t meant to be together, because Eames made Arthur do things that weren’t normal. That’s not a healthy relationship, that’s something entirely different.

Arthur runs an unsteady hand over his face, before looking up at Eames’ through his fingers. “Why can’t we just have coffee here?”

“Because you said I’d be able to take you out, plus your coffee here is complete shit compared to this coffee joint that I’ve found.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. This seems to become a normal look for him around Eames. “I make excellent coffee.” And he wasn’t just being conceited, he really did make excellent coffee.

“You do love, you really do, but you see, this place, makes phenomenal coffee. It’s just… they don’t compare.”

Arthur huffs and crosses his arms (or arm, rather, because Eames still has a steady grip on one of them) across his chest. “If you think I’m going out with you after you’ve insulted my coffee then you’re sadly mistaken.”

Eames laughs. “You already promised.”

“I don’t even remember that!” Arthur snaps, he knows that he’s just searching for an excuse not to go, but he can’t help it, because this is Eames, and he didn’t know why but he suddenly felt like his stomach wasn’t completely there, and was turning into diet coke instead of staying solid like it should whenever he was around him, and he wasn’t particularly sure why.

“Let’s just go, Arthur,” He says, and something about the way he looks at Arthur, something about the way he says that, makes Arthur nod, and finally go into his room to get dressed.

Arthur scowls the whole way there.

To Eames word, the coffee was fucking delicious.

*

“I think they’re adorable together,” Ariadne gushes, not noticing that Arthur had just entered the room. Arthur snuck back into the shadows to hear what they were saying, presumably about him and Eames. They had their coffee ‘date’ (Arthur didn’t consider it one, Eames, of course, did) a couple of mornings before, and ever since then, he’s been getting these looks from everyone.

Even Saito, and that was just creepy, because, well it’s Saito, and there’s something powerfully creepy about that man.

“I agree,” Yusuf agrees happily, slinging his arm loosely around Ariadne’s shoulders, only to have her shake it off, glaring playfully at her boyfriend.

“They need to just get together already. It’s kind of nauseating watching them dance around each other like they do.” Cobb says, and it looks like he’s looking over some blueprints for their current job, but Arthur couldn’t be sure, because it was dark, and Arthur had never had good eyesight anyways — even with his glasses, which he had tucked carefully to the front of his shirt.

“Indeed it is,” Saito chimes in, and Arthur wonders what the hell he’s still doing around anyways, didn’t he have some amusement park in Tokyo to buy or something?

“I think it’s mostly Arthur,” Ariadne muses, “because it seems like Eames’ is all for the idea, but Arthur doesn’t seem to think it’s a good one. I heard him murmuring something under his breath the other day about how ‘he’s a dog and Eames’ is a cat, and that’s why they won’t work’. Personally, I just think he’s too scared to get into something with Eames.”

Cobb narrowed his gaze, squinty at the charming young girl, which seemed to be his favorite thing to do to everyone. Even with his kids back, he still squints more than Arthur’s ever seen, and well, Arthur decided a long time ago that it was probably his permanent ‘what-the-fuck-are-you-saying-to-me-and-why-do-you-not-make-sense-where-is-the-milk’ face. “Wouldn’t you be scared to get in a relationship with Eames?”

“Touche’, my friend,” Eames suddenly chimes cheerfully as he walks into the warehouse in Texas that they had rented out specifically for this job.  He sits next to Ariadne, and smirks at Cobb, not taking offense to what he said, because how could he when they all knew he it was true?

“Good afternoon, Eames, it’s nice to see you finally join us,” Cobb says, unenthusiastically, but it wasn’t because of the British man. He missed his children, and it was apparent because he kept on calling home checking on them fifteen after the hour, every hour.

“Any chance you’ve seen Arthur?” Ariadne asks curiously, wondering where they’re dear point man was to be.

Eames doesn’t even look in his direction as he waves his hand dismissively. “He’s been lurking in the shadows behind those boxes for the entire conversation about him and I,”

Arthur curses him for knowing exactly where he is at all times. Stupid bastard. He gulps, and then comes from behind the boxes, dusting the dirt and dust off of his suit before looking over at his team members who looked slightly embarrassed.

“Well come on then, we don’t have much time, we’ve got to get this sorted out.”

And they did.

*

A week after they went on their coffee date, they kissed for the first time. Arthur wasn’t even able to deny that it wasn’t perfect, because it was Eames, and as much as Arthur wasn’t able to admit it to himself, he kind of sort of liked the silly thing that it did to his stomach.

So he did the only logical thing that came to his mind when he had felt the forgers lips on his: he kissed him back, and let him lead him to his hotel room.

The sex was even better than the coffee.

*

Arthur had wanted to keep it on the down low that he and Eames had actually done something besides bicker and argue, especially because they had went as far as sex with one another. He didn’t regret it, he very much enjoyed it, and he’d been the perfect gentleman the next morning and even invited Eames out to the little cafe that they’d gone too for the last week for coffee.

He was just a little shell shocked as to why Ariadne was now standing in front of him, in his hotel room, while Arthur and Eames were wrapped up in blankets a few days before their next job.

Eames stares on amusingly, a little sleepily (it was absolutely adorable, Arthur would admit, not to anyone but himself, maybe Eames, even), but was much more excited about the fact that they had a visitor. Arthur, on the other hand, felt a steady growing flush cover his cheeks and he was displeased, for fuck’s sake he was naked under these covers!

“Ariadne?” He asks, tentatively, and that’s all that it takes for Ariadne to burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Eames, being the bastard that he is, joins in with her, because it’s obvious how uncomfortable Arthur is.

He really, really hates both of them right now. More Eames than Ariadne, because he would probably be laughing too if it were someone else.

“Sorry,” She apologizes halfheartedly through her giggles, and he doesn’t see what’s so funny about it. If anything, Arthur would’ve thought that she’d be ecstatic, because besides Yusuf, she had really been the only one who was rooting for him and Eames to work.

Arthur narrows his eyes. “How’d you get in here?”

“Why, I let her in darling,” Eames says, and Arthur almost punches him but he’s too comfortable too move.

“He didn’t. He’s just trying to get under your skin,” Ariadne says, once she’s finally calmed down and composed herself, she allows herself to look at them again. Now, only a simple, fond smile graces itself across her face. “You gave me a spare key and I remember you saying something about leaving me some of those files you promised me on your counter. I knocked and no one answered so I assumed you were somewhere else.”

She looks up and smirks at them, now. “But now, I see that wasn’t the case.”

Arthur blushes. “We were sleeping,” He throws his hands up in mock defense, really wanting this conversation to be over, so Ariadne can leave, and he can take care of Eames in not so legal ways.

“Mhm,” She doesn’t look too convinced, but he’s sure it’s all playful, because they were sleeping, he remembered opening his eyes and suddenly seeing her in the doorway. It nearly gave him a heart attack, too.

“Ariadne,” He warns, looking over at Eames who had fallen silent, probably too amused to not trust himself into saying something, and then looks back over at Ariadne.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” She whispers and then turns around to leave, before throwing something at them. “Saw this sitting by the dresser when I walked in. I thought you might need this.” She winks, before walking out, shutting the door swiftly behind her.

Arthur picks up the item she threw, and immediately he blushes.

It’s a half-empty bottle of lube.

Eames just laughs, laughs, laughs, pulling Arthur close as they fell back into sleep.

*

Somewhere between the countless dinners, their new daily coffee run out together, and just generally being around each other for extended periods of time thanks to their job, Arthur’s steady and on-going blind hatred for Eames quickly faded into something that could’ve been considered love.

They’d fallen into patterns, into an easy routine and somewhere between Eames sleeping over every night, he had moved in. Arthur didn’t question it, because he was happy, and that’s all that mattered too him.

That was, until Eames suggested that they get an apartment together, causing Arthur to nearly enter middle aged crisis a good decade and a half early.

“Why?” He had asked, looking up at Eames in masked curiosity.

Eames had shrugged, placing a chaste kiss to Arthur’s lips, probably too butter him up. “Because I know we’re rich enough to live out of hotels until we croak, but we both have pets and I know my nan’s getting tired of having to look after Holden for me.”

Arthur bit his lip. “I don’t like cats.” He said, not to make excuses but because it’s true.

Eames sighed. “You tell me this every time I bring him up, and I know this, but I don’t particularly like dogs, but I’m making that exception for you,”

This always led into a fight; Arthur had never been particularly fond of cats, ever since his Grandmother’s Blue Russian had made him get fifteen stitches on his back. And Eames had never been fond of dogs because a Doberman had almost successfully ripped off his arm.

There were issues, with this, because Arthur was pretty sure that Eames’ cat wasn’t a Blue Russian, and he was also sure that his dog wasn’t a Doberman. But he’d use any excuse he’d could to get out of this.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to move into a place with Eames, because he did, he so, so did, but it was the baggage that was attached to that. They’d never really taken the time to define what exactly they were doing. They’d just stumbled blindly into it and haven’t really taken any measures to stumble back out.

Arthur enjoyed it, whatever it was, and he was almost positive it was a relationship, because, well, why else would Eames ask to get an apartment together?

Arthur was afraid of commitment, and Eames seemed to be too (the only thing they really ever had in common), and this was simply why they’d never work. It was inevitable that Eames would probably end up in bed with someone new in a few weeks, leaving Arthur behind, and that wasn’t good for anyone.

“My sister isn’t particularly fond of having Pilot at her house,” Arthur mused, looking over at Eames.

“I know it’s a big step, and I know it’s going to mean a lot, but I want it enough to make a sacrifice that I normally wouldn’t make.”

Arthur bit his lip, and probably did something stupid like pace the room, and shove his hands in his pockets, because that’s what he did when he was too nervous too function. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea Eames,”

“Come on, Holden’s not that bad, and I’m sure Pilot’s not that bad either,” He says.

One look into those eyes, those weirdly colored, grey-blue-kind-of-green-but-nope-just-fooling-you eyes and Arthur was done for.

“Fine.” He muttered. “But if that cat so much as scratches me, I’ll throw him out faster than you can blink.”

They shake on it.

*

Three weeks later they had bought a decent sized apartment outside of Los Angeles (Arthur wanted to keep close to Cobb and the kids, and Eames was just happy to finally have Arthur agree to moving in with him).

It’s off to a shaky start, with arguments sprouting after nearly everything:

“No Eames, the bookshelf can’t go there! That’s just not logical!”

“Why the bloody hell not?”

“Because it’s going to block the power outlet and there’s a hole on that wall over there that’s going to need covering.”

And:

“I think the silverware cabinet should be by the fridge, and then the plates and bowls should be the one right next to the fridge on the top, so you don’t have to walk too far for everything to be completely and totally ready!”

“No. You can walk three feet to get a spoon for your tea, Eames.”

Or:

“The bed should be facing the South wall, because then I’d have easy access to the bathroom and the TV would be on my side.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Eames, the top of the bed will be against the window.”

“At least if we have any intruders they won’t have to travel far!”

“No.”

It was never ending, and normally Arthur would’ve been completely and totally turned off by that, and he really, really should’ve been.

Instead it just made him all the more infatuated and the more in love he fell.

He could get used to the bickering if it was going to make him feel like this.

*

Holden ended up scratching Arthur the second week after they had moved in.

Arthur found that he didn’t really care, and Eames just looked into the living room, from the kitchen, where he was currently making dinner fondly as Arthur petted Holden’s head. He  probably whispered something like ‘I forgive you’ or ‘it’s okay’, before going to the bathroom to clean his cuts.

Arthur had fallen fond for the cat, but he’d never admit it to anyone, not even Eames.

*

Yes, Arthur thought, they were entirely different from one another.

For example: Arthur liked things orderly, he liked everything to have a place, and for everything to be in their place and Eames functioned on chaos and mess. Eames loved fish and Arthur thought it was quite disgusting because he was allerigic. Arthur’s dog really, really hated Eames’ cat, it seemed, but somehow they always ended up cuddled next together on the couch next to him and Eames. They fought about everything, and they agreed on almost nothing; Eames showered for too long and left his towels on the bed, and Arthur never was able to fully be awake before eight in the morning on weekends.

Arthur was a dog, and Eames was a cat, and that’s why they weren’t supposed to work.

But somehow they did, and he’d honestly never been happier.