Go Up to the Resting Place by Indysaur (PG-13)

[bookshop.livejournal.com]

Fandom: INCEPTION
Title: Go Up to the Resting Place
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Length: 18,752
Author on LJ: indysaur
Author Website: masterlist of fics on author's journal
Why this must be read: If you've never had the pleasure of experiencing Indysaur's writing, I envy you the first time. This fic is a fairy tale fusion with elements from Fables and several fairy tales you'll recognize--a magic- based AU where Arthur is a dreamwalker and Eames is still a thief for hire. It's a beautiful, heartshattering Arthur/Eames fic, but most of all it's a brilliant myth about love, atonement, and forgiveness. Rich with emotion and full of a hundred breathtaking details, "Go Up to the Resting Place" is one of the most lovely, surprising, and unforgettable fics I've read in this fandom.

Eames wanders often, going from here to there, usually on foot. He likes to traverse terrains. From what Arthur hears, sometimes Eames will stumble upon someone he likes, and they’ll go to bed, and then Eames will trick them into giving something up before moving on. A good breakfast, sometimes; virginity, others. Rings.

The egregiousness varies with some rhyme, some reason.

Eventually, Eames will wend his way back to Arthur’s bed. He’ll greet Arthur with a kiss, and then pull away and sigh. Arthur will watch his shoulders loosen.

“You again,” Arthur will say.

“It sounds very fond when you say it like that,” Eames will say.

Then Arthur will say, “It’s not meant to,” and kiss him again. Eames has nice lips, and it doesn’t bother Arthur as much as it should, that they’re beginning to feel familiar.

****

This is strange.

Eames is lying in bed, naked and above the sheets. Just airing everything out. Arthur is sharpening a halberd. It’s more ornamental than anything, but it’s nice to keep an edge on those types of things. Remind them of their true intention.

Eames had braced a foot on Arthur’s back, and Arthur when he finishes with the stone, leans away from the pressure, slides the halberd under the bed where it’ll be out of the way until he’ll go to hang it again, and falls back onto one arm, slaps at Eames’ dick.

“Christ,” Eames says. “Careful.”

Arthur says, “I don’t need to be careful with you. I’ve heard the stories.”

“Stories of what.”

“The wool you pull over people’s eyes. Your impervious nature.”

“Go on,” Eames says, his lips curved up. “What else do you hear about me?”

“That your lies lead to harm, but enough times bear out into kindness. What a line you walk,” Arthur says, looking up at him and laughing. He stretches his throat up and croons out a low howl.

Eames slips his fingers into Arthur’s hair. “And what if I began to tilt to one direction? What if I wanted to be more admirable than not?”

Arthur looks away, rests his forehead against Eames’ thigh. His hand on Eames’ opposite knee.

“What if I want to be all good, and not at all evil?” Eames asks, his voice a little louder, lilting.

“It’s not in your nature,” Arthur points out.

“Why isn’t it?”

Arthur sits up, then, feeling tugged just a bit from his sockets. “It isn’t.”

“You seem scared that it might be.” His eyes assessing.

Arthur stands, stretches. He reaches for the halberd under his bed, his head in the blue dark, his arm outstretched and searching for steel.

“I could tell a story of you, too,” Eames says.

Go Up to the Resting Place