The Devil Takes His Own, by Kiyala (R)

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Fandom: INCEPTION
Title: The Devil Takes His Own
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Length: 29,623
Author on LJ: kiyala (shannys_corner)
Author Website: Author's works on AO3
Why this must be read: The zombie apocalypse has come and gone, and the humans have done their best to pick themselves up and keep going in a world crawling with the infected. Several things have changed since the rising, and one of these changes is the rise in social media. Inception is a team of bloggers, run by Arthur and Eames, who can drive into zombie territory without batting an eyelid, but are far too afraid to act on the tension they both feel between them.

That's right: it's a Newsflesh AU!!! And if you're a fan of Mira Grant (Seanan McGuire)'s bestselling zombie blogger dystopia Feed and its sequels, you absolutely must read this clever and thorough fusion with the universe of Inception. Even if you're not familiar with the books, it's still easy to enjoy this gripping and dark look at what happens to Dreamshare in the middle of the zombie apocalypse (though I would recommend at least reading the wikipedia page to ground yourself in the universe), and how even when thrust into completely different roles, the Inception team still maintains their unique skill set, while Arthur and Eames still maintain their endless, eternal UST. Also, I really love the way this fic weaves the plot of Inception into and around the world of Newsflesh, with the stakes being even higher in the post-apocalypse. Plus, there's a deliciously psychotic turn by Cobb in this fic. I can't help it, I really love fics where Cobb is a satisfyingly complete and utter dick--he's all that and more in this, while still being tragically easy to empathize with. And meanwhile, Arthur and Eames are beautifully in love.

Arthur’s seen it before; he’s seen Eames play the vapid reporter who flirts shamelessly with his interviewees. He hates it, but he can’t deny the fact that it’s effective. But even if it means that they’ll have someone close to Robert Fischer to figure out just how much he knows, it’s a last-minute change, and it does not make Arthur happy. He does not hesitate to let it show.

“Damn it, Eames,” he hisses. “We had a plan. We make plans for a reason.”

“Look.” Eames lowers his voice, speaking right into Arthur’s ear. “There are two ways this can go. Either I spend my day in close quarters with Cobb, pretending I’m happy about the fact that Browning’s limiting the amount of information we get and thinks he’s being so fucking clever about it. Or I stay the hell away from Cobb, no one gets punched in the face, and I get us some extra information. Which one do you prefer?”

“You’d better get us some good information,” Arthur replies with a scowl.

Eames simply laughs, patting his shoulder. “You know me, Arthur.”

With that, Eames turns to leave and Arthur sighs, preparing himself for what already feels like a long day.

By lunch time, Arthur is in desperate need of a cigarette. He doesn’t smoke much these days, but he’d started when he was younger, when Eames had offered him one with a smirk, saying, “Might as well take advantage of the fact that it’ll never give us cancer, yeah?”

It doesn’t really surprise him that when he goes up to the rooftop, Eames is already there, crushing a cigarette butt beneath his heel as he lights another.

Arthur hangs back for a moment, because it’s not often that he gets to see Eames in a suit and he certainly enjoys the view. Then he walks up to Eames, leans on the railing beside him and slants him a smile.

“I can tell your day has been nice and stress-free.”

“Arthur.” Eames’ hand comes up to rest on the small of Arthur’s back, the touch a little possessive. “I was just—fuck, am I glad to see you.”

“You were worried,” Arthur accuses, his eyes narrowing. It’s hypocritical to get irritated, he knows, but if he focuses on that, it means he doesn’t need to think about how unpleasant it is, being separated from Eames all day. Judging by the fact that Eames hasn’t moved his hand from Arthur’s back, the feeling’s mutual.

“I hate being away from you,” Eames murmurs, confirming it. He offers his lighter as Arthur pulls a cigarette out of his own crumpled carton, lighting it with an easy flick. “Nobody works with you as well as I do, and I hate the thought of you having to make do. With Cobb.”

As always, Arthur thinks of several ways that he can point out that he works well with Cobb too, that Cobb was his mentor for a long time, before everything fell apart, before Eames started hating the man. This time, however, he simply sighs and allows himself to turn into Eames’ touch just a little. “I don’t want to talk about Cobb.”

“Good.” The way Eames moves towards him is not subtle at all. “Neither do I.”

They do this sometimes. They’re both self-aware enough that they know it’s a bad idea, but when they’re stressed, when they’re on edge, there’s nothing that will calm them as much as simply being close to each other. Eames finally moves his hand away from Arthur’s back, and they lean there, against the railing on the roof of the Fischer-Morrow building, shoulder to shoulder.

Then, Eames’ hand returns, higher on Arthur’s back this time, sliding up between his shoulder blades. Arthur turns easily, not even sure where his cigarette’s gone until he shifts and feels it under his shoe. He doesn’t look down to check, because Eames is holding his gaze. The hand on Arthur's back is drawing him closer and his own hand is resting on Eames’ chest and god fucking damn it, he knows what comes next.

He shuts his eyes, but doesn’t turn his head away. Eames’ breath ghosts over his face, warm and wonderful and so incredibly torturous. It’s a struggle for Arthur to find his voice, to say, “No, Eames.”

“No,” Eames echoes. His nose skims against Arthur's forehead and he takes a deep breath. They’re both still for a moment, and Eames’ fingers tense on Arthur’s shoulder, frustrated, before he pulls away. “No. You’re right.”

“I wish I wasn’t,” Arthur whispers. He’s not meant to, he knows, and Eames’ eyes darken with pure desire that Arthur can feel, too. He takes a step back for good measure, hating himself, hating Eames, hating the world for the way things are. “We’re being told about how the PASIV works today, how you can make your own dream world, without zombies, where…”

“Where we’d have no reason to do this stupid dance,” Eames finishes for him. He smiles, small and sad. “That’s the problem with dreams, Arthur. They aren’t real.”

The Devil Takes His Own