Inception (almost) Fics

[Owlinatree]

Crossposting from tumblr:

Hello! I'm working on a full-length inception fic but I had to get the obligatory fluff out of my system before I continued. This is within the same universe as @LeapYearKisses 's old drabbles, because they have become canon to me. Therefore, enjoy Eames with hayfever and fetishist Arthur

Fandom: Inception ///  Word Count: 232 /// Character: Eames (pairing: Arthur/Eames)

Eames opens his eyes to an open field, noting the trees that dot the periphery. Arthur makes to brush dust off the seat of his impeccably creased slacks, and Eames tracks the motion hungrily. The air is suffused with the scent of growing plants and copulating trees, but the wind is still. Manageable, then. 

“Darling, I’d hoped you’d have heeded my advice.”

“And which invaluable lesson have I forsaken this time, dear?” 

Eames laughs delightedly. “You know exactly what I mean! Though it does please me that you’re so considerate of my incorporeal comfort.”

“Would you really want this?” 

“For you? Of course.” 

Arthur frowns slightly. “Eames, I only want this if you can enjoy it as well.”

Eames softens at this, breathes out. “Darling, there is nothing I more enjoy than pleasing you. It’s nothing that isn’t routine for me, in any case.” 

“You’re sure, then.”

“Pet, any more certain and I’d set myself off already. Right now. In fact, I thihhnk…” Eames’ features draw back slightly, and he blinks a few times, eyes listing hazily upward. “I think–hheh!–I’ve already start—hhH-hgshew!” He pulls in a minute sniff, accepting the impeccably crisp handkerchief which materializes in front of him. A glance at Arthur catches shining eyes, a smirk barely peeking through the point man’s affected ambivalence. He’s got to keep up his front for at least a little while, after all.

[Owlinatree]

wrote a lil coda to this and it's just fluff

Arthur wakes up the next morning facing Eames, who is snoring heavily at the wall. He tamps down the initial panic at seeing his alarm clock, reminding himself that he has already called Perez, and so 9:43 is not the emergency it seems to be. It is, however, later than he’s ever known Eames to sleep. Arthur lays there and observes as Eames begins the waking-up process. It’s something in the bunch of his muscles, how there’s slightly less pause separating exhale and inhale, the quick double-breath he takes now and then. Arthur knows that this will be a difficult morning for the forger, who won’t be able to take his medication until the next morning, not until the somnacin works its way out of his system.

Arthur notices the moment at which Eames wrenches awake, the exact instant at which the switch flips. It seems to have been hours, but the clock lets him know that it has only been twenty six minutes. Eames’ head twitches slightly, and he looses a quick hitch-gasp, drawing in a desperate breath before folding at the waist for a trio of sneezes which knock a pillow off his small personal tower. It’s evidently not a pleasant way to start one’s morning, if the low groan Eames voices afterward is any indication.

“Morning.” It feels weird to be the one saying that.

“S’not gonna beeh...eh-hih! giSH-ah! Not gonna be a good morning.” Arthur doesn’t need to hear the words to understand that; in fact, Eames’ voice is so blunted by congestion and scored through by the irritation of coughing through the night that Arthur almost can’t. Eames says this with a quiet frankness that belies how bad he’s feeling; it’s not the melodrama Arthur is accustomed to, but it’s Eames all the same.

Arthur’s awash in sympathy and other such emotions which do not belong in the morning, and maybe because it’s early or maybe it’s because somewhere along the way Eames managed to incept him, but Arthur finds himself scooting over and wrapping his arms around his partner, first in crime and now in some semblance of a real life. He expects Eames to say something like “Well, this is unexpected, darling!” or “Finally decided you like me, then?” but Eames is either too aware or not aware enough, and so he sighs happily and squeezes his arms on top of Arthur’s, pulling him closer. It’s three idyllic seconds there, three seconds or so in which the room pulls tight beneath a bubble-thin skin of peace, before Eames pushes away.

Arthur feels a small, entirely undignified noise tear from his chest at the bereavement, and he brings both hands to cover his face to prevent any such repeated embarrassments. Eames doesn’t comment, propped up slightly and facing the wall, perfectly still.

“M’sorr-hh..Eh-gissh!—sorry Arth—eiiGSCH-gSHew!” Oh. Okay, then. Maybe Arthur isn’t the only one feeling ashamed over involuntary exclamations this morning. He pulls Eames back slowly and deliberately, this time curling his whole body around Eames with a reassuring squeeze. Arthur was never much for subtleties.

“James, I don’t— Uh, it’s. You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t mind.” Eames flips about at that, tired face carved in a low smile and an open happiness in his eyes, something pleased in the set of his forehead. He leans forward into a kiss, grasping the back of Arthur’s head and then flopping down on top of him. Arthur can feel the damp from Eames’ nose and the brush-poke of his stubble, but he’s surprised to find that he doesn’t care. Eames was never much for subtleties either, not when it came to Arthur.

[Owlinatree]

I'm going to put my Inception stories which are too short to be real fics here, because I don't want to spam the fanfiction board, and I want to put all of my Inception stuff in an easy to find place. I think basically everything I write under 1.5k-ish I'll put in this thread. Forgive my use of the allergy tag; I'm going to try to get two drabbles transferred over from my other drabble thread; I'm fairly certain nobody saw them there anyway lol 

This one's an Eames sickfic which takes place on an airplane, and involves possibly more than trace amounts of Arthur. Also I'm ridiculous, which is why it's pseudo epistolary at parts. Written for a prompt on tumblr for the words "messy" and "embarrassed" for Eames. 1438 words. 

“I am capable of backing off!”

Ariadne scoffs. “Arthur, I’ve seen you sharpen a knife at a woman you thought was hitting on Eames. With another knife”

“Hm. It worked, though.”

“She was a TSA officer!”

“The knife was five centimeters long! That’s allowed, in Canada!”

“You shouldn’t be!” Arthur is suddenly shifty, and Eames looks delighted.

“Tell her, darling!” Eames says to Arthur’s middle finger.

Ariadne smells blood. “Tell me what?” Arthur slouches into his chair, mumbles something into his Moleskine. “Arthur, I will tell Cobb about how you took Phillipa to—”

“One of my aliases is—not banned, Eames—officially recommended to not come back to Ottawa. Allegedly.” Eames mouths ‘allegedly’ before chuckling. “Yes, Eames, allegedly!”

So that’s that, and Arthur is not allowed to accompany Eames into the recon mission, though he manages to be needed in New York at the same time. They book first class on one of Saito’s planes, and Eames goes about choosing a persona for the weekend. It’s all very mundane.

 

— — —

 

Somewhere over the Atlantic, Eames becomes aware of a building pressure behind his eyes. He thinks it’s probably the altitude and decides to sleep it off, settling in next to Arthur who had taken a sleeping pill right away to mitigate jetlag.

When Eames wakes up, he wishes he hadn’t. The pressure behind his eyes has become an ache laid thick across his cheekbones. He swallows experimentally and his ears don’t pop, crackling ominously instead. He can’t breathe through his nose, and a rough sniff yields nothing. He shuts his eyes, tight at first and then much more gently, and tries to fall back asleep. Between his exhaustion and the vibration of the airplane, he gets most of the way there.

Arthur wakes him an hour before descent, insistently shaking his shoulder. He seems annoyed, from the set of his forehead and the firm way his mouth shapes words. Eames tries to rewind to the beginning of Arthur’s tirade and ends up missing all of it; he can’t make out a word in three, anyway, given the state of his ears.

“You’re goi’g to have to be louder, love. Cad’t hear a word—oh, fuck me sideways, I’m sick.” Arthur’s expression goes all pinched with worry, but when he places a hand over Eames’ forehead his concern clears somewhat. Eames takes this to mean that there’s no fever, but he takes some paracetamol anyway when he extracts a decongestant from their bag.

“How long have we got before landing?” Arthur holds up one finger, then scribbles in his omnipresent notebook. We’ll write here.

“Arthur, I can speak perfectly well.” Arthur lays a hand over his mouth.

Eames, you are shouting. It’s underlined once, but with the force of many more. Eames scowls at the words, snatching Arthur’s pen.

in the expensive seats—can yell much as we want.

Don’t. We didn’t even pay for them. Eames pouts for a moment, then starts a game of hangman. His word is ‘aubergine,’ and he basks in Arthur’s indignation when he leaves a generous hint on the stick figure.

That’s not even how it’s spelled.

not how you spell it, but the queen would beg to difer

Differ. And it’s definitely not spelled ‘auberjean.’ Nowhere in the world spells it like that.

>:(

Dick.

🍆

Where did you get that? Eames has pulled out a twelve-color pen, to accurately render the emoji. He winks at Arthur and gestures at his mouth, saying nothing. Arthur underlines ‘Dick.’

Eames sees Arthur look up just then, and he focuses on his surroundings. Just barely reaching through the ringing of his ears, the cabin speakers sound in a low murmur. He puts this together with the appearance of the ‘seatbelts on’ light and the uncomfortable shifting feeling that’s bubbled up behind his face, and realizes that he’s about to have an interesting next ten minutes.

were going down???

Yes. We’re landing soon. Eames would write some version of ‘okay,’ but his attention is stolen by his roiling sinuses, his response swallowed by two sneezes which seem to wrench out of him at the same time, curling his body toward the next seat and alerting him to the success of his decongestant; his nose has begun to run in earnest, as if to make up for the hours spent completely blocked. Eames has only the napkin that came with his cup of water. He brings it to cover his nose and mouth as quickly as he can manage, but he knows it’s not going to be enough.

“Arthur, cad you-eiGSH! EISCH-ah! Er, tissues?” Eames doesn’t know if Arthur hears him or responds, the next few seconds taken over by the overwhelming flare of irritation. He’s unable to break attention from his predicament, the fit of intense sneezes prompted along by the changing pressure. It’s all he can do to hold the rag of a napkin over his nose while his burgeoning cold makes itself known.

Eames can tell that it’s not enough, can feel the warmth from his nose dripping down his upper lip, slightly diffused by his stubble. He wonders, distantly, where Arthur has fucked off to with the requested tissues. The fit continues, the pressure in his ears diverting him from any such thoughts, his need to sneeze overshadowing it all.

Eames is helpless against the hitch of his breath, can’t stop the irrepressible urge, the inevitability of a hundred more sneezes all at once crowded impossibly into one after the other. It hurts, all packed into his head, which feels about three sizes too small and not nearly capable of imposing order. The floor shakes beneath his shoes. His hands are a mess, the napkin shredded and soaked through, but he doesn’t dare move them from their current location, feeble cover though they provide. Eames wishes desperately to be ejected from the plane, right then and right there.

As the fit seems to taper off, Eames becomes aware that there is something being pushed at the backs of his hands. He chances a peek; Arthur has found a veritable mountain of airline napkins, and evidently had decided to shove them at Eames’ face until he noticed. Eames ponders, for a second, how to go about transferring the napkins from outside his hands to inside his hands. And well, it’s only Arthur, so he decides to simply go for it. He removes his hands from their position, welcoming the dry press of napkins to his face. The switch prompts a few more sneezes, which he directs into the much-preferable mass of paper. Eames peels a few napkins off to wipe up his hands, themselves thoroughly wet, and then blows his nose as gently as he can, groaning against the strain in his ears. It appears he’s been granted a respite from the relentless sneezing, so he takes the opportunity to turn toward Arthur, opening his eyes.

Oh, god.

Arthur’s suppressing laughter, which is fine, but he’s bracketed by two flight attendants, one of whom is carefully holding an expression of professional concern (he can see the twitch of her mouth, the glint in her eye) and the other of whom looks a step away from donning a hazmat suit. This is considerably less fine. Eames feels an unasked-for flush rise from the base of his neck—feels it, can do nothing to stop it as mortification crowds out any relief he’d felt from the end of the fit.

“Did’t we have tissues?” What he means is What the fuck, Arthur, and it’s just his luck that he still can’t hear a damned thing, as Arthur raises an eyebrow and probably snarks at him. Eames forgoes attempting to lip-read in favor of addressing the two behind his boyfriend. He’s probably still shouting.

“Do you two bloody mind? I’m a very important client of this airline and I damn well demand some privacy!” The man who’d been sneaking his alcohol towelettes to wipe down the drinks cart has no problem leaving, but the amused attendant tosses over a few more napkins before walking away.

You used up the tissues after we went to the cat shelter, last month. I’d meant to pick some up in New York. Had to beg some from the crew.

arthur wat the fuck

I’m sorry. I should have asked them to leave. Germophobe guy was funny though.

think my ears fell off

We’ll be on the ground soon.

Arthur clasps their hands together, heedless of the damp, and squeezes twice. Eames directs an errant sneeze into one of the remaining napkins, and leans back heavily in his seat as the plane alights on the runway.

[AngelEyes]

OMG. I am so thrilled to find this here! This is my new crack! I love it!

[Kicker]

I really love your writing. It's so sweet and has so much character. Also, so funny??? The messages Aurthur and Eames write to each other on the plane had me cackling. That last drabble was definitely my fave. Everything about the way it was written was so appealing and interesting to me. Also, I have some mild hearing problems? And honestly, the idea of someone having trouble hearing while being sick is both uh relatable and attractive to me? There's a whole new layer of misery that's implied. ;_; These were all lovely, as per usual! 

[Owlinatree]

On 4/30/2018 at 2:10 AM, AngelEyes said:

OMG. I am so thrilled to find this here! This is my new crack! I love it!

Hi! I totally didn't see your comment on my other fic (sorry!!) but I'm so happy you saw inception! It's 8 years post-release, and I'm so glad there are people willing to indulge me my pop culture delay lol

2 hours ago, Kicker said:

I really love your writing. It's so sweet and has so much character. Also, so funny??? The messages Aurthur and Eames write to each other on the plane had me cackling. That last drabble was definitely my fave. Everything about the way it was written was so appealing and interesting to me. Also, I have some mild hearing problems? And honestly, the idea of someone having trouble hearing while being sick is both uh relatable and attractive to me? There's a whole new layer of misery that's implied. ;_; These were all lovely, as per usual! 

Thank you!! I try really hard to capture the character in each piece, because they both feel so whole and real in my mind, so it's the least I can do to wrangle some version of the boys onto the page. (also thank you i was going for funny but wasn't sure it was actually amusing outside of my brain) The last one was my fav as well; I wrote it for someone so I wanted it to work, y'know? Ooo weird thing to get excited about, but I've got mild auditory processing issues so heyyyo! I work really hard to try to incorporate all of the possible fallouts and sensory consequences of actions and events in my fic so :))))

[Owlinatree]

I made a list of allergy-related prompts in honor of allergy season (one word per letter of the alphabet) and I was prompted

H (hitching) for Arthur and Eames

Arthur reminds himself that he doesn’t like vacations, and resumes staring incredulously at Eames.

They’re both relaxing, insofar as either of them ever relax, Arthur at the kitchen table building a replica Boeing 747 from scratch while Eames reads a memoir about a woman’s “Secret Life Inside Scientology” on the couch. They must paint a strange tableau; each has appeared to be fully engaged in their respective activity for the past hour, but nobody has made any progress, and neither has ventured to comment. Arthur thinks, somewhat viciously, that the whole charade would be over if Eames would just sneeze.

Just when Arthur settles, his carefully planned and painstakingly cut cardstock components just moments from glue, the maddening scene plays again and he wheels around, too incensed to ignore the spectacle.

Eames draws in a shaky breath, pulling his gaze up into the middle distance, his eyes unfocused, and his chin lifts in fits and starts from one catch-breath to the next, until his flared nostrils are on full display, mouth dropped open the slightest amount, eyes straining to remain open while his head tilts back, and—

“Hheh . . . snf!” He’s done, returning to his page, maybe flipping to the next as if he isn’t putting on an absolutely ridiculous production every minute or so.

Arthur is floored in the face of this, this utter nonchalance. He thinks that disturbing the relative peace is probably not something you’re supposed to do on vacations, but what does he care? Arthur doesn’t even like vacations. He crosses the room, landing next to Eames on the couch.

“Eames.”

“Arthur.” And this gives Arthur pause, because Eames had just breezed past his name without the drawn out syllables that transform the simple address into something which effuses fond regard. He’s distracted, it appears. Eames had trailed off into the cut-off inhale that heralds another round of hitching breaths and built-up irritation, but this time he groans shortly and presses the base of his palm onto his nose. He attempts few firm rubs, before he gives this up in favor of pinching his nose and moving it about roughly. Reasonably placated, he returns to Arthur, expression flickering slightly.

“What are you doing?” Eames assembles a look of confusion, only betrayed by the irregular twitch of his nose. “Oh my god, Eames. Just sneeze.” His eyes widen in realization, and Arthur just barely manages to bite back a cutting remark about observational skills and failed acting, bracing himself for the inevitable denial.

“I’m-hhih! Fucking hell—”

“This doesn’t actually make it less obvious that you have allergies. It just annoys the both of—”

“I’m trying!”

“What?”

“Can’t fucking sneeze and I’m sohh-ih! Heh?” Arthur shelves his petulance and really watches Eames, sees the frustration evident in each desperate inhale, his impatience in scrubbing at his nose as if to satisfy a deeply entrenched itch which will not relent. Eames is, for once, not playing a part, not engaging in any sort of manipulation. Arthur dispenses altogether with his earlier annoyance.

“Didn’t you take your meds?”

Eames has, evidently, not dispensed with any frustration at all. “I’m not wholly incompetent.”

“Then, uhm,” Arthur is horrified to find himself floundering for a response.

“Right, well, they’ve clearly got my eyes well sorted, and obviously I’m not sneezing, but that’s apparently the end of the fucking list.” Arthur thinks he might almost understand this unusually cryptic statement.

“So the meds took care of the sneezing but not the urge?”

“Thank you for explaining this to me, Arthur. Really stunning synthesis.” Arthur takes a very deep breath, and reminds himself that they are on vacation, and this cabin had a very high deposit, so he cannot start a fight while they are inside.

He opens his eyes to see that Eames has begun to knuckle vigorously at the base of his nostrils, attention fully shifted away from Arthur. This, more than the monetary incentive, calms him down. He’s seen Eames with bullet wounds which less incapacitated him than this, and it’s strangely endearing to see him so mundanely affected.

“Is there anything I can do?” Eames makes attempts a derisive snort, but it gets caught halfway and he instead sniffles wetly at Arthur. In a burst of reckless inspiration, Arthur runs his thumbnail alongside the bridge of Eames’ nose, pulling away when Eames recoils, breath catching into a desperate double-inhale.

“Hh-hh . . . iihH-gSH! EHgsh-ah! Bloody Christ, that felt good.” Eames resurfaces, heavy lidded and inordinately pleased. “Thadk fuck for you, darli’g.”

“Blow your nose.” Eames does, eyes fluttering shut as his congestion moves. He finishes, with a solid swipe to his nose, which has not fared well under such harsh treatment, flushed deep red at each nostril and rubbed somewhat raw all over.

“Don’t suppose you could do that again?”

“Let’s give your nose a break.” Eames goes cross-eyed, in what is ostensibly an intimidating glare directed at his own nose, then back to Arthur.

“We’re going to the middle of the ocean next vacation.”

[AngelEyes]

This is adorable! And a whole list? Really? Yay!!!

20 hours ago, Owlinatree said:

Eames draws in a shaky breath, pulling his gaze up into the middle distance, his eyes unfocused, and his chin lifts in fits and starts from one catch-breath to the next, until his flared nostrils are on full display, mouth dropped open the slightest amount, eyes straining to remain open while his head tilts back, and—

Mmmm. Beautiful picture.

 

20 hours ago, Owlinatree said:

Eames has, evidently, not dispensed with any frustration at all. “I’m not wholly incompetent.”

LOL

 

20 hours ago, Owlinatree said:

Arthur takes a very deep breath, and reminds himself that they are on vacation, and this cabin had a very high deposit, so he cannot start a fight while they are inside.

I love his rationale for not fighting is they paid a lot for the cabin. LOL

 

21 hours ago, Owlinatree said:

“Thadk fuck for you, darli’g.”

Awwww, too cute.

[Owlinatree]

2 hours ago, AngelEyes said:

This is adorable! And a whole list? Really? Yay!!!

thank you as always (you're so nice omg) and yeah! it's here at my tumblr. let me know if you'd like any specifically, because i'm not quite fast enough/don't have enough time to write all of them (i'm kind of writing on an as-requested basis because without that I lack incentive lmao)

2 hours ago, AngelEyes said:

I love his rationale for not fighting is they paid a lot for the cabin. LOL

 that's what he tells himself (don't tell arthur but he's soft esp with eames)

[AngelEyes]

I am absolutely happy to be at your whim but I did glance at the list and may I request an N for Non-stop, cause that just sounds delicious? LOL. 

[Owlinatree]

N - Non-stop

Thanks, @AngelEyes! I thought I should let Eames sneeze after my last one. Though I may have gone to the other extreme, lol. 1.3k of allergic Eames!

Summary: They’re in a secluded safe house and Eames runs out of meds. Arthur worries.

“We’ll have to stay there for a few days at least.” Arthur is driving them to a house carefully hidden in rural New York.

“Is it stocked?” Eames has turned fully to the left in the passenger seat, one arm on the dash and the other stealthily encroaching upon Arthur’s shoulder space.

“There aren’t any stores around, so it’d better be,” says Arthur, swatting at Eames like an offending fly, not taking his eyes off the road.
“No room service to the middle of nowhere?” Arthur looks sharply at Eames, raising his eyebrows at Eames’ smirk.

“I’m glad you display such knowledge and maturity about our circumstance. Really fills me with confidence.”

“Come off it, darling, you were ecstatic that I chose you for this being on the run thing.”

“Eames, we are not on the run, we’re just strategically exiting a job to a safe location.”
“Ah, but my version sounds so much more romantic! Also more correct.”

“I swear to god, if we get killed because Nash couldn’t wait thirty seconds to take a piss, I’m going to—”

“We won’t, because we are romantically escaping to a secluded cabin and in a week this will all have been taken care of,” says Eames. Arthur takes a calming breath, and after a moment of concentration, his shoulders relax minutely. “See? Already on our way.”

— — —

The safe house is tiny, idyllic and almost completely enveloped by trees. Even with the GPS coordinates, they nearly drive right past. Eames dodges the boughs of the trees warily, dusting himself off in the doorway before stumbling to bed and falling asleep fully clothed.

— — —

“Oh, fuck.” Eames has held before him a red cardboard box on which “CLARINEX” is printed in bold. Arthur sees no reason for such language, and says so:

“What?” Okay, well, it’s not yet eight in the morning, and Arthur hasn’t had coffee. He’s sure Eames understands, anyway. Then Eames holds out his hand, revealing a completely empty blister pack.

“Fuck,” Arthur agrees.

— — —

There’s nothing to do. There’s nothing to do, and Eames really needs a distraction, or else he’s going to die. He’s going to succumb to the pollen which he can feel beginning to affect him, growing more potent by the minute as his body grows wise to the fact that he has not taken his antihistamine. Eames voices this anxiety to Arthur, the insufferable git, who’s lounging on the couch with his computer and his notebook as if there isn’t an army of plant refuse conspiring to destroy his boyfriend.

“Aaaarrrrrthurrrr.”

“Mm.”

“There’s nothing to do.”

“That’s good, Eames.”
“You’re ignoring me while the trees plan their attack.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I’ve been abandoned in my time of need, by my most beloved.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m stranded, loveless, as my immune system fails me!” Arthur’s dimples make a flash appearance, gone as soon as they came. Eames counts this as a victory.

“Sounds nice.”

“I know you’re listening, darling. This is just cruel.” Arthur pauses in typing, just for a moment. Eames thinks now is the time to angle for his lover’s attention, and he fully intends to do so, but for a sudden thwarting twinge deep in his sinuses.

“Arthhih!”

“Yes, Eames?”

“Eh-gissh! Hh-heh. . .GISH-ah!” Eames sniffs wetly, digging in his pocket for a handkerchief which isn’t there because of course it isn’t.

“Did you have something to say, or were you just going to sneeze at me?”

“Eh’gishh-ah!” Eames levels a misty glare at Arthur, who raises an eyebrow and returns to some sort of ‘important’ task on his laptop. Probably something to do with leveraging Nash’s life in order to save theirs. Eames hopes, rather nastily, that Nash tries to sell them out, so Arthur can really destroy him.

For the time being, it seems, Arthur is absorbed in whatever it is he’s doing, so Eames ceases his ineffectual attempts to annoy him in favor of exploring the house. As in any good house exploration, he begins with the kitchen. There’s at least a week’s worth of food, all of it upsettingly shelf-stable, and a satisfying array of kitchen appliances and cookware, and Eames brightens when he finds a kettle and some tea. It’s bagged and American, but it’s tea nonetheless. This is the end of his house exploration, Eames decides.

Ten minutes later, bearing two mugs of tea and graham crackers, Eames returns to the living room. He sets the crackers and one steaming mug down by Arthur, and the other he cradles under his chin while he eases onto the opposite end of the couch. Maybe it’s the steam curling up from the tea, or the expansive windows giving full view of the foliage outside, but the tickle from before sharpens suddenly, giving Eames almost no time at all to slam his mug down on the table before he’s overtaken by a set of implacable sneezes.

“BloodyfuckingshitOW!” The scalding tea had spilled over onto his hand, which he waves around as he sneezes freely toward his lap. He brings his left arm up hastily to catch the next few, still biting out curses in between each desperate sneeze. Eames’ right hand is gently caught in its flailing, something cool pressed against it.

“Wha-ehH’GSH!” Eames blinks at his hand, which now has an Arthur and a damp towel attached to it.

“Eames, you idiot. Why would you carry boiling water while you were—”

“This all I had tohh-ehIGSCH! ihGSH-ah!—had to do to get your attention?”

“No,” Arthur says, with feeling. “Please do not injure yourself for my attention.”

“Hey!” Eames is somewhat indignant. “It’s not like I, like I-hhe’giSH!”

“I know. Just,” Arthur keeps hold of Eames’ hand, which in reality is hardly burned at all, “I go to so much trouble to keep you alive and I’d hate to see you put all that to waste.” Eames splutters at this a little, but he thinks he knows what Arthur is really saying while clutching Eames’ lightly-scorched palm: I care about you.

“Darling, could you possibly hand me that towel?” Eames says, and sneezes again.

“Okay? Bless you, by the way.” Arthur unwraps the towel from Eames’ hand and lets go, allowing Eames to bring the cloth closer to himself.

“That’s gonnahhih! gonna get old-ehH’GISH!” Eames flushes at the way his voice had raised in pitch, burying his face in the folds of the towel. His eyes fall to half mast as he blows his nose lustily, finishing with a vigorous rub and a harsh sniff.

“Are you done for now?” Arthur sounds closer, the couch dipping slightly as he slides over.

“Erm,” Eames gets out, his breath hitching wildly, “I’m. . .” he muffles a quick pair of sneezes into the towel.

“Guess not.” Arthur has begun to sound vaguely concerned.

“Arthur, love.” Eames presses a knuckle to his septum in an effort to stem the current fit. “This is, hhih! what it’s going to be like. Snff! Until I get out of here, or,” he wriggles his nose determinedly, “or I take my meds for a few days. In fact,” and here he can’t hold back, but he only allows himself one sharp sneeze, “this is as light as it will be.”

“Eames, I’m sorry, I would have—”

“Arthur, your plans were to keep us alive, hmm?”

“Yeah, but.”

“Am I dead?”

“I understand.” Arthur meets Eames’ eyes, grim.

“This is not gunfire, and it’s not a slum. Eh-gISH!”

“It’s my job, Eames. It’s my job to plan for everything. I get what you’re saying, and I probably wouldn’t have changed anything, because this location is what makes the most sense, but I still care that you’re not well.”

“I know,” Eames says, because he does, “and that’s why I’m not mad. It’s my job to understand that Nash never has been and never will be competent, and to warn you accordingly. We’ve both made mistakes.” He leans toward his lap, bending with three forceful sneezes. “I’ll take another wet towel, though, in compensation.” Arthur huffs an almost-laugh and complies.

[AngelEyes]

3 hours ago, Owlinatree said:

I thought I should let Eames sneeze after my last one. Though I may have gone to the other extreme, lol. 1.3k of allergic Eames!

Joy!!!!

 

3 hours ago, Owlinatree said:

“Eames, we are not on the run, we’re just strategically exiting a job to a safe location.”
“Ah, but my version sounds so much more romantic! Also more correct.”

LOL

 

3 hours ago, Owlinatree said:

There’s nothing to do. There’s nothing to do, and Eames really needs a distraction, or else he’s going to die. He’s going to succumb to the pollen which he can feel beginning to affect him, growing more potent by the minute as his body grows wise to the fact that he has not taken his antihistamine.

Such a drama queen!

 

3 hours ago, Owlinatree said:

“You’re ignoring me while the trees plan their attack.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I’ve been abandoned in my time of need, by my most beloved.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m stranded, loveless, as my immune system fails me!” Arthur’s dimples make a flash appearance, gone as soon as they came. Eames counts this as a victory.

LOL!!! Too funny!

 

3 hours ago, Owlinatree said:

“Wha-ehH’GSH!” Eames blinks at his hand, which now has an Arthur and a damp towel attached to it.

I love this phrasing.

 

3 hours ago, Owlinatree said:

“I know. Just,” Arthur keeps hold of Eames’ hand, which in reality is hardly burned at all, “I go to so much trouble to keep you alive and I’d hate to see you put all that to waste.” Eames splutters at this a little, but he thinks he knows what Arthur is really saying while clutching Eames’ lightly-scorched palm: I care about you.

Awwwww!

 

3 hours ago, Owlinatree said:

“Arthur, love.” Eames presses a knuckle to his septum in an effort to stem the current fit. “This is, hhih! what it’s going to be like. Snff! Until I get out of here, or,” he wriggles his nose determinedly, “or I take my meds for a few days. In fact,” and here he can’t hold back, but he only allows himself one sharp sneeze, “this is as light as it will be.”

Poor baby! This is wonderful!!!

[queenie]

These are both hilarious and precious. Thank you for making them!

[Owlinatree]

this one is pretty ridiculous and arose from a conversation i had (kinda not!fic that someone else and i wrote in the form of tumblr messages and then i expanded upon that to create . . . this). I'm gonna let it be summed up like this:

Eames (casually): remember the time you threatened to shoot an innocent kitten?

Arthur (outraged): YOU MEAN THE TIME YOU ALMOST DIED BECAUSE YOU WERE DRUNK OFF YOUR ASS?

Eames: good times

 

//////////////

“Eames, I forgot; it’s your birthday! We have to watch the video!”

“I agree entirely, Ariadne.”

“Which video?” Saito sounds annoyed to be out of the loop. Ariadne brightens at the chance to share it with someone new.

“The kitten incident!”

“No. Absolutely not.” Arthur’s voice has a near-desperate tinge.

“If anything, you should be the one who’s embarrassed, Eames,” Ariadne offers.

“And yet!” Eames grins at Arthur, who glares back.

“What is the kitten incident?” Saito has become impatient.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Arthur.

“You’ll see. Hush, darling.”

“I hate all of you.”

//////////

Ariadne was more than tipsy herself when she took the video, but she still remembers that night; they’d been drinking throughout dinner, palm wine extracting increasingly ridiculous stories until they were offensively raucous in the way all groups of close friends inevitably become. They had spilled from the restaurant into Yusuf’s bar, Ari and Yusuf still circling each other, Arthur and Eames long since collided, Cobb somewhat on his own.

Eames had immediately started to blink more frequently, rubbing at his eyes absently while talking to Arthur and sipping another tumbler of mnazi. Arthur had clued in when Eames began sniffing every few seconds, harsh and wet, but Eames himself had seemed unaware of his own growing irritation until after he’d trailed off with a murmured ‘pardon me’ and sneezed into his elbow, and then again. He popped back up with dawning realization, expression still blurry.

“So fuckin’ itchy, Arthur.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“Hmm. Face.” Eames waved a hand toward himself, to clarify. Arthur frowned.

“What's getting to you? You were fine earlier.”

“M’always allergic to something, innit? Can’t be bothered to figure out what it is this time.” Arthur had seemed to ignore this surprisingly melancholy statement, and cast his gaze around until he spotted one of Yusuf’s kittens, freezing conspicuously upon the sighting. Ariadne had crooked an eyebrow in disbelief at Arthur’s lack of subtlety, content to let the situation play out.

This was a problem with significant potential to worsen; Eames loved cats, and cats loved Eames, and it would have been a real win-win if Eames’ immune system weren’t firmly and violently anti-cat. Drunk Eames also had no self-preservation, and if he knew there was a cat he’d be all over it faster than Saito could buy an airline. Therefore, they had to make sure not to clue Eames in to the kitten’s presence, which Arthur was clearly attempting. And failing.

“What’re you staring at?” Arthur wrenched his eyes away from the mesmerizing (and malicious) fluff ball on the counter, and seemingly went for nonchalant.

“Huh?” responded Arthur smartly.  Ariadne couldn’t help it; she giggled. Arthur shot her a loose approximation of a glare. Eames whipped around to face Ariadne, catching sight of the cat.

“IS THAT A KITTEN,” Eames roared at Arthur, who cringed.

“No?” Arthur attempted.

“There’s a kitten over there,” Eames confided to Ariadne joyfully. “Arthur, I’m positive that’s a kitten. Look, it has ears and everything!”

“It has dander, too.” But it was too late; Eames had (somewhat clumsily) vaulted over the table to the bar, where the kitten was licking its tiny paws and running them over its face. Arthur’s chair was entangled hopelessly with the table, and so he looked to Ariadne, who was closer, for help.

(Ariadne knows that Arthur had done this because Arthur always includes this bit in his version of the story. In reality, Ariadne was too busy getting her camera app open to see him.)

“This! This is my favorite daughter now! My beautiful baby girl!” Eames had the kitten raised above his head, its little legs bicycling wildly for purchase.

“Eames do not put that cat on your face. I swear to god, I will kill you twice,” Arthur said. Yusuf was similarly horrified, albeit for a different reason.

“Eames, for the love of god, release my cat!”

“Shan’t!” Eames brought the kitten down to his chest, then bent forward to sneeze several times toward the ground.

“Eames, let me take her,” Arthur said.

“Noooo! You can’t hold such ahh, hg’ESCH-ah! beautiful creature captive! She needs to be wild and free! She’s a huntress, a true, true . . . hh-heh?” Eames trailed off there, mouth hanging open slightly, his eyes fluttering, until the sneeze seemed to mostly pass, leaving his face slack and unfocused. “Also, she clearly likes me better so she should stay with m-ehhgSH! EH-gissh!” With that last sneeze, Eames had dropped the cat and immediately noticed that it was gone, just not how it had left. He turned to Yusuf angrily.

“How dare you take my light, my love, the queen of my—”

“She is on your foot and your face is swelling,” yelled Yusuf, gesturing wildly.

“I will break up with you if you don’t get away from the cat!” Arthur tried, desperately.

Eames was crying, cat back in his embrace, or maybe it was just his eyes watering, and Ariadne was laughing so hard that the video at this point is too shaky to see anything.

“Cobb, say something, you're his employer!” Arthur didn’t sound very sure this one would work, but Ariadne gave him props for trying all possible avenues. Cobb had been slowly inching away, but he’d gone still the moment Arthur addressed him.  

“I answer to no one! I am wild and free, like this beautiful creature I shall keep forever!” Eames shouted.

“I’m just going to, uhm, you seem to have this covered,” Cobb mumbled. Arthur narrowed his eyes dangerously.

“I thought you said you had things under control?”

“They’re gonna take her away and you’re gonna leave without helping me? I thought you of all people would understand!” said Eames, distressed. Cobb put his hands up, uncomfortable.

“He's your boyfriend, Arthur. You handle this!” That didn’t placate Arthur.

“He's your forger, Cobb! Are you going to transform into a busty stripper tomorrow?”

“I am no one’s!” Eames contributed before falling into another sneezing fit, this time with the cat caught in the crossfire.

“This is my cat!” Yusuf’s voice cracked in outrage. The cat hissed at Eames after its impromptu shower, swatting at his face and running away.

“No loss has ever been this painful,” cried Eames, heartbroken, poking at the light scratch on his cheek which was rapidly puffing up.

“Those are hives, you idiot,” snapped Arthur.

“I can barely breathe, from the heavy burden of . . . this tragic loss,” Eames gasped out. Arthur had finally managed to extricate himself from his chair, scrambling over the table. He staggered across the room to his man, uncharacteristically uncertain on his feet, just in time to tackle Eames’ hands away from their trajectory toward his eyes. He held Eames tightly for a few seconds, before pulling back to assess the damage up close. Eames’ features promptly screwed up tightly, and he sneezed straight onto Arthur’s face. He barely seemed to notice what he’d done, tongue poking out slightly as he hitched his way into another, this time into the bend between Arthur’s neck and shoulder.

Ariadne stopped filming then, in shock, because Arthur hadn’t put up even a token protest, instead cupping Eames’ face in his hands and smoothing his thumbs over his cheeks.

“Mmngh, Arthur. Tickles,” muttered Eames, trying to reach up and rub at his face. Arthur dropped his hands to catch Eames’, leaning forward to plant a firm kiss on his boyfriend’s twitching nose. Eames dissolved into desperate sneezes, this time muffled into Arthur’s waiting shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Hngh.”

“Can we go back to the room now, Eames?”

“Nnngh. Cat.”

“How about we get to bed now?” Arthur emphasized the word ‘bed,’ to communicate the sort of ‘getting to bed’ implied.

“S’the kitten there? hheh’gissh!”

“In our— no! What the fuck, Eames,” Arthur said, disgusted.

“Sex?”

“Mm, no. How about Benadryl?” Arthur emphasized the word ‘Benadryl,’ to communicate its attractiveness as an option.

“Hang on. Won’t that just knock him out?” Ariadne realized.

“Can’t sneeze if you’re asleep,” Yusuf pointed out.

“Mmmph, ‘kay. How far’s it?”

“Not far, c’mon.” Eames leaned on Arthur as they made their way to their room on the floor above, pausing every few feet so that Eames could sneeze.

/////////

“Arthur, love, I really don’t know why you hate that video so much. You looked stunning, minus the part where you got stuck in a chair.”

“I let you sneeze on my face!”

“To be fair, it wasn’t the only time.”

“On camera! What kind of precedent does that set?”

“I honestly don’t know what you mean.”

“andalsoyouweren’tfeelingwellandidon’tliketoseeyoulikethat.”

“Darling!”

[AngelEyes]

OMG! This is Priceless!!! I can't even quote my favorite parts because it would be the whole thing! It's hilarious! And cute! I love it!!!

[Owlinatree]

5 hours ago, AngelEyes said:

OMG! This is Priceless!!! I can't even quote my favorite parts because it would be the whole thing! It's hilarious! And cute! I love it!!!

ahh thank you so much ! Also, I'm sorry I totally didn't respond to your other comment (idk brain blip i guess) but I read it lots and it really made my day so thank you doubly  

On 5/21/2018 at 1:24 AM, queenie said:

These are both hilarious and precious. Thank you for making them!

thank you!