For the prompt: Eames/Arthur(/Ariadne) or Ariadne/Yusuf =)) prompt: sunshine in the palms of my hands
Eames swipes a thumb across his split lip, catching the fresh trail of blood.
The sun is starting to rise in the distance, but the wind is still sharp and cold. Arthur props one boot up against a rock, with a scrape of leather. His breath comes in delicate little clouds. He is shaking out his aching knuckles.
“At least this is something you can use to build a character,” he says and looks at Eames with a curl of his lip, “A character who loses.”
Eames spits out some of the blood which is collecting in his mouth. “Fuck off, Arthur,” he says, and means it very much.
The sun is a weight climbing atop their shoulders. A tremor runs through the ground. Their fight has made everything unstable. There comes the crunch of small feet on gritty earth and then Ariadne appears behind them, her hair reddened by the sunlight.
“Are you finished being dickheads now?” She is glaring at them both, but there is a quiver in her voice that she can’t control. Seeing allies lay into one another like that over a minor logistical dispute is not something she is used to.
Eames turns his hands over and stares at the palms. The light spreads slowly across them, turning his skin to gold. Crouching beside him, Ariadne picks up a stone and throws it away again. “You’ll hug and make up,” she says with authority.
It is good advice. Eames puts an arm around her as well as around Arthur. He gets away with this because it is a dream
They sit there on the edge of the cliff, watching the sun grow huge in the sky and wait together for the clock to count them out.
Arthur/Eames/Ariadne (friendship...more than friendship...whatever you want it to be!)
Eames swipes a thumb across his split lip, catching the fresh trail of blood.
The sun is starting to rise in the distance, but the wind is still sharp and cold. Arthur props one boot up against a rock, with a scrape of leather. His breath comes in delicate little clouds. He is shaking out his aching knuckles.
“At least this is something you can use to build a character,” he says and looks at Eames with a curl of his lip, “A character who loses.”
Eames spits out some of the blood which is collecting in his mouth. “Fuck off, Arthur,” he says, and means it very much.
The sun is a weight climbing atop their shoulders. A tremor runs through the ground. Their fight has made everything unstable. There comes the crunch of small feet on gritty earth and then Ariadne appears behind them, her hair reddened by the sunlight.
“Are you finished being dickheads now?” She is glaring at them both, but there is a quiver in her voice that she can’t control. Seeing allies lay into one another like that over a minor logistical dispute is not something she is used to.
Eames turns his hands over and stares at the palms. The light spreads slowly across them, turning his skin to gold. Crouching beside him, Ariadne picks up a stone and throws it away again. “You’ll hug and make up,” she says with authority.
It is good advice. Eames puts an arm around her as well as around Arthur. He gets away with this because it is a dream
They sit there on the edge of the cliff, watching the sun grow huge in the sky and wait together for the clock to count them out.