angelgazing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angelgazing) wrote2010-11-01 05:30 pm
angelgazing) wrote2010-11-01 05:30 pm
everyone can find a song for every time they've lost, and every time they've won
Found out today that I have four impacted wisdom teeth. Which is not even the most awesome news of the day. They would only see me as an emergency thing, because I woke up last night with omg pain pain pain pain which means I have to get in for a full exam before they will refer me to the oral surgeon. And they are booked through November.
In the meantime, you know, omg pain pain pain pain wtf ow pain omg.
So I'm going to be five, and stomp my foot and demand that you tell me a fun story. For the love of god, please distract me with shiny things so I can get through my homework and maybe curl up with Castle and/or Strictly Ballroom (stupid ballroom AU, I will finish you, I will).
In other news, Shai made me listen to this, and now I'm a little in love. I mean, SVV is obviously still my musical boyfriend, but crushes aren't cheating.
"I still believe in the need for guitar and drums and desperate poetry
In the meantime, you know, omg pain pain pain pain wtf ow pain omg.
So I'm going to be five, and stomp my foot and demand that you tell me a fun story. For the love of god, please distract me with shiny things so I can get through my homework and maybe curl up with Castle and/or Strictly Ballroom (stupid ballroom AU, I will finish you, I will).
In other news, Shai made me listen to this, and now I'm a little in love. I mean, SVV is obviously still my musical boyfriend, but crushes aren't cheating.
"I still believe in the need for guitar and drums and desperate poetry
Part of a story I will never finish?...
~~
The worst part is, Arthur isn’t the first one to realize something’s very wrong.
“Arthur, are you sure you’re all right?” Yusuf asks with concern.
He makes a sleepy, vague wave of his hand. The drug must still be mildly in effect, because it takes him a moment to blink the haze from his eyes. Arthur sits up a bit in his chair, rubs a hand over his eyes.
“I’m fine,” he mutters, and then two things occur to Arthur almost simultaneously.
One, that is not his voice at all, and two, Yusuf is not actually speaking to him.
Instead, Yusuf is standing across from Arthur near a chair that holds Arthur’s body. A body that is snuffling sleepily and mumbling words in Arthur’s voice.
“What that actual fuck,” Arthur says, and suddenly both Yusuf and the alien Arthur body look at him with wide, surprised eyes.
And then a slow, amused smile spreads across the alien Arthur’s face. In his own voice, Arthur hears, “Oh well, this is a fascinating turn of events, Yusuf, well done.”
Yusuf opens and closes his mouth without saying a word.
Arthur swears a blue streak, all in a British accent that is decidedly not his.
~
Yusuf can’t explain what happened at all. He says something about the strength of the new compound, how he obviously has a few equations that need tweaking.
“Tweaking?!” Arthur regrets ever agreeing to let Yusuf treat him like a guinea pig. He regrets it a lot. Not to mention his indignation just doesn’t sound the same when it’s all refined-sounding and...well, English.
“I know, I know.” Yusuf holds up his hands. “I sincerely apologize, Arthur, but I do not think these side effects will last long?” He ends it in a question, which doesn’t help the situation whatsoever.
Meanwhile, Arthur’s real body has been hijacked by a cretin who seems to be utterly gleeful over being in Arthur’s skin. Eames keeps grinning at himself in the vanity mirror, making faces that Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever made in his life.
“You have a very lovely complexion, Arthur, have I ever told you that?” He pokes at Arthur’s cheeks, scrinches his nose up at his reflection.
It is possibly the most bizarre and infuriating thing Arthur has ever seen in his life.
“Please don’t,” Arthur sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. His hands feel too broad, and when he crosses his arms over his chest, his blazer pulls in uncomfortable ways.
Christ, he can’t stop to think about the polyester that’s touching his skin right now or he really will lose his shit completely.
“Look, give me a few days to get the formula correct, and I’m sure we can fix this.” Yusuf clasps his hands in front of him, giving Arthur a hopeful (anxious?) smile. “I am sure Cobb will understand--”
“God, do the others have to know?” He can already see the smirk Cobb will undoubtedly try to hide, and Ariadne will have a field day, knowing Eames is running around in Arthur’s favorite grey Burberry suit.
“I’m fairly certain they’ll figure it out on their own whether we let on about it or not, love,” Eames says. He has yet to stop pulling faces. Arthur kind of really wants to kill him, yet he doesn’t want to ruin his own body.
He sighs, and the sound is more pouty-sounding than he’d like. Eames always does sound slightly petulant when he sighs. “Fine. I’m going home.”
“That’s all fine and good, but you know your clothes won’t fit me.” There’s almost a sing-song, giddy quality to his voice--Arthur’s voice. He looks over his shoulder at Arthur and smirks.
Arthur can’t help thinking he looks like a dick when he smirks like that. “Are you--are you suggesting we--that I go stay at your place?”
Eames shrugs. “Not necessarily, although I know you cannot fathom the thought of wearing the same clothes two days in a row.” He gives him a wicked grin. “We could perhaps compromise and have a sleepover?”
He looks impish. Arthur doesn’t do impish. Ever. “No. Just give me your keys.”
“They’re in your right trouser pocket.”
Arthur flushes. “Right. Whatever.” He jerks his head. “Mine are--”
“In your breast pocket, yes, I’m aware. Believe me, you are nothing if not predictable.”
The last thing Arthur hears as he storms out of the warehouse is Yusuf calling, “I shall keep you posted on my progress!”
~
Re: Part of a story I will never finish?...
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AND THEN ARTHUR BEATS OFF IN EAMES' BODY AND REALIZES HE'S IN LOVE WITH HIM AND YUSUF SWITCHES THEM BACK AND THERE IS LOTS OF FILTHY SEX.
THE END
\o/?
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YOU KNOW WHAT? ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER.
Arthur makes him feel positively Victorian.
"You make me feel positively Victorian," Eames says, breathing out harshly through his nose.
Arthur looks doubtful, looks fucking perfect, still all done up to the nines from a night spent doing research the old fashioned way. His bowtie hasn't even been loosened, though his stance has. He relaxes back into a rickety office chair in a shade of green closer to sick than olive, legs spread wide, feet firmly planted, hands resting on his own thighs, his eyebrows cocked up challengingly. He's too well tailored to even give Eames a flash of ankle.
The things Eames wants to do to him are just too vast to be documented.
His fingers are long, and elegant, and not just a little bit deadly, and they tap against his inseam like he has no idea—none at all, and isn't that just a kick—even though Eames has told him and told him again.
"Arthur," he says, and gets the immediate and bored response of, "Eames."
"What would you do if I just dropped to my knees right now?" Eames asks, because the wine had been flowing, free and indescribably rich, the way Eames is almost certain it would feel if he could just follow through. The way he's almost certain he would feel, if Arthur would be so kind as to roll up his sleeves, wrap a fist tight in Eames' collar, and hold on and try to enjoy the ride.
Arthur laughs, low and nearly humorless and entirely too sober. "And why would you do that?"
"I would've thought that to be fairly obvious," Eames answers, honest because it's the truth as he knows it. They're in a fully-furnished rent-by-the-week vacation home that is serving as the current base of operations while the Cobbs are slowly losing their minds back in Los Angeles. They haven't slept—with or without the PASIV—in more days than Eames cares to properly consider. He says, "Because you look so very inviting," because it's the furthest thing from the truth that he knows.
"Eames," Arthur says, and lets Eames hear every single one of the hours he hasn't slept. All the rest he hasn't gotten and the meals he's skipped. It doesn't make Eames want him any less, but he's beginning to think that at this point there's nothing that could. And there are a lot of things Eames expects to hear, a hundred recycled brush-offs, a thousand insults, a roll of Arthur's eyes so pointed it might as well be audible.
What he does not expect, what he could never have predicted, would be Arthur palm turning up, his fingers beckoning.
Eames falls to his knees gracelessly, quickly. Right between the spread of Arthur's thighs. He wants a cigarette, already. He wants to suck on something hot with the potential to kill him. He doesn't lean forward, doesn't dare, just presses his thumb into the inside of Arthur's knee, and drops his mouth open all obligingly when Arthur touches his index finger to Eames' wet bottom lip.
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WHAT IS THIS AND WHERE CAN I GET MORE OF IT
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PARTMOST OF THE FIRST PART OF 5 THINGS STORY ABOUT ALL THE PLACES ON ARTHUR THAT EAMES MOST LIKES TO KISS. UM.IT WILL GET FINISHED EVENTUALLY? LOLOL
oh look, we've moved on to two-part comments...
AHAHA SPEAKING OF...
It’s not strictly necessary, but Eames goes to work with Arthur the next morning. Well, after he stops at the nearby Starbucks. Mount Olympus never has any decent latte shops, it’s quite tragic.
“Would you stop?” Arthur hisses when he spots Eames behind him in line. “Don’t you think this is a little creepy?”
“Not at all, we gods love our espresso just like the rest of mankind.”
“I meant the constant stalking. Someone will notice.”
“Ah, but you see, love, I’m only visible to those I want to see me. Once this nice barista makes my nonfat soy caramel macchiato, I’ll be non-existent once more. To everyone but you, that is.”
Arthur purses his lips, then taps the man in front of him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but do you see the guy behind me in the purple shirt?” he asks.
The man narrows his eyes, looks around behind Arthur, and replies, “I don’t see any dude in a purple shirt. This some kind of joke?”
Eames smirks. Arthur shoots him a look and says, “Fine.”
~
“So who’s the person meant to be my destiny?” Arthur asks later.
Eames is sprawled in a rather uncomfortable chair in the corner of Arthur’s cramped office. “I really can’t tell you, it would ruin the entire process.”
“Why, because I’d resist?”
“Possibly. Also, you can’t be looking for the person you’re meant to love the rest of your life, it doesn’t work that way.”
Arthur crosses his legs primly, spinning a pencil in his right hand. It’s not even noon, and yet he’s shed his charcoal grey suit jacket and rolled the sleeves of his navy blue shirt to his elbows, tie loosened slightly at his throat. Even so, he somehow looks immaculate. “Okay, then tell me how it does work.”
Eames stretches his arms behind his head and fakes a yawn. “Now where’s the fun in that? Divulging all my trade secrets and whatnot.”
“Don’t be an ass, just tell me.”
“I already told you why I can’t.”
Arthur sighs. “I have a goddamn love god following me around all day who won’t tell me shit about anything, and I’m just supposed to live with it. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“For your general well-being and for the sake of your love life, yes, that is what I’m saying. More or less.”
“Can I at least ask when it is I’m supposedly going to meet my destiny?”
Eames never tells the assignments the exact time and location they’ll fall in love, but he finds himself making an exception for Arthur. “At the end of the week,” he replies. “But that’s all you’re getting out of me.”
Arthur rubs at his chin in thought for a moment. “Five days,” he mutters to himself. “Apparently my life’s supposed to change in five days...”
Eames gets up from his horrid chair and leans over Arthur’s shoulder, fiddling with the computer mouse. “Since you’re not busy with this, do you happen to have Bejewelled on here anywhere?”
When Arthur sighs again, Eames can feel it against his neck. “Isn’t this against your god rules or something, meddling with people’s lives like this?”
“Arthur, what do you call making people fall in love? I’m allowed to hijack your computer on occasion if I so feel like it.”
“Awesome,” Arthur groans, dropping his head back against his chair.
~
The process is actually quite simple, really: Eames observes for a few days, sets the timing just right, and then sets the pieces in motion. He sometimes likens himself to an experienced chess player setting up his board for the perfect moves.
Only, there’s nothing in it for him to win, so to speak, except a job well-done and his good reputation.
It’s always been enough for him. After all, at the end of the day, he’s still a god, and what more could he ask for than that?
...aaaaaand the rest
What he doesn’t tell Arthur is the person he’s meant to fall for is actually his boss.
It’s not the usual destiny path; most love matches happen during serendipity, a chance encounter with a stranger that suddenly feels like it was meant to be. Nine times out of ten, Eames makes sure people fall in love with the person they’d never lay eyes on otherwise without his interference.
Although “interference” is such a nasty word. Eames prefers “light shove in the right direction.”
But in Arthur’s case, he’s known his boss for years. He met Dominic Cobb as a fresh-faced college graduate willing to work his way to the top, and Cobb had obliged him, making Arthur an intern until he proved himself. After six months, Arthur was on the payroll and a full-fledged architect at twenty-three.
For the last six years, there’s been nothing but admiration and respect between Cobb and Arthur, with the occasional late-night fantasy on Arthur’s part. Cobb’s wife left him a few years ago, but he recently started dating again. Every so often, he and Arthur will grab drinks during happy hour after work at the bar down the street.
And on Saturday, the two of them are going to--quite literally--collide with one another whilst Arthur is on one of his long weekend runs and Cobb is out biking. He’ll nearly run Arthur over, knocking him off his feet, and will be contrite enough to offer to buy Arthur lunch.
The rest is destiny. Well, and Eames’ help, of course.
Sure, it sounds like something out of a romantic comedy, but all of Eames’ matches have the same breathless haze of romance. He’s witnessed too many first blushes and coy smiles to really think twice about them. There’s nothing special about it, nothing really unique about the process of love. In the end, everyone falls the same.
~
“Where are you going?”
Eames pauses with his hand on the door knob of Arthur’s office door and raises an eyebrow. “Thought I’d call it a day. I do tend to keep my own hours, although this nine to five business has it’s charms.”
“So you just...vanish into thin air?” Arthur waves his hand around vaguely, looking slightly embarrassed to even be suggesting such a thing.
It’s rather adorable.
“No, my dear, I’m in human form right now. The whole ‘vanishing’ thing doesn’t come until after I’ve completed my work. ”
Arthur frowns at that, mouth twisting to one side as a physical display of his brain attempting to wrap around the concept of a god running about in as an average mortal. “But the invisibility--”
“I never said I was invisible, only that I allow people to see me when I want them to see me. There’s quite a bit of difference.”
“So you’re just gonna go...wherever it is you go and plan out how to continue to reek havoc on my love life?”
“If by that you mean toddle on home to the lovely rented flat just down the street and perhaps watch a few hours of ‘Dancing With the Stars’--amazing show, by the way, brilliant--then I suppose so, yes. Although I fail to see how that equals havoc reeking.”
Arthur points a finger at him, eyes narrowed. “You say that, but I don’t believe you. How do I know you’re not going to just go into stealth mode again and follow me home?”
Eames gives him his best lascivious smile. “Are you insinuating that you’d like for me to follow you home?”
“No, don’t do that, don’t--” Arthur huffs and stands up abruptly from his desk chair, grabbing his leather messenger bag. “I want to keep an eye on you. You’re going to the bar with me.”
“Why, Arthur, all you had to say was--”
“I’m meeting Cobb, my boss. There’s a new project idea I’d like to pitch to him. And you’re going to sit and be quiet and not meddle with people’s heads, got it?”
“Absolutely.” His grin turns innocent. Eames could not have planned this more perfectly if he tried.
Re: ...aaaaaand the rest
THIS IS THE START OF WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE ABOUT ARTHUR AND EAMES RIDING A FERRIS WHEEL:
"Steady on," Eames murmurs against his ear as danger looms large and impossible above them. Ignoring even the barest hints of propriety and their current predicament, Eames pats him on the ass like that is some kind of comfort.
Arthur, standing in the shadow of what was sure to be his demise, shivers just slightly, even though his sleeves are rolled up as a concession to the midmorning sun pounding heavily down upon them. "This is the worst idea ever," Arthur says with all the conviction of a television preacher, just as Eames snaps his forty-second photograph of the day with his camera phone. "This won't end well." And the worst part is that he doesn't even mean for Eames' BlackBerry.
"Come now, Arthur, I never took you for a coward." Eames laughs, tucks his chin into Arthur's shoulder and reaches out to take a photo of them both, his hand pressing against Arthur's temple to tilt their heads together.
Ariadne bumps into Eames, and knocks them even closer together with the single most insincere oops that Arthur has heard since he was in high school.
Arthur really wishes he was armed. She's off before he can even threaten her properly, nearly tackling Yusuf from behind. Yusuf laughs when she steals a piece of his cotton candy.
"We have got to stop indulging her," Arthur says, because someone has to be the responsible one and it's clearly not going to be anyone else. Yusuf offers her another bite, and Eames hooks his thumbs into Arthur's front pockets. "Look she's already getting used to it. We've spoiled her, Eames."
"I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this." Eames sighs. It's hot against the already sweat-damp skin of Arthur's neck. "If you play nice today, Arthur, we'll find the house of mirrors, and lock everyone else out for at least twenty minutes. I will give you the head of your dreams, I swear it."
"We aren't dreaming, asshole," Arthur says. He elbows him, but it's lacking most of its usual fervor. He eyes the rest of the fair warily, and tries to be rational about the pros and cons. It's admittedly difficult to be rational about Eames' mouth though. The entire place is one gigantic crowd, and already they've lost the rest of their team. Arthur puts his chances of survival without committing homicide in the single digits. "Fine," he says, finally. "Fine, but I am only in this for the blowjob."
"Of course, of course," Eames soothes, and takes another picture with their cheeks smushed together. "Don't worry, I'll protect you from the clowns."
"Oh, fuck you--" Arthur starts, just as a class of third graders in matching red t-shirts walk by them, with a teacher who could probably get a better paying gig as the definition of scandalized.
He can barely hear Eames laughing over the screaming children, and the carnival rides. There are half a dozen vans and booths just in his line of sight that are all advertising a different deep-fried snack food. The last kid in line, licking powdered sugar off the fingers of one hand, tries to lift Eames' wallet, while talking too loudly to his line-buddy about how he can totally beat the duck shooter game, douchebag, he practiced with Grand Theft Auto.
The teacher doesn't even look back when the kid shouts in protest when Eames grabs his arm before he can even get a hand near Eames' pocket. The line-buddy scrambles on with wide eyes.
Arthur despairs of the future of humanity.
Re: ...aaaaaand the rest