Inception Anonymous Kink Meme

You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.

Previous Entry Share Next Entry
Prompt Post No. 1
come back to reality
inceptionkink wrote in inception_kink
* * * Round 1 is now closed to new prompts. * * *
The Inception Anonymous Kink Meme Prompt Post No. 1 is now open. 

ETA [18 Jul 2010]: The speed at which this meme has grown amazes me. :D Before this month ends, I am going to try to index all prompts and fills using our newly created Delicious site. It's empty right now, but I'll do my best to get it up and running before August 1st. For now, I encourage everyone to kink well, and kink often!

ETA 2 [18 Jul 2010]: Oh god, never mind. I indexed all existing prompts and fills anyway. I was a teensy bit excited. So much for taking my time.

ETA 3 [19 Jul 2010]: Please read the revised rules.

ETA 4 [21 Jul 2010]: inception_kink  is looking for volunteers!

ETA 5: [23 Jul 2010]: The meme is FLAT.

ETA 6: [26 Jul 2010]: This round will be closed to new prompts once it reaches seven thousand comments, give or take. Fills may still be posted. Don't worry, anons. inception_kink  isn't going anywhere. Round 2 will go live one week after this round is closed. Use the week in between to write fills, leave feedback, and come up with exciting new prompts for next time.

ETA 7: [29 Jul 2010]: Leave a comment HERE once you've posted a fill.

arthur/eames MAFIA BOSS + BODYGUARD AU .


2010-07-23 11:36 pm (UTC)

Arthur is the son of a mafia boss. Eames is hired to protect him/etc. Sexytimes ensue. Arthur is pretty much Arthur and/or a mafia brat but Eames manages to find a way into his ~pants heart.

Should be like the Bodyguard only so much better, with Eames carrying Arthur out of a flaming warehouse (lol jk) I haven't even seen that movie really tl;dr

Re: arthur/eames MAFIA BOSS + BODYGUARD AU .


2010-07-23 11:37 pm (UTC)

Someone make this happen!!

Re: arthur/eames MAFIA BOSS + BODYGUARD AU .


2010-07-23 11:37 pm (UTC)

I forgot to ANON. Whot.

Re: arthur/eames MAFIA BOSS + BODYGUARD AU .


2010-07-24 12:14 am (UTC)

Lol I think at this point? it doesn't even matter.
This fandom is full of the most non-judgmental people ever; it's really very strange.

Re: arthur/eames MAFIA BOSS + BODYGUARD AU .


2010-07-24 12:48 am (UTC)

This fandom really is beautiful. I wish I had the balls to de-anon, but I'm mainly afraid people hate my fic, lmfao.

Re: arthur/eames MAFIA BOSS + BODYGUARD AU .


2010-07-24 12:59 am (UTC)

hahaha meeee to and also because then I would probably have to own up to some of my prompts and just :| Just.

Re: arthur/eames MAFIA BOSS + BODYGUARD AU .


2010-07-24 01:01 am (UTC)

gbidspfbh YES. EXACTLY. Oh, god. Especially that most recent one.

...a-at least I'm filling prompts and not just requesting them, hahahaha. /c...ries...

Re: arthur/eames MAFIA BOSS + BODYGUARD AU .


2010-07-24 12:49 am (UTC)

Doll, you have made me extremely happy with this prompt. I love you dearly for it.

Re: arthur/eames MAFIA BOSS + BODYGUARD AU .


2010-07-24 01:34 am (UTC)

Want so very very much. Especially the carrying out of the burning building part.

Captcha: were vendors... so I guess that means Arthur is a pimp or something

Re: arthur/eames MAFIA BOSS + BODYGUARD AU .


2010-07-24 01:50 am (UTC)

hahah this prompt is amaaaaazing.

Re: arthur/eames MAFIA BOSS + BODYGUARD AU .


2010-07-24 09:03 pm (UTC)



Re: arthur/eames MAFIA BOSS + BODYGUARD AU .


2010-07-25 12:48 am (UTC)

What can I say, I am head over heels for this prompt. ♥ Fic should be coming sometime today!

Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [1/7]


2010-07-25 07:30 am (UTC)

Cobb calls him in the middle of October.

"I have a job for you," says Cobb.

"As usual, I am unemployed," says Eames.

"My son is going to be back home in a week," says Cobb. "All those degrees and nothing seems to be working out, so he's thinking of trying his hand at the family business. But he doesn't like being holed up and I need a man on him. You're the best I know."

"Whoa," says Eames, "you have a son?"

"He's like a son," says Cobb. "Unofficially adopted, I guess you could say."

That was usually how things went with this family, thought Eames. Cobb, too, was a stray that the boss before him had taken in, may he rest in peace. A rare saint of a gangster who had done Eames a good turn, and thus his relationship with this family had begun. It wasn't that the old boss or Cobb couldn't get a woman or were limp dicks or anything pathetic like that; they just had extraordinarily bad luck with wives.

Still, the wisdom of leaving a family to a man named Dom Cobb was questionable. The phrase "Don Cobb" didn't exactly roll off the tongue, and "Don Dom" was even worse. "Don Dom Cobb". A travesty. Eames is mentally running through a list of acceptable Italian last names when Cobb snaps his fingers in his face.

"Are you even listening?" asks Cobb.

"No," says Eames.

"Enjoy my company," says Cobb. "You're not going to get along this well with Arthur."


Eames is sitting on a stool in the driveway when a cab pulls up. He grinds his cigarette out with a heel, and waits for the door to open.

To his surprise, Arthur is young. Eames had imagined an aging failure, myopic and slovenly from years of bumbling through academic dead-ends. But Arthur is crisp and slim, the collar of his trenchcoat turned up, his dark eyes sharp when they find Eames standing in his way.

"Welcome home," says Eames.

"Who are you?" asks Arthur.

"The name is Eames," he answers. "Cobb told me you'd be back. I'm your personal guard."

"Really," says Arthur.

Eames extends a hand. There's an autumn breeze rustling through the trees in the backyard, golden leaves dancing down through the air. Everything is quiet but for the distant hum of music from inside the house. The sky is so blue that it hurts his eyes.

Arthur looks at his hand, and starts walking past it.

"Look, darling," says Eames. "At least let me take your suitcase."

He reaches for the handle and the leather of their gloves brush against each other. It's not real contact, but Arthur flinches anyway.

"Tell Dom that I won't be needing you," says Arthur, and disappears indoors.


"How am I supposed to protect him if he won't let me be around him?" asks Eames, and drains the rest of his whiskey. "Yesterday he got Yusuf to distract me with a plate of struffoli while he snuck out and went museum-hopping. There are so many things about that scenario that I find unacceptable."

"You may begin listing them," says Cobb.

"One, is Yusuf just trying all the recipes he can get his hands on? I mean, he's good at it, but I need to watch my weight," says Eames. "Two, museums? Security nightmare, but also, incredibly boring. And how many can you possibly stomach in a day?"

"The sweets, or the museums?" asks Cobb.

"The museums," says Eames. "The sweets, I could eat for the rest of my life. That's the problem. Anyway, three, you're not supposed to run out on your bodyguard. That's how you get killed."

"We're not at peace, but we're not at war," says Cobb. "He's not in constant danger. Watch over him, but give him some breathing room."

"I did that," says Eames. "Hopped in a car and tailed him around the city all day long. Speaking of which, who drives the Bugatti? I think I came all over the driver's seat."

"Eames," says Cobb, "that's my car."

"Sorry about the semen," says Eames. "It's yours, huh? I guess that's why Arthur recognized the car. He made me roll the window down and told me that I should go fuck myself."

"Sounds like Arthur," says Cobb.


Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [2/7]


2010-07-25 07:31 am (UTC)


"Yeah," says Ariadne. "Sounds like Arthur."

"Why, though?" asks Eames. "I'm not bothering him. I let him go anywhere he wants, but I just need him to let me follow him."

"Don't know why," says Ariadne. "He's usually nice, but that's just the way he's always been to soldiers."

Ariadne, another one of Cobb's favorites. Still young, but so bright that rumor has it Cobb is training her to become consigliere. Eames is beat. If Ariadne can't figure it out, he has no chance.

But then, from a corner of the kitchen where he is polishing one of his beloved wakizashi swords, Ariadne's guard Saito says,

"Neither of you were here back when things were rougher."

"What?" asks Eames.

"Back when our relationships with the other families were more strained," says Saito. "That was back when we still had a raid unit. Arthur was in training to become a point man, before Cobb decided he was too valuable to let die in a firefight. He sent him off to college, and Arthur hasn't been the same since."

"Damn," says Eames. "Arthur knows his way around a gun?"

"Crack shot," says Saito. "But in the meanwhile much of the violence calmed down, the raid unit was disbanded, and Arthur likes to learn but he doesn't like to sit still. If he's antagonistic toward you, it's probably not personal."

It begins to come together. Arthur, he of the itchy trigger-finger, can't stand the thought that he isn't the one doing the protecting. Cobb lets him leave school and come home, but only if Arthur will become the heir, not the muscle. Arthur feels caged. Arthur resents Eames. Arthur, point-man Arthur, lean and quick and light on his feet, is going completely to waste.

"I bring sfinges," says Yusuf, bringing sfinges.

"Oh, happiness," says Ariadne.


Eames is watching Arthur out of his rearview mirror, gaze steady through neon lights and people huddling into their coats. Arthur hooks a finger into the knot of his tie and slides it looser. Despite his fighting instincts, Arthur has the undeniable tastes of a mafia heir. His suits are always perfectly tailored, not a hair on his head is out of place, and his cologne smells like Sicilian mandarin. Eames can appreciate all of this.

But even with the growing respect for Arthur's skills and predilections, it is Eames' job to call him out on any particularly unsafe choices he might make.

"Arthur," he calls out of the window.

"What do you want," says Arthur.

"If you're going to go drink, do it somewhere better," says Eames.

Arthur walks over to the car, leans in closer. His eyelashes are long and dark against his pale skin, and Eames is fascinated by the curl of steam slipping from his mouth when he speaks.

"That bar's ours," says Arthur, voice low.

"No, it isn't," says Eames. "We turned it over for a racket in a bakery on Bleecker."

"Ah," says Arthur. "Cupcakes."

"Mostly we did it for the banana pudding," says Eames. "Come on, love, get in the car. I'll get you somewhere safe."

Arthur hesitates.

"Drinks on me," says Eames.

"Yeah, all right," says Arthur. "What the hell."


Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [3/7]


2010-07-25 07:32 am (UTC)


Arthur drinks like he's trying to forget. He downs another Irish Car Bomb. This fondness for whiskey, notes Eames, also seemed to be a family thing. Also the reason why hangover morning at the Cobb house was notoriously unpleasant.

"Didn't think Saito would be the one to talk," says Arthur, consonants only slightly slurred.

"He wasn't ratting you out," says Eames. "Everyone worries, Arthur."

"What's there to worry about?" asks Arthur. "I'm safe, aren't I? Thanks to you?"

"I'm not the enemy here," says Eames. "I don't want to be your babysitter."

"Good," snaps Arthur.

"I'm just here to fill your blind spots," says Eames. "Is that okay?"

Arthur is silent.

"How about this," says Eames. "I won't walk behind you, if you don't like it. But then you have to let me walk next to you. I'll fill your blind spots, and you fill mine. I'll lend you one of my Berettas. Is that a deal?"

"Watch who you trust with your life," says Arthur, with a harsh bark of laughter.

"Hey," says Eames. "It's not just anyone. I trust you."

Arthur blinks, slowly. It takes him another Car Bomb and a shot of just whiskey, neat, before he answers. Eames spends the time watching Arthur's adam's apple bob above the collar of his shirt.

"Yeah, all right," says Arthur. "What the hell."

But then he cracks something like a smile, a wry corner of his mouth curving upward. After what seems like forever he turns away, breaking eye contact, and Eames realizes that he has been holding his breath.

The alcohol hits Arthur not long after, and Eames scatters bills haphazardly on the counter, trying with one hand to keep him from falling off his stool. He throws one of Arthur's arms over his shoulders and tries to stand up, but Arthur can hardly see, let alone walk. In the orange glow of the bar lights, Eames manages to get Arthur up onto his back, his grip tight around his thighs, his warm dead weight solid against him.

Some team we make, thinks Eames, not unkindly. Arthur's breath tickles his ear, and everything smells like Sicilian mandarin, whiskey, and heat.


Over time, Arthur learns to behave himself. They fall into an easy pattern, where the only thing Eames is allowed to do for Arthur is drive. Some days, they don't really go anywhere, just lounge in the kitchen and wander around the neighborhood. Once, Arthur sets an empty can of coffee on a snowy branch, and shoots it right off the tree from the other side of the street.

"Didn't want you to feel unsafe," says Arthur. "Don't tell Dom, though."

"I wouldn't," says Eames, impressed.

But Arthur staying home means that most of their nights are left empty. When Arthur doesn't accompany him to a bar, Eames goes alone, and drinks whiskey until someone agrees to join him in a cheap motel room. Almost always, he finds himself with his arm around a brunette. They are all tall and willowy, not much chest on them, hips hard and narrow. He finds himself sniffing the napes of their necks, always coming away a little disappointed.

He has a problem.

There isn't much he can do about it. He's in the service of the Cobb family, not trying to marry into it. He can't woo the Cobb heir. He can't woo Arthur, never mind how ridiculous the word "woo" is, anyway. He is still Arthur's guard.


Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [4/7]


2010-07-25 07:33 am (UTC)


Eames returns to his old bad habits. He drinks, he fucks, he throws up in an alleyway somewhere and he stumbles back to the Cobb house. Sometimes he drives, because he can't bring himself to care. Sometimes he takes a cab. He is never back before three in the morning, staggering across the ice-covered driveway, beating his hands together to keep them warm.

Then the weather turns biting cold and when he arrives one night, even the soldiers on watch duty are staying inside. His teeth chatter; his nose is raw. He has barely enough tact to stop himself from ringing the doorbell, because the Cobb doorbell is a loud doorbell, and he doesn't want to wake the entire house.

Instead, he returns to his old bad methods. He finds the water pipe near the garden, running up the side of the house. Grunting, he grabs it and lifts himself up, bracing his feet against the brick wall. On the second floor he finds the ledge, the window with the broken latch that he's used like this countless times before.

Only this time, when he squeezes through and tumbles inside, the room isn't empty. He freezes. Arthur is in the bed, a sliver of moonlight white across his face. Shouldn't he be using a room with a properly functioning window, thinks Eames, and that's how he knows he is still a good man.

Or maybe not. Arthur stirs, his lips slightly parted, hand slack on the sheets. Deep, regular breaths. God, he's so beautiful. Eames sinks down at the foot of the bed. The dirty thoughts are fast and numerous, but mostly, seeing Arthur there with him, he is at peace. It feels all right. He's going to keep Arthur safe, and that's what matters. He's there to make sure that Arthur can always sleep this well.

He lies back on the floor, calm like he wasn't just vomiting bile an hour ago, the thawing of his extremities a pleasant tingle, and goes to sleep.

When Arthur wakes up, he doesn't even yell, just laughs and makes Eames clean up the mud. And Eames stops drinking alone.


"Did you talk to Ariadne about this?" asks Arthur.

"She's not consigliere yet," Cobb reminds him, gently. "But yes, she agrees."

"I have a lot of memories of that warehouse," says Arthur.

Eames, in a corner chair of Cobb's room with his lips on the edge of a whiskey tumbler, doesn't ask yet.

"But geographical consolidation would benefit security immensely," says Cobb. "Don't be too broken up about it. The new warehouse will be just as large, only it'll be on our other side of the river, and it won't smell like dirty laundry."

"I know," says Arthur. "This is the one I grew up with, though. Has everything been moved out?"

"Yes," says Cobb. "But it's still officially ours, until tomorrow morning."

"Can I go see it?" asks Arthur. "One last time?"

Eames has never known Cobb to say no to Arthur, and Cobb is true to himself, especially so when he forbids Eames from taking the Bugatti. He doesn't mind so much, because Arthur comes to sit shotgun instead of in the backseat, and that makes any car instantly better.


Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [5/7]


2010-07-25 07:33 am (UTC)


The warehouse really does smell like old laundry. Eames gags a little.

"Must be hell in the summer," he says.

"Somewhat," says Arthur. "But you get used to it after a while."

Arthur is walking slowly through every room, the sound of his shoes echoing. He takes off his gloves when he comes to a battered staircase, runs one fine-boned finger down the balustrade. His smile is a little sad, even though he tries to cover it up with a cough that stirs the dust from the steps.

"The memories you have of here," says Eames. "What are they?"

What comes next seems to happen in slow motion. Arthur opens his mouth to explain, but whatever he says is drowned out by the rush of blood in Eames' ears, because through the window behind Arthur he sees five or six men in moving about in the security booth. And in an empty warehouse, the security booth is supposed to be empty.

"Get down, Arthur!" yells Eames, and throws himself over Arthur, knocking them both to the ground. A splitting din of shattered glass, and a spray of bullets hits the far wall. Plaster crumbles from the holes.

"Fuck," exclaims Arthur.

"Just to be clear," says Eames, breathless, partly because he has just dived onto a very hard floor and partly because he is lying flush against Arthur, "that wasn't because I'm your guard and you can't take care of yourself, all right, pet? That was only because you had your back to the window--"

But Arthur is already up and running, gun in his hand. Eames crouches below the ledge and follows him. Arthur whirls behind a pillar for cover, takes a deep breath, whips his left hand around the pillar, and shoots. The first bullet lodges into the windowsill of the security booth, and the second bullet sends one of the men toppling. There are indistinct noises of panic.

And it is completely inappropriate, but Eames is getting a little hard. The opened edge of Arthur's coat billows behind him as he speeds down a corridor. Eames forces himself to concentrate on the shooting, the ambush, how they are really in danger of losing their lives, and to maybe think a little less about the wild light in Arthur's eyes.

"We're outclassed, in terms of firepower," he shouts. "We've got to get out of here."

"All the doors open toward the security booth," Arthur shouts back. "Either we kill them all, or we create some sort of diversion."

Eames catches up with Arthur, and they pause, flattened on a stairwell.

"What was your answer?" asks Eames.

"What?" asks Arthur.

"Your memories," says Eames. "I couldn't hear."

Arthur stares at him for a moment, then laughs.

"I had target practice here," he says, "and recon training. I know the layout like I built it."

"So you like it a lot, this building?" asks Eames.

"I guess you could say that," says Arthur. "Why?"

"I'm going to have to blow it up," says Eames, and pulls a handful of paper-wrapped packages from his pocket.

"Are those portable explosives?" asks Arthur, eyes wide. "Why the hell are you carrying these around?"

"Primary weapon, when I can manage to clear enough space," says Eames. "This seems like good ground for it-- that is, with your permission."

"Come next morning, it won't even be ours anymore," says Arthur. "We'll blow it up. Under one condition, though."

"What?" asks Eames.

"I'll do it," says Arthur. "It has to be quick, before the bastards out there start calling for more soldiers. You don't know this building like I do, to set up a good chain. You'll take too long."

"But Arthur," protests Eames.

"Do you love me?" demands Arthur.

Eames' head goes completely blank.

"Uh," he says.

"I mean-- shit, I mean--" Arthur flushes darkly, and he crams the packages into his pockets. "I mean-- do you trust me, is what I meant to-- do you love-- I don't even know you! I mean, I know you, but we're not even dating! I mean-- that's not what I--"

Eames swallows.

"I'm leaving!" shouts Arthur, leaping to his feet. "Take out as many of them as you can, and run for the main gate as soon as you hear the first explosion. Fill my blind spots, I'll-- I'll see you there, I-- oh fuck me."

And Arthur turns and practically flees.


Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [6/7]


2010-07-25 07:34 am (UTC)


It takes Eames a very long time to be able to fire a gun properly again. At last, when he isn't shaking uncontrollably and wasting bullets by sending them whizzing off into the middle of nowhere, he manages to drop another man in the security booth. There are four left. Normally Eames would consider himself more than capable of taking four on, but they have light machine guns and an excellent cover.

Fill my blind spots, says Arthur.

Do you love me, asks Arthur.

Add a couple dozen more armed men to this warehouse, an earthquake, and a bloodthirsty liger or two, and it would be an appropriate metaphor for what a chaotic mess their relationship has suddenly become. The men in the booth must have spotted Arthur running somewhere on the third floor, because they start pointing and aiming somewhere above him. Eames fires off a few quick shots in succession and they duck out of the way.

Do you love me, asks Arthur.

If you will permit me, Eames would have said. If that had been the question.

But his job isn't to love Arthur--

There's a deafening explosion from somewhere in the building, and all the windows on the fourth floor blow out, scattering shards of glass down below. That's his cue. Eames runs down the stairs as fast as he can, seeing out of the corner of his eye the bright flames licking the roof, the thick choking smoke. He skids around a corner. Another boom shakes the building and he's almost on the first floor, the metal storage racks falling like dominoes, then a third boom, and he's sprinting out the door as the first floor goes, the burst of fire hot at his back, the shockwave shoving him forward. Then in front of his face, the security booth implodes in a blaze of toxic orange and he throws his arms up to shield himself, debris flying all around him, everything shrouded in smoke.

Arthur, he thinks. To have set off the explosion in the booth, Arthur had to be close by. His heart in his throat, Eames looks around wildly, the hint of a camel coat, a shoe, anything.

"Arthur," he yells. "Arthur!"

Nearly everything above ground is already on fire, but the secondary explosions would start soon underground. He can't leave.

"Arthur," he screams.

"Eames," comes a voice through the ashes and gas.

He gropes blindly in the direction of that voice, toward Arthur, Arthur, who has actually just called his name for the first time, Eames realizes, but now is not the time to dwell on that because Arthur is alive, Arthur is here, and they're going to make it.

"Are you okay," wheezes Eames.

"In one piece," says Arthur, then winces. "Before I blew up the booth, though, I think they-- can you check my leg--"

Gingerly, Eames peels back the shreds of fabric. Arthur's leg is a bloody mess, but most of it just seems to be clean bleeding.

"Must have gone straight through," says Eames. "You'll be okay. God, Arthur. I shouldn't have--"

"Shut up," says Arthur, and he's smiling, even though it's strained from pain and the color is draining from his face. "Let's get out of here, Eames. Let's go home."

"I got you," says Eames. He tries to help Arthur back upright, but he hisses as soon as his foot touches the ground. This time, even piggybacking is out of the question, and there's cold sweat on Arthur's forehead.

"Shit," mutters Arthur.

Eames makes a decision. He scoops Arthur up into his arms, because no matter how much Arthur might yell at him for it later, his first priority is to keep him safe. Arthur is lighter than he thought, or Eames is stronger than usual, with the power of adrenaline and love coursing through him or something like that.

"This is embarrassing," says Arthur, and lets his head fall against Eames' chest.

Then it starts to rain. Cold winter rain like drops of ice. Arthur shudders and closes his eyes, and he is frighteningly pale and motionless but his breathing is regular, and the underground explosions start as they leave through the main gate. Silhouetted against the fire, Eames thinks that all in all, he must look pretty damn cool.


Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [7/7]


2010-07-25 07:36 am (UTC)


The door creaks open. Eames has been waiting outside while Cobb has a private word with Arthur. Eames had tried to protest, Arthur just got out of surgery, don't tire him out, it's all my fault he's hurt, but Cobb only chuckled and closed the door behind him.

Eames peers into the recovery room, not quite daring to stop Cobb as he leaves.

"What did he say," he asks Arthur instead.

"Many things," says Arthur. "One, that it probably wasn't a leak from inside, and that they were just expecting me to turn up where I'd spent so much of my childhood. Guess I was being predictable."

"Those assholes," says Eames.

"And two, that as the next heir of the Cobb family," says Arthur, "I really can't afford to go around getting myself shot,"

"That's fair," admits Eames. "What did you say?"

"That he'll just have to find another heir," says Arthur.

"You-- what?" gapes Eames.

"I am the heir to nothing," says Arthur. "I'm just me now."

"But what about succession," stammers Eames. "What about Cobb? Are you going to leave now? Are you going back to school?"

"Dom isn't even old, he doesn't need an heir anytime soon," says Arthur. "He's just so old inside, you know? He gets confused about how much time he has left. Which is a whole lot. And there's always Ariadne. If she takes a liking to it, she'll make a better don -- donna, whatever -- than I ever would have. And as for me--"

"What about you?" asks Eames, dreading the answer.

"We're at war again, so the raid unit is back," says Arthur, his eyes glinting. "I'm a soldier in the service of the Cobb family. And I'm just me now-- is that okay, Eames?"

"Is that okay?" repeats Eames. "Oh, Arthur, darling."

And Eames sinks to one knee at the side of Arthur's hospital bed, pressing his lips to the back of Arthur's hand, because service isn't all hierarchy, where you're hired to do your job out of loyalty and a sense of duty. You can be in the service of anyone you damn well please-- and if that's someone that walks beside you, if it's someone that fills your blind spots, that's perfectly all right too.

"I trust you," says Eames.


"But what about Saito?" asks Arthur.

"Saito has left to join Yusuf in opening a fusion-cuisine restaurant," says Cobb. "So the job is open."

"But Saito can't cook worth shit," says Eames. "If he didn't have that mistress to depend on, he'd starve."

"And Yusuf can only make dessert," says Arthur. "What kind of crap restaurant is that?"

"Guys, what are you saying," interrupts Ariadne. "Do I sense reluctance? Do you not want to be my guards?"

"Are you kidding?" Arthur tousles her hair. "Guard to the future heir! It's possibly the only position better than point man for the raid team. Besides, my warehouse is in pieces now. It would feel wrong to train in another one."

Arthur jams his pistol into the holster by his side, and the cocky tilt of his hips makes Eames see stars. Dammit, he's getting hard again.

"Eames," says Cobb, "this room is an erection-free zone."

"There's no such thing," yells Eames.

"Which do you like better," begins Ariadne, "the Bugatti or Arthur?"

"What a mortifying question," yells Eames.

"It's not that difficult," says Arthur. "One of those things, you can't have."

And everything is wonderful, and everything is just right. Even in wartime, even when they're both just soldiers at the bottom of the ladder, Eames can keep Arthur safe. Even when Arthur and Ariadne drag him to the Met and spend two hours arguing over the relative merits of the British Masters exhibition and the Marvels of Modern Architecture exhibition, even when he and Arthur share their first kiss in the middle of a turf battle and they both end up in the hospital because they accidentally fall off a balcony, even when they find Saito and Yusuf's restaurant gone out of business and discover the two of them working at the bakery on Bleecker street instead, it's good to be a gangster. Blind spots and all.


Lol omg what a ridiculous fic, hahaha

Re: Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [7/7]


2010-07-25 07:45 am (UTC)

I love this. I love you. So much.

By far one of the best, if not the best, work I've read in this fandom. ♥♥♥

Re: Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [7/7]


2010-07-25 07:48 am (UTC)



Re: Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [7/7]


2010-07-25 08:11 am (UTC)

"What a mortifying question," yells Eames.


Re: Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [7/7]


2010-07-25 08:24 am (UTC)

OH GOD OH GOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH MY HEART HURTS. I lost it so hard at this part: "Don Dom Cobb". A travesty. And then you go ahead and write something like this: "Saito has left to join Yusuf in opening a fusion-cuisine restaurant,"


Re: Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [7/7]


2010-07-25 08:31 am (UTC)


(Deleted comment)
(Deleted comment)

Re: Filled: Buongiorno, Felicita [1/7]


2010-07-25 08:10 am (UTC)



Log in