I’ve Got Nothing To Do Today But Smile (The Only Living Boy in New York)
Arthur’s a corporate lawyer, Eames owns the coffee shop across the street, and all good love stories start with a quadruple shot latte.*
Arthur’s a corporate lawyer, Eames owns the coffee shop across the street, and all good love stories start with a quadruple shot latte.*
A. Graham Cole was twenty-one years old when he was killed in action in Iraq. At the time of his death, he was a corporal with the psychological operations unit of the United States Army. He was four days away from wrapping up his third tour in the Middle East and had already packed for his return stateside. This is the official story.*
People you kiss in an airport baggage claim and then don’t talk to for thirteen months shouldn’t be able to exist, let alone make your chest do the things Arthur’s chest is doing. There are rules.*
Written with this prompt in mind, which asked for slutty, submissive Arthur. Sweaty, raunchy, multiple-orgasm kind of sex.*
In which Cobb decides two babysitters are better than one, Saito proves that money can buy happiness, and Eames is excellent with children. Oh, and Arthur’s a fucking Disney princess.*
“This looks delicious,” Eames fucking lies, because the only accurate statement would be This looks like intestines, and he would like Arthur to continue to shagging him.* Laughed until I CRIED.
“Eames.” Arthur resists shoving a hand through his hair. “We can’t just go around looking like—”
“Like teenagers?” Eames’ smile gets disgustingly wide.*
Two months before the end of sophomore year, Arthur lets Ariadne talk him into “making an appearance” at a party held by the captain of the soccer team, way to hell and gone out in the suburbs. The house is over-sized, the music too loud, and no one, save a half dozen people, can remember Arthur’s name. It’s pretty much his idea of hell.
And that’s all before he chugs four beers in the kitchen to avoid talking to anyone and somehow ends up in a closet during an impromptu game of Seven Minutes in Heaven.*
Instead of warning Eames off Arthur, I want a fill where Cobb actually gives him pointers.*
“Just for that, you’re buying the damned popcorn,” Eames replies.
Arthur ducks his head slightly, glancing out the window. “Such a gentleman,” he mocks, but without any heat.* Sequel to Dreams Are For Rookies.
Dom is actually Arthur’s father. The team finds out when Eames starts to seriously pursue Arthur and speaks out about Dom’s over-protectiveness.*
In the 18 months since Proculus Media had swallowed up the paper, Dom Cobb has (a) offered Saito, their new publisher and overlord, oral sex to keep ads off the front page (it hadn’t worked), (b) started crying actual tears of exhaustion at a redesign meeting the fourth time Yusuf brought up page gutters to try and guilt him into ceasing his reign of terror (it hadn’t worked) and (c) tried to get Arthur to agree, peacefully, to work election night.*
“Eames, I don’t know what dictionary you’re working out of, but my definition of ‘favor’ does not entail asking someone you despise to play escort to your family’s Christmas party.”
Eames glares at him. “I’m not asking you to play escort, merely be my date.”*
the room has a window, so at least arthur knows when is day and when is night. he alternates between being really fucking pissed off at cobb and not blaming him at all because really — it’s not as if it’s cobb’s fault, not really. but arthur’s still stuck here with thin sisal twine digging into his wrists and icy cold seeping through the floor and walls whenever he leans against them.*
“It’s not that I hate Christmas,” Arthur says, sandwiching the phone between his shoulder and his left ear so that he can grab pen and paper. *
Arthur joins the mile high club, Cobb joins the broken hearts club, Eames joins the smug extractors’ club, and Yusuf just wants to club everyone. Or, Eames steals Cobb’s point man.*
“This isn’t something we do, Eames. It’s something we are.” Magical realism, soulbonding, d/s fusion. *
When Mal leans into his office and asks Eames what he did to his back, he can’t exactly say, “the new graphics intern,” so he says, “Oh, just stress, love.”*
Eames never expected a smile to be his undoing.*
Eames gets really frazzled, so to calm him down, Arthur takes out his cock for Eames to suck on.*
Arthur’s first impression of William Eames was that no living man should ever have that much flour smeared over his face, that no real person should have that many tattoos, and that no person in his personal history had ever made Arthur feel so suddenly off-kilter without even saying a word.*
Eames used to think a long fuck was an hour, when at the end of it his hips are sore and he’s got a fucking charley horse and everybody’s gasping for air and dying for oxygen — he didn’t know shit.*
After the Fischer job, some of the former team come together once again, but there is something off about Eames. Can Arthur and Ariadne find out what’s going on and can Arthur figure out how to fix it?*
Or, “on the tip of the tongue.” Arthur meets Mal first. He inherits Dom, after. Everything else is on him.*
The AU stepbrothers slash that no one asked for, but which the world needed.*
The air of the dream is still rattling from the explosion. Eames’s knuckles are bruised and split. He slings his rifle back across his shoulder.*
Five levels down, and five to dig yourself back out. Arthur met Eames’ projection long before he met Eames.*
“You are either a genius of unheard of proportions, or a complete moron. Is it even possible to incept yourself?”
Eames can’t sleep. It’s somehow Arthur’s fault. Arthur is not impressed.*
Eames runs up enormous gambling debts, refuses to accept the team members’ offers of financial assistance and becomes a prostitute. Arthur finds himself hating the idea of anyone else touching Eames, but is in denial about his feelings. He proposes an exclusive agreement with Eames, just so he won’t have to whore himself out, but Eames tells him that a deal’s a deal’s and insists on servicing him until the debt is fully paid off.*
So! Some people have asked for a sequel to Allowed. I’ve been writing bits and pieces of one for a while now (and also ng! I’m pretty easy), so there’s a beginning of one.* Sequel to Allowed.
“I want you to fuck off somewhere else so that I can enjoy my evening,” Arthur said, but didn’t move away from where Eames had wrapped a hand around one hip.*
Eames and Arthur do fashion week, figure out their lives, and save the world rack up a whole hell of a lot of frequent flier miles. *
“We should probably go soon, anyway,” she says. “There’s an unconscious man in the ladies’ bathroom with ‘wanker’ written on his forehead – people are going to start asking questions.”*
It doesn’t surprise Arthur when he hears, eventually, that they’ve developed a reputation for fighting like cats and dogs—since, in a sense, they are those things.*
“Hi, I’m Arthur. Your bride,” said the man at the door in the tones of one who’d rather be saying anything else.*
A notorious serial killer returns after a three-year hiatus, reminding Detective Arthur Moss of the infamous case he couldn’t close. But when the FBI becomes involved, Arthur is forced to work side-by-side once again with Special Agent Daniel Eames, a man who knows Arthur better than Arthur himself will ever admit. Both men must confront their past and heal old wounds in order to bring a psychopath to justice.*
Eames flirts and Arthur ignores, but not because he doesn’t feel the same way; he’s just afraid. One day, Eames takes his flirtation a little too far. Cue Arthur having a (mini/huge) breakdown, then hot, tender lovin’.*
After the Fischer inception, Eames goes back to work as an extractor, and Arthur joins his team. Due to circumstances involving a guy who may or may not be from Greenland, pop astrology, someone’s broken limb, hormones, and convenience, they end up learning that love is what starts down below (and makes its way up your spine).*
Established relationship, they start influencing each other with their fashion choices. Eames is wearing a tightly tailored three-piece, is that color in Arthur’s outfits?*
This is a story wherein Arthur is a bastard, Eames is in love, Ariadne is taking over the world with her vocabulary and Yusuf is the only one with any dignity left to lose. This is a love story.*
Eames had long since thought of Arthur’s hair as permanently gelled into obedience. He’d had no earthly idea how – how wanton it could be, curving and wet at the tips and softening Arthur’s whole face.*
Eames vanishes for five days and comes back married. It takes twenty-five years for all the fractioned pieces to make sense in a bigger picture.*
The first night Arthur stays over, the alarm goes off at 8:00am. Eames looks over at Arthur, who has half his face shoved into the pillow; he has only one eye open.*
Arthur + Eames + Eames’s ability to present as female on the dream plane = porn.*
This was supposed to be a companion piece to Metaphors As Mixed As You Can Make Them, with some Cobb&Arthur backstory and Arthur being revealed to be a crazy person (sorry; MENTALLY QUESTIONABLE) and how Arthur finds out about the inception attempt and stuff. It goes on at the same time as the other story (well, it starts a tiny bit before), and obviously, is in the same universe and stuff. *
“French toast, pancakes, steak and eggs — I could make you anything in the world, pet, but no. Egg-white omelette, morning after morning. It shows a distinct lack of imagination.”*
Being a freshman piano performance major at a prestigious New England conservatory is difficult enough without landing the school’s star baritone as your singer, and inevitably, your hopeless crush.* Oh my god.
Eames tries to incept Arthur. A story of forgiveness, family, fancy suits, and ~feelings.*
Arthur figures if Eames just finally gets what he wants–Arthur’s undivided attention–he’ll get bored and go away. He’s proven spectacularly wrong.*
Arthur is the third wheel in his own relationship. Part 2.* Sequel to Three’s a Crowd.
The first time they slept together was completely unexpected. It was the most amazing sex Eames had had in his life.*
“Without half-time, there would be no occasion to use one of the most enduring clichés to describe football: ‘It’s a game of two halves.’” Coda to The Running Play.
Arthur is the son of the ruler, and an Omega male. Eames is leading the revolution. Which kidnaps Arthur. This is only the start of their problems.*
The thing about London that Arthur liked most was that if you wanted to disappear everyone would let you, without a lot of fuss. And if you wanted to open a bookshop that only sold books on applied sciences, people might call you a lousy businessman, but mostly they’d leave you alone. Basically, no one in London gave two shillings for what Arthur did, which was why Arthur liked London enough to sell books on architecture, design, and engineering at a bookshop called The Robie House, a name he’d chosen on a whim when he was signing the papers and regretted ever since.*
Arthur has a lot of feelings, mostly about Eames’ penis. Yusuf’s accidental truth drug helpfully illuminates them.*
AU in which Eames is the MMA fighter no one messes with, and Arthur is his lover, plain and simple.*
A high school AU wherein Eames is a shy sweet nervous drama geek and Arthur is the confident popular gorgeous student council president; and lo, there is much pining and awkwardness and, eventually, kissing.*
Eames has a hard and fast rule against fucking anyone underage. Arthur would have the utmost respect for this rule, if he hadn’t just gotten cockblocked by it at the age of twenty-three.*
What were you like as a kid?” Eames asks him.
“Quiet,” Arthur says. “I lived in my head a lot. You?”
“I did too,” Eames replies. “Only I was never quiet about it.”
A story about growing up, sort of.*
“Ah,” Yusuf says, lifting a reproving hand, “are we calling less than 24 hours of memory loss amnesia now?”*
Arthur meets a far-too-appealing stranger when he brings a foundling kitten to Arthur’s pet store. This is their story.*
“You’re having me on. You expect me to believe you’re not interested at all in finding your mate? The dom to your sub? The one who holds the key to your frozen, black heart?”*