An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 23/23
Fandom: Inception (2010)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Characters: Arthur (Inception), Eames (Inception)
Additional Tags: Human/Vampire Relationship, Vampire Bites, Vampire!Eames, Blood Drinking, Suicidal Thoughts, thoughts of self harm, canon adjacent, dream share, Arthur is a dream thief, Eames is a vampire, Morally Grey, Rating has changed, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Kink Negotiation
Summary:
Eames is a vampire who hates his fate and thinks often of ending it all -- until he meets an interesting, enigmatic, TERRIFYING man who pierces through the ennui cloaking him. Does he dare to have what he has never had? And is that even possible? Eames is afraid of what he is capable of. Arthur is not.
FINALLY!
An ending. And The End.
Something brushing against his face wakes him.
A moth perhaps.
But the touch lingers. Not a moth.
He opens his eyes in the midnight dark.
Arthurâs face is above him. Arthurâs hand is on his cheek.
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âPity,â says Eames as he ties the sleeves and settles Arthurâs sprained wrist comfortably in the makeshift sling. âI really like that one. Found it in a funny little shop in a back street in Lisbon.â Itâs the sateen shirt, striped in tones of lavender, green and blue.
âIâll help you look for another,â says Arthur, gritting his teeth against the pain. âThis one may be salvageable anyway, thereâs no blood.â
âTrue,â says Eames, tucking the shirtâs tail more securely around Arthurâs elbow. âYou know I donât really care, donât you, darling?â
âI do, but still. It is a favourite.â
Fictober, day 19: Arthur and Eames
Iâve never subscribed to the view that Eames wears tasteless clothes, and I donât think Arthur despises them, either.
Arthur was new to the game when he realised just how far a dreamscape could be pushed, how fantastical were the knots a dreamer with enough imagination could tie in the laws of physics. Itâs not always useful to build stairways that turn and twist on themselves, but it is always fun, so he does it anyway, when he can.
He couldnât have fought in that spinning, tilting hallway if he hadnât delighted in the dizzy pleasures of paradoxical architecture.
He thinks about it often, afterwards. Maybe heâll try something similar soon.
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A small sound escapes Arthurâs mouth as he stands naked in front of his closet. A sound of need. Of lust.
He reaches out a hand, runs it across the sleeves of the many jackets ranged there: plain, checked, striped; black, charcoal, deepest midnight blue, settling on his pinstriped black Alexander McQueen.Â
Itâs enough to awaken the memory of the first time he put it on in private. Stepping into the severely narrow pants, settling the jacket onto his shoulders, turning to the mirror, studying the insects flitting up his body.
The thrill of the first time Eames saw him in it. How Eamesâ face lit up with delight as Arthur turned and displayed the surprise that could not be guessed at from behind.
The thrill of Eames taking him out of the suit. How he swept his hands down the lapels, pausing to dance his fingers across the silver threads of the mothsâ wings. How carefully he unknotted Arthurâs black tie, leaving it loose round his neck. How delicately he opened each button on his shirt, pushing the cloth back under the wings of the jacket to give him access to Arthurâs chest. How he sucked softly at Arthurâs skin as it was revealed. How he knelt before Arthur to unfasten the pants, tugging them down to constrict his thighs while he dropped his mouth to Arthurâs groin, his hot breath dampening his briefs, until Arthur, his hips jerking, had gasped: âNot in the suit!â and Eames had laughed and taken Arthurâs boots off, lifting each foot, taking off his socks, his strong thumbs pressing into the arches of his feet. How heâd taken the pants off, finally. How heâd stood up again, bringing his hands back to Arthurâs chest, pushing them under the jacket, easing it off his shoulders -- and deftly catching it before it could slip and fall, smiling at the look of mild panic in Arthurâs eyes. Leaving him in the opened shirt as he pressed him towards the bed.
Eames comes into the room as Arthur stands there, his fingers caressing the fine wool of the suit, feeling the slight stiffness of the silver threads.Â
âAnother man would rent a movie, Arthur, but you just stand in front of your closet.â
Arthur turns to him. âYou know itâs not the suits, donât you?â He smiles. âWell, not only the suits.â
âYes. Get dressed.â
So Arthur gets dressed, slowly, as Eames leans against the doorframe, his eyes following as Arthur hides more and more of himself, until finally he comes to stand in front of Eames.
âYou can unwrap me now.â
A small sound escapes Eamesâ mouth. A sound of need. Of lust.
Dearest Amy: You suggested suitp*rn, and as it is one of our shared passions, I just had to. And I sought inspiration at Alexander McQueen. Of course I did.
Picture: Double-breasted insect pinstripe jacket, Alexander McQueen menâs tailoring, 2019.
 Double-breasted wool silk tailored jacket in black with silver thread pinstripes, detailed with insect embroideries.
Not all jobs are fun, but sometimes, one comes along that Arthur knows will be more like a holiday, and this is one of those.
For starters, theyâre in the Caribbean and the sun is shining. When theyâve finished work for the day, they stroll down the white sand beach to a little bar and drink silly drinks out of coconuts. Somehow, Eames had known Arthur secretly likes those rum punches.
And instead of taking one of the rattling taxis, they ride a scooter to work, he on the pillion, his thighs bracketing Eamesâ ass, his hands clutching his hips.
