After Inception, Cobb doesn't wake up. (4,884 words)

Summary: This was going to be his last Christmas with his best friend, and Arthur could hardly stand it.

Excerpt:

Eames was alone almost seven months out of the year. Child Protective Services were called twice (once by Arthur’s dad), but Rene always managed to be home whenever inspectors would arrive. Eventually Eames got old enough to take care of himself—even if that meant running with a low profile gang at school. Arthur never officially saw Eames with guns or drugs, but he’d known something was happening; Eames went MIA for weeks, and when he’d finally surface there would be dark circles under his eyes.

“You’re better than this,” Arthur had said one night after Eames had come over for dinner. They had been sitting side by side at the table, and Arthur could smell alcohol on him.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eames had hissed back.

“I do know. You don’t think anyone believes in you, but you’re wrong.” He’d paused and swallowed hard as he’d glared down at his plate. “I’ve always believed in you.”

Eames had stayed quiet for the rest of dinner, then promptly disappeared afterward, and Arthur had gone to his room and tried not to punch a hole in the wall. It was the first time he’d let himself admit that he might possibly be a little in love with his next door neighbor.

Summary: Arthur knows he’s being fussy. He also knows he’s too tired to focus on how his subconscious seems to think providing him with a mostly-naked, bed-hogging Eames is somehow conducive to him getting a decent night’s sleep.

Summary: Eames turns to him during a simple blueprint discussion and says casually, “You settled late, didn’t you?”

Or, an Inception/His Dark Materials fusion fic.

Excerpt:

After the Fischer job, Arthur’s nerves are shot. The mere thought of making a mistake again causes his palms to sweat, and he has nightmares of being trapped in anti-gravity, desperate to make the kick in time but unable to make himself work fast enough. He stops sleeping in his bed and starts spending his nights on his leather couch in the living room, Cybele draped over his legs as he falls asleep to whatever late night movie he finds through channel surfing. Cobb would tell him the urge to sleep near the front door is a subconscious need to have a way out. Arthur thinks he just dreams less away from a proper bed.

He gets a call late one night, about a month after the team parted ways at LAX. *Moulin Rouge* is playing on mute in the background, and Arthur’s body is curled around Cybele, the two of them drifting in and out of conscious.

Arthur answers on the third ring without looking at the caller ID. “Yeah?”

“So you *are* sleeping.”

He sighs and rubs the back of his hand over his eyes. “What else would I be doing?”

“I don’t know, counting your sock drawer, maybe. Knitting. Reading *Moby Dick* for the seventeenth time.” Eames sounds as exhausted as Arthur, but the familiar teasing lilt is still present in his voice.

“I’ve never read *Moby Dick*.”

“Quite right, I forgot about your infatuation with Jane Austen.”

Eames isn’t in the room with him, so Arthur lets himself smile. “It’s three in the morning, does this call have a point to it at all?”

“Maybe I just missed the sound of your voice.”

“Maybe you forgot what timezone you’re in.”

Summary: A vignette set a bit in the future in the Simple Math 'verse. (contains a NSFW image!!)

Excerpt:

His words die off into Eames' mouth as Eames slides over him, hand splayed over Arthur's waist, warm and possessive. "I...I was just thinking," he whispers.

"That's dangerous," Arthur breathes.

"Fuck off, I--" Eames swallows, bumps his nose against Arthur's cheek. His heart pounds a bit faster, because it's still hard to lay himself open. After so many years of never believing in something, it's hard to truly trust in it, even when "it" is wrapped in his arms.

He closes his eyes, and says, "You're beautiful. That's all."

Arthur is quiet, and Eames opens his eyes a moment later to find him watching Eames with a startled expression.

Then, a slow, brilliant smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, his cheeks deepening into those fucking gorgeous dimples, and Eames' chest swoops again.

"Are you gonna make love to me now?" Arthur whispers, batting his eyelashes.

Eames bursts out laughing and shoves at Arthur's chest. "You little *shit*--"

First: "Simple Math" (http://bit.ly/KpucLD)
Sequel: "Long Division" (http://bit.ly/Kpu8LU)

"How many times in the last year have you actually succeeded in having sex with anyone but Eames?"

Arthur draws himself as upright as he can, prepared to refute this calumny with an itemized list of people he's had sex with over the last year, ordered by rating and number of positions and possibly categorized by gender and hair color (real or dyed).

"Um," he says.

Ariadne and DavidorDerek look at him expectantly.

"Could we maybe make it over the last, say, three years?" Arthur asks after a minute.

"The first time Arthur shoots Eames in the head at point blank range is when Eames falls in love. That’s the beginning. That’s the end. (Or: Tattoo!Arthur gone sideways.)"

22k words // Things have gotten dangerous in the extraction community, with the vague threat of a new generation of extraction teams that are forming and quickly becoming violent, ruthless in their pursuit to make it to the top. Unsurprisingly, the best team in the business is most at risk.

Eames is an alpha, arthur is an omega, but this is really about politics and revolution and ideas and protests.

And loooooooooove.

"There should be a package for me arriving in about a week,"

How does Arthur know that Eames is in Mombasa?

You’re already going to wake up; you’re already going to fall. You just need a kick.

Saito makes them do it.

Based on a kink meme prompt that wanted Saito forcing Arthur and Eames to get it on. Contains noncon/dubcon, forced stimulation, and references to mental illness.

Summary: Eames vanishes for two months then comes back with a thick, unkempt beard on his face. Arthur doesn't approve. At first.

Excerpt:

"Seriously, what the hell is this," Arthur greets him, tugging with cruel fingers on Eames' beard.

"I do believe you've seen a beard before, Arthur," Eames says, shaking off Arthur’s fingers. He slides a thigh between Arthur's thighs, pressing up against him.

"Oh," Arthur moans, oh that's good. *"Why* is it on your face," he says, not letting himself get distracted even while grinding down a little on Eames’ leg, just a little roll of his hips so Arthur can feel him properly, feel the thick, hard muscle of his thigh.

Eames wets his lips and looks deliberately from side-to-side, an over-exaggerated secretive gesture, then he leans in close, almost touching noses. "I didn't feel like shaving," he whispers.

"Hah, very funny," Arthur says and shoves Eames away with two hands on his broad shoulders. "You look like a fucking lumberjack." Arthur smooths down his shirt, setting everything to right that Eames could possibly have mussed up in the short space of time he had him up against the wall.

"Rugged and manly? Why thank you, Arthur," Eames says with a smirk.

Arthur snorts, and admits to himself that it does sound a bit too fond, then leaves the kitchen before anyone can catch them together.</blockquote.

First: "Don't Pull Your Punches" (http://bit.ly/JObU8k)
Sequel: "Below the Belt" (http://bit.ly/JObZZC)

It's probably a good thing Arthur doesn't go round armed when he's in the waking world.

Arthur is distracted. <333333333

“Let me guess,” Eames says, no longer surprised when Arthur appears unannounced at his door. “You couldn't bear to stay away from my sofa for one more day.”
In which Arthur develops a relationship with Eames' sofa and eventually with Eames himself.

i am desperate for an arthur/eames rough trade au where arthur is rich and closeted and repressed and professional and lonely and competent and exhausted and kind of desperate and might from time to time engage in some really risky self-destructive sexual behavior. and then hate himself for it after. and of course eames is also lonely and a bit rough, maybe kind of angry and a little violent and, i don't know, reckless and impoverished but smart and underestimated and disenfranchised, and doing some really shady stuff for money just to get by. and they meet in a bar or someplace seedy where these kinds of transactions happen and at first it's really just totally this repugnant exchange that they both get off on really really hard and after they both finish arthur is maybe a little bruised and ashamed and he gives eames some cash and eames is resentful and angry and they both go their own ways kind of hating what happened but both of them immediately desperate for more. and it happens again maybe the next week, they're kind of looking for each other, and it gets to be a pattern, these kind of filthy debased hookups where they hurt and humiliate each other but also kind of start to realize they need each other, and somehow things get more personal, and then they accidentally do something tender instead of just this thuggish, brutal sex they've been having, and then it's really awful and awkward and they both freak out and, you know, run away from it, but then they meet up again and realize they're going to figure out how to have a relationship together because they're both fucked-up and lonely and they have incredible sex where eames tops the shit out of arthur but can also be gentle and loving, as it turns out, and arthur is the first person to make eames ever feel like he matters, OH MY GOD.

Arthur and Eames adopt a kid and raise that kid into Neal Caffrey.

"I'm not sure what this is supposed to prove," Arthur temporizes.