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crack_van2011-12-27 05:17 pm
laceymcbain.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2011-12-27 05:17 pm
Wunderkind by mirabella (NC-17)
Fandom: INCEPTION
Pairing: Arthur/Eames (very explicit), Mal/Dom (background)
Length: ~ 21,000 words
Author on LJ: unknown ; mirabella on Dreamwidth
Author Website: mirabellafic
Why this must be read: I love Mirabella's writing. She's written some remarkable stories in the Inception fandom, and this is one of my favorites even though it's still relatively new. It's less serious than others of hers, but it's hot and hilarious. I was only partway through reading the first section when I was emailing friends to say, "You HAVE to read this!!"
The story's not quite crack!fic, but it's close. Poor Arthur has a young face, and poor Eames is trying to be a good guy. Eames honestly believes Arthur's underage, and therefore, refuses to get involved with him. Arthur, meanwhile, thinks Eames must be either playing a joke or interested in an underage role-play, but Eames is dreadfully serious.
Add to the brilliant sexual tension, a Somnacin formula that lowers inhibitions, and you've got one of the hottest things around. (Oh, and Eames has a piercing; even if that's not your thing, Mirabella knows how to write sex scenes.)
You'll cheer for Arthur's persistence, Eames' attempt at integrity, and Cobb and Mal's helpful interference. What's especially refreshing is that once Eames realizes he's wrong about Arthur, he's on board 100% with hitting the sheets. These are grown men who know what they want and what they like. We tend to view unresolved sexual tension as a delicious tease, but sometimes it's really nice to get the actual pay-off when all that build-up is resolved.
"Look," [Eames] says quietly. "I'm really not a very good person, when you come right down to it. I pick pockets and cheat at cards and lie to people for a living, and something about you just… makes me wish I were better than I am. So let me have this, all right? Let me do this one good, this one right thing and not have sex with a boy whose biggest worry should be who to ask to the prom."
Arthur's silent for a moment, staring. It doesn't do any good. Eames doesn't drop the act and admit that this whole thing is a joke at Arthur's expense. Arthur's not quite ready yet to admit that it isn't, but that's certainly the way the evidence is trending, and Arthur wouldn't be as good at his job as he is if he didn't take the bad news with the good. "So let me get this straight," he says. "Your sole objection to sleeping with me is that you think I'm underage."
Eames tilts Arthur's chin up a little and gives him a look that's so clearly an adult dealing with a recalcitrant child that Arthur nearly punches him. "No. My sole objection to sleeping with you is that you are underage. And don't try to convince me you're not, either. You can't con a con man, darling."
"Eames," Arthur says. "I am twenty-three years old. I'm ex-Army. I did an eighteen-month tour of duty in Iraq, where I almost got various parts of my body blown off, and I –"
Eames puts a finger over Arthur's mouth. "Two years, darling," he says. "Come back to me then and I'll give you whatever you want."
His smile is a little sad. As Arthur watches, stunned, Eames leans forward and brushes his mouth over Arthur's cheek, lingering just long enough for Arthur's eyes to start drifting closed in spite of himself – and then Arthur finds himself three steps back and out in the hall, with Eames' door closing softly in his face.
He supposes, as a matter of sheer pride, that he shouldn't stand here staring at Eames' door like a lovelorn teenager. Except he's not. He's staring at Eames' door like a fucking grown man who is so torn between incredulousness and rage that he just needs to stand here and process for a minute. Arthur gunned down a dozen projections today in the course of guarding Eames' back on a run-through of a maze that he helped design. He's been working around the clock for days assembling intelligence so detailed and thorough that hardened CIA agents would have wept for joy if it were handed to them. He has three apartments on two continents and four Swiss bank accounts. The most charitable and discreet word to apply to his sexual history, which has been accumulating for going on eight years now, is "enthusiastic." He's wearing fucking Balenciaga. And Eames won't fuck him because Eames, through some systematic misfiring of synapses in that booze-sodden brain of his, is convinced that Arthur is a child.
A child.
Oh, it is on, Arthur thinks, and spins on his heel to stalk back to his room.
On Dreamwidth: Wunderkind
It doesn't matter how old or new or (how popular) a story is, authors love feedback!
Pairing: Arthur/Eames (very explicit), Mal/Dom (background)
Length: ~ 21,000 words
Author on LJ: unknown ; mirabella on Dreamwidth
Author Website: mirabellafic
Why this must be read: I love Mirabella's writing. She's written some remarkable stories in the Inception fandom, and this is one of my favorites even though it's still relatively new. It's less serious than others of hers, but it's hot and hilarious. I was only partway through reading the first section when I was emailing friends to say, "You HAVE to read this!!"
The story's not quite crack!fic, but it's close. Poor Arthur has a young face, and poor Eames is trying to be a good guy. Eames honestly believes Arthur's underage, and therefore, refuses to get involved with him. Arthur, meanwhile, thinks Eames must be either playing a joke or interested in an underage role-play, but Eames is dreadfully serious.
Add to the brilliant sexual tension, a Somnacin formula that lowers inhibitions, and you've got one of the hottest things around. (Oh, and Eames has a piercing; even if that's not your thing, Mirabella knows how to write sex scenes.)
You'll cheer for Arthur's persistence, Eames' attempt at integrity, and Cobb and Mal's helpful interference. What's especially refreshing is that once Eames realizes he's wrong about Arthur, he's on board 100% with hitting the sheets. These are grown men who know what they want and what they like. We tend to view unresolved sexual tension as a delicious tease, but sometimes it's really nice to get the actual pay-off when all that build-up is resolved.
"Look," [Eames] says quietly. "I'm really not a very good person, when you come right down to it. I pick pockets and cheat at cards and lie to people for a living, and something about you just… makes me wish I were better than I am. So let me have this, all right? Let me do this one good, this one right thing and not have sex with a boy whose biggest worry should be who to ask to the prom."
Arthur's silent for a moment, staring. It doesn't do any good. Eames doesn't drop the act and admit that this whole thing is a joke at Arthur's expense. Arthur's not quite ready yet to admit that it isn't, but that's certainly the way the evidence is trending, and Arthur wouldn't be as good at his job as he is if he didn't take the bad news with the good. "So let me get this straight," he says. "Your sole objection to sleeping with me is that you think I'm underage."
Eames tilts Arthur's chin up a little and gives him a look that's so clearly an adult dealing with a recalcitrant child that Arthur nearly punches him. "No. My sole objection to sleeping with you is that you are underage. And don't try to convince me you're not, either. You can't con a con man, darling."
"Eames," Arthur says. "I am twenty-three years old. I'm ex-Army. I did an eighteen-month tour of duty in Iraq, where I almost got various parts of my body blown off, and I –"
Eames puts a finger over Arthur's mouth. "Two years, darling," he says. "Come back to me then and I'll give you whatever you want."
His smile is a little sad. As Arthur watches, stunned, Eames leans forward and brushes his mouth over Arthur's cheek, lingering just long enough for Arthur's eyes to start drifting closed in spite of himself – and then Arthur finds himself three steps back and out in the hall, with Eames' door closing softly in his face.
He supposes, as a matter of sheer pride, that he shouldn't stand here staring at Eames' door like a lovelorn teenager. Except he's not. He's staring at Eames' door like a fucking grown man who is so torn between incredulousness and rage that he just needs to stand here and process for a minute. Arthur gunned down a dozen projections today in the course of guarding Eames' back on a run-through of a maze that he helped design. He's been working around the clock for days assembling intelligence so detailed and thorough that hardened CIA agents would have wept for joy if it were handed to them. He has three apartments on two continents and four Swiss bank accounts. The most charitable and discreet word to apply to his sexual history, which has been accumulating for going on eight years now, is "enthusiastic." He's wearing fucking Balenciaga. And Eames won't fuck him because Eames, through some systematic misfiring of synapses in that booze-sodden brain of his, is convinced that Arthur is a child.
A child.
Oh, it is on, Arthur thinks, and spins on his heel to stalk back to his room.
On Dreamwidth: Wunderkind
It doesn't matter how old or new or (how popular) a story is, authors love feedback!
no subject
(Anonymous) 2011-12-28 01:25 am (UTC)(link)no subject
(Anonymous) 2011-12-29 02:47 am (UTC)(link)