Nesting Dolls, by theskywasblue (Explicit)

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Fandom: INCEPTION
Title: Nesting Dolls & Nowhere But Old Places
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Length: 8,000
Author on LJ: theskywasblue
Author Website: author's works on AO3; fanfic tag on author's LJ
Why this must be read: Warm, sweet, sexy, and fun, this fic is quintessential Arthur and Eames, at their most charming and endearing: Eames is the best non-boyfriend ever, and Arthur's not really in denial. Also, the classic bed-sharing trope! It's love. ♥

Back in the main room, Eames is still snoring away. It’s not like Arthur has never seen him asleep before, but it strikes him how peaceful Eames looks – less like a football hooligan and more like a human being, when he’s sleeping – particularly when he sleeps naturally, and not under the aid of pharmaceuticals.

“Eames,” he leans over and shakes the strong shoulder hidden underneath the blankets, “wake up.”

Eames grunts and turns his face into the pillow, smearing a small line of drool on the pillowcase. Arthur really wishes that made his sleeping face less attractive.

“Up, Eames. We’re meeting the client in two hours.”

Eames groans, “Wake me in an hour and a half then.”

Rather than fight a battle he’s clearly not going to win – it’s too much effort at this point to lift the mattress and dump Eames onto the floor – Arthur cedes defeat and goes down to hunt out some breakfast. Out of pity, he brings back a cup of severely watered-down Earl Grey and a horrific-looking pastry filled with cottage cheese.

He arrives to find Eames dominating the entire bed and drooling openly on the pillow that is very clearly Arthur’s, and works very hard to resist the urge to dump the tea on Eames’ head. Instead, he pulls the pillow out from under Eames and drops it on the floor, causing Eames to wake with a startled snort.

“Darling,” he drawls groggily, sounding like he’s dragging his voice over gravel, “is that cuppa for me?”

“It is if you get your ass out of bed. Otherwise it’s going down the sink.”

“Joke’s on you love,” Eames sits up, scrubbing at his eyes, palm rasping over his stubbled chin. There’s a long line of bare skin showing on his stomach where his shirt has ridden up, and Arthur unconsciously slides his tongue across his lips at the sight. “That sink drains so slowly I could drink the whole cup before it went anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Arthur snorts back laughter as he sets the cup down next to the lamp, knowing Eames is right. The sink’s still half-full of the water he used when he was shaving. “But would you want to?”

“Touché,” Eames swings his feet to the floor and stretches, hard, the joints in his spine and shoulders cracking. His sleeveless tee shows the ink across his shoulders and down his arms; Arthur has never seen the entire collection, uninterrupted by cloth, but he wants to.

He tries to tell himself it’s purely intellectual curiosity – a desire to know all the details – but he doesn’t think anyone’s fooled.

Nesting Dolls & Nowhere But Old Places