twentysomething

Cool wind in your hair-

Fandom: Inception

Pairing: Arthur/Eames

Summary: "The first time Eames had come in, it was pouring down rain, and he'd walked in and shook himself out like a dog of questionable origin and dubious ancestry."

Length: 1000 wordsish.

Warnings: BOOKS, GERMAN AND BOOKS.

Notes: Yeah, I don't even know. Arthur runs a bookstore, Eames is a loyal... customer. This is only notable, because when given about six options each about what to pick to post tonight, both merelyn and leupagus both picked this. BRRRRRRRRRRMMM.



Arthur likes facts and gathering information. He thought about becoming a researcher, but his father died and his mother didn't have the heart to do it, so he came home after college and took over the family bookstore. It's pretty much the next best thing, and Arthur likes being the one people go to when they want to know more.

He loves his job. That being said, there are a lot of things he could really live without.

Namely, Eames.

***

The first time Eames had come in, it was pouring down rain, and he'd walked in and shook himself out like a dog of questionable origin and dubious ancestry.

Arthur should have seen the rest of it coming from that moment alone.

"Phwoar, it's bad business out there, isn't it, love?" Eames had whistled, long and low. He flipped down the collar his terrible polyester suit coat and grinned at Arthur like a madman. Arthur had simply raised an eyebrow in something approaching agreement and tugged at his sweater. Eames had trundled around the shop, running damp fingers over the spines of Arthur's books and blown back out with a wink when the rain had subsided.

Arthur had assumed that would be it and dismissed the whole encounter out of hand. He had a crowd of regulars and a steady stream of nosy tourists that keep him in books and antique maps and Eames had no part of that.

The second time Eames came in, Arthur wasn't even there. He'd bribed Mal with promises of babysitting if he could get away for an afternoon to go buy some rare books at auction for his best, well, patron, and had come back to find Mal smirking her most French smirk.

"Your friend is very attractive, yes?" she asked, clearly too amused for Arthur's good. Arthur had stared at her for a long moment, because his friends were Mal and Cobb.

"What?" he'd finally resorted to asking. Mal had pursed her lips, trying to hide her amusement and had failed terribly.

"You know, like so," she had insisted, sketching a broad shouldered shape in the air and Arthur had frowned.

"I- who?" Arthur had asked with a sinking feeling. Mal had waggled her eyebrows indelicately.

"Your Mister Eames," she replied and that was that.

***

Arthur is right- Eames is not a regular. This doesn't mean Eames doesn't darken his doorstep with regularity, as the term would suggest, because he does.

Eames is an annoyance.

He is doubly annoying, because most of the time, Arthur forgets he's annoying.

"I brought you a present, darling," Eames coos at him from across the counter. Arthur glances at the crudely wrapped parcel that's covered in a Unibomber-appropriate amount of tape and the Sunday comics.

"You know, this is a bookstore, this is where you purchase books. This," Arthur gestures at the smudged papers. "This is the opposite of what you are supposed to do here." Eames clasps a hand to his heart, making a face that Arthur is certain finagled all sorts of concessions from nannies and schoolmistresses. Arthur is concerned about where he fits in on that scale when he just sighs and fetches the letter opener to free his- dubious- prize from the center.

And because Arthur spends most of his time being vexed that Eames is so vacuously- successfully- charming, he frequently forgets that Eames is painfully perceptive.

"This is a first edition of Gesammelte Werke erster Band," Arthur accuses. Eames gives him an innocent look.

"I was taking a bit of a gamble that you could read German, but I had a feeling." Eames smiles at Arthur sweetly, like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth and he hadn't just handed Arthur a priceless antique in a field of study he was intensely passionate about.

And then Eames fucks off so Arthur can touch and read it and it's so considerate that Arthur's teeth hurt from grinding them together.

"You should probably let him bone you, now," Ariadne says, appearing behind Arthur but conveniently just out of elbowing distance.

"I am- there is no- no." Arthur manages, wondering, for the hundredth time why he hired a shop assistant who was so morbidly curious about his personal life. Ariadne shrugs, arms full of new stock to shelve.

"I'm just saying. I'd put out." she says philosophically. Arthur shakes his head like he can dislodge the thought of Ariadne putting anything out anywhere.

"That's terrible, never say that ever again," he mutters, because Ariadne used to babysit Dom and Mal's kids and just- augh. Ariadne just sighs at him.

"Would you like me to go get you an atlas, Arthur? There's a river in Egypt I think you'd be very interested in," she calls as she winds her way into the densely populated stacks in the non-fiction section. Arthur just scowls and moves his coffee cup a foot away from the manuscript, cautiously.

The next day, the bell above the door promptly announces Eames at 10:31 am. Arthur knows it's Eames, because no one else opens a door like Eames- Eames bursts through the door like he's a superhero. It makes Arthur insane.

"Well, ducks, was it everything you dreamed and more? Poor old Mobius live up to your frantic imaginings?" Eames chirps, planting himself in front of the register.

Arthur is at a loss.

Nine times out of ten, Arthur can dismiss Eames with a pithy comment and a request to actually buy something, but yesterday Eames brought him a present, a terrible, horrible, perfect present and he feels completely adrift. Eames just smiles- and it's- it's just kind and Arthur sort of wants to throw him out of the shop for being insightful and too attractive.

"I never dreamed I could render you speechless, Arthur," Eames murmurs and Arthur is painfully aware that if Eames were to lean across this counter and kiss him, Arthur would let him.