#allykittens

Me: but how did he KNOW it was the right bullet?

“How much more time left in the dream?” “About an hour still, love.” Arthur spares Eames a look at the endearment, but as usual, Eames declines to notice. Arthur is standing in front of a mirror practicing his forgeries, but thus far without much luck. He’s supposed to be changing his appearance enough that he can keep from being recognized in a dream. At this point, if he could do more than change the color of his hair he’d be satisfied. “You need to relax into it more, you’re too controlled.” Although Eames is meant to be helping him, he’s spent the majority of the exercise sitting in a chair walking his token over his knuckles. His appearance changes with every flip of the coin, his favorite buxom blonde to a nondescript businessman, forgery after forgery and he pulls them on line a second skin.

“One of us has to be controlled, Mr. Eames, it’s what keeps us alive.” Eames palms the poker chip and flicks his glance up towards Arthur, “Not ready to forgive me for that Belgium job yet, are you?” Arthur meets his gaze in the mirror. “Not as such. No.” “It isn’t good to hold on to these things Arthur, they give you indigestion.” “I’ll thank you to stay out of my digestive system, Mr. Eames.” “Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Can’t we at least have a little fun together?” “I’ve learned to be wary of fun with you, Mr. Eames, as it often leads to my being shot at.” “Darling, that is the fun.” Eames rises from the chair and saunters over to the mirror where Arthur is trying to force his nose into a different shape through sheer willpower. Suddenly, Arthur is looking two of his reflections instead of just one. Eames’ version of his visage though, is not quite the same as the true one. Arthur realizes that while it is his face, it’s a much younger one. The cheeks are fuller and the brow more youthful.

“Where did you find my high school yearbook photo?” Arthur’s own face grins back at him, but the mischievous glint is all Eames. “Not that, dear Arthur, would be telling.” “If you’d care to start bringing up embarrassing pasts, Mr. Eames, I’d be more than happy to oblige.” Just that quickly, Eames’ face is his own again. “Alright pet, I’ll play nice shall I? Why don’t you show me some of those fancy new fighting techniques you’ve been peacocking about lately?” Arthur inclines his head, accepting the truce and slides easily into a fighting stance. Eames adopts a similar pose before quirking an eyebrow and raising a hand towards Arthur. Arthur doesn’t even wait for the Samuel L. Jackson impression to finish before he’s attacking Eames, a quick feint to the left followed by a sweeping kick to the right. Eames doesn’t fall for the feint and takes a step back to avoid the kick, but he’s not fast enough to block the punch that ends the combination. Eames looks up at Arthur from where he’s landed and says, “Generally teaching involves less hitting, I’m told.” Then he sweeps a leg out and catches Arthur behind the knees, knocking him flat so that he’s splayed out next to Eames. Eames rolls slightly so that he can meet Arthur’s eyes. “Much better, now we’re on equal footing again.” “We’re not on any footing, Eames.” Eames rolls his eyes in what Arthur has come to recognize as a fond way before ducking his head towards Arthur, their lips ghosting together. Arthur sucks in a breath. They haven’t done this since. Since the airport in Los Angeles, after the Fischer job. To be more specific, since Eames’  hotel room after the Fischer job. When Arthur could finally relax, having gotten Cobb safely back to his children, Ariadne through her first true dream experience, Saito pulled back from beyond the grave. It had been easy then, to let Eames herd him into the hotel room, to take off his shoes and belt and push him onto the bed, a glass of whiskey cradled in his hand. To let someone else be in charge.

“Arthur,” Eames chides him gently, “where did you go?” He lips gently at Arthur’s chin, his jaw. Arthur flushes slightly. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Just…” “Yes, love, I know. But let’s just be here for a bit, hmm? It’s rather nice here.” Eames illustrates his point by wrapping an arm around Arthur’s waist a sliding Arthur atop him. Arthur lets him because. Well because Eames is right, it is nice here, and nice is not something he allows himself very often. He can’t even bring himself to reprimand Eames for pet name this time. Eames’ mouth finds his again, a real kiss this time. It’s firm, but with just enough of a bite to remind Arthur that Eames knows when he begins to wander. Mouths and hands begin to roam, and it’s good, it’s comfortable. Arthur lets his hands drift down to Eames’ waist, fingers brushing against the button of his pants. He flicks the button open, and then begins to slide his hand inside. As his fingers slip further, further inside he encounters evidence of Eames…interest in the proceedings.

I can’t, Arthur thinks to himself. I shouldn’t. 

“Mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.”

I did.

“Oh, Arthur.” Arthur hides his smile against Eames’ chest. “Oh how could you? I’m wounded, I’m dying. That’s it, that was the final blow.” Eames’ face is mask of comic horror, one hand flung dramatically up to his forehead. “Do you think you might find it in yourself to survive, somehow? Maybe if I do this?” Arthur wont’ admit to learning that particular move in the dorm rooms of his prep school, but as Eames’ face goes slack, he does send a silent thank you to his roommate. “Mmm Arthur yes, your hands.” Arthur chuckles, and is just leaning forward to brace himself and get a better angle when he hears the  opening strains of Non, je nen regretted rien. He presses a swift kiss to Eames’ lips. “Time’s up.”

He draws in a breath and opens his eyes back in the warehouse, laying in the same lawn chair he’s dragged from job to job for years. His meets Eames’ gaze and raises a questioning eyebrow. Eames dips his head in response, gaining a quizzical look from Yusef, who is tinkering with a new formula. In sync, they raise from their chairs, pulling the cannulas out of their arms and packing away the PASIV. As they walk out of the warehouse, Eames’ fingers brush briefly over Arthur’s palm, and Arthur allows a grin to spread over his face as they turn up the street that will bring them back to Eames’ flat.

me: the opening sequence is terrible im so jazzed for this

me: wondertwin powers, activate!

allykittens: right??

me: excuse me what the bloody fuck did they just wondertwin into??

allykittens: SUPERALPHA!

me: since when are they 18?

allykittens: well if they were 15/16 in the first season...

me: what did he THINK would happen if he got a tattoo? dumbass

me: seriously? london? and american werewolf in london? lame. laaaaaaame

allykittens: fuuuuuuunny

me: they FORGOT IT WAS THE FULL MOON??

allykittens: they all have their anchors so it doesnt matter. or something.

me: -_-

me: the twins have squishy faces

allykittens: they DO have squishy faces!

me: it bothers me almost as much as scotts face. his face is a banana

allykittens: i am a BANANA

me: derek! yay!

allykittens: yay derek!

me: have i mentioned how stupid this show is?

allykittens: its terrible. thats why we love it.

me: "open wound"... his relationship with allison? GAG

allykittens: i told you! tyler is an adorable idiot

me: DEREK TOUCHED STILES

allykittens: did you see HOW he touched him? and how stiles just went with it??

me: LOVE TRUE LOVE

me: everything is so... (dont say it dont say it dont-) ephemeral (NOOOOOO)

allykittens: ahahahaha

allykittens: how is deaucalion blind?

me: uhhh him being blind can either mean hes a prophet, or blind justice. or maybe they just wanted to make a more politically correct cast?

allykittens: wellll they did add another black chick... but physically, why didnt he heal?