This was my first fic for the inception fandom! And there are some first fic problems, like a beginning that clearly didn't know where it was going to end up, and somewhat unsteady characterization, but I am sentimental and I like this one maybe more than some of my newer stuff, so I didn't really change a thing.

[I like it, too. The one where Arthur owns a bookstore and Eames steals his books. And other things. Four.]

After Inception, Cobb doesn't wake up.

Arthur is a cop who poses as an underage prostitute in order to catch johns. Eames lives in the neighborhoods where Arthur works and is constantly interfering. Trying to get Arthur out of prostitution, trying to hook him up with other jobs, or just scaring off johns.

Bang bang, we're beautiful and dirty rich.

In the immortal words of Freddie Mercury, Fucking on the subway, fucking on the subway, fucking on the subway on a job. How Arthur and Eames meet; hint, it is by fucking on the subway. Unfortunately, this fic does not actually have anything to do with Freddie Mercury, but it does contain a light dash of Little Red Riding Hood.

Arthur gets ripped. And Eames is like "a;fh;diha;fdihijdfh."

Arthur is a freshman omega in college who hasn't yet had his first heat. Eames is a friendly alpha who is willing to lend a hand.

Arthur is a freshman omega in college who hasn't yet had his first heat. Eames is a friendly alpha who is willing to lend a hand.

[Three.]

“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.

[Ending slightly fluffier than I was hoping for, but still very good. Four.]

Summary: Sleepy, domestic morning sex. With handcuffs.

Excerpt:

"Tell me if it hurts," Eames says, drawing back a little. Arthur's hands relax, and he licks his lips.

"It doesn't, it's good," he says, then rolls his shoulders, too tense for how sleepy he was just moments ago. He brings his hands up on the pillow above his head, restless.

"Ah," Eames says, realization dawning on him. He kisses Arthur's jaw before he pulls his fingers free, to a tiny whimper of protest. "Sit tight."

Eames stretches over to his side of the bed to rummage through the nightstand drawer. He returns with Arthur's favourite cuffs, wide strips of soft leather that close with a lock, safe and secure. Arthur stretches when he sees them, holding his hands up near the headboard, obedient.

Arthur has an immediate, visible reaction to being restrained, Eames has never seen anything like it. He loops the chain around the low bar on their headboard, taking Arthur's wrists in hand, and Arthur sighs as Eames tightens the cuffs, locking them in place. Arthur's whole body loosens on a soft moan, tension seeping out of every muscle.

"There you are," Eames murmurs, pushing his nose into Arthur's hair as he slides back on top of him, pressing his fingers back in. "There you are, love."

Summary: Arthur is a freshman omega in college who hasn't yet had his first heat. Eames is a friendly alpha who is willing to lend a hand.

Excerpt:

"I'm Eames," the alpha says, downing his drink in kind. He steps closer, close enough to lean in to Arthur's ear and take a lungful of his scent again. "Tell me now, Arthur, what's a sweet little thing like you doing here, in a state like this?"

Arthur blinks, tries to sort through the words because that was a question, and he's supposed to answer it.

"I'm getting a drink," he manages, flushing when he realizes his fingers are on Eames' arms, but he supposes that's okay to do with someone who's standing so close and calling you a *sweet little thing*.

"Are you, now?" Eames pulls back, eyebrow raised in amusement. "Is that all you're doing?"

Teen-runaway!Arthur is taken in by the Cobbs!

Juvenile-delinquent!Arthur screws around with Eames!

Random situation arises in which team finds out about Arthur's troubled youth past!

(Okay, let's be honest, basically I just want bb!Arthur with shaggy hair and ratty jeans to brood a lot. Shut up.)

He’s distracted near the end by the particular texture of one book’s cloth-bound spine, which he fondles, though he wouldn’t say that, exactly, if asked. His father fondled books, probably more than breasts. Eames--Eames does not fondle books.

“Looking for something?” someone asks, sounding vaguely amused, and Eames looks up to see a long counter, a coffee roaster, an espresso machine, a slender man in a waistcoat who could be the girl out front’s brother, because they arch their eyebrows the same way.

“No,” Eames says, because he isn’t looking for anything, except a bookshop, which he found.

"Jeans and a T-shirt at the opera, Arthur? For shame," Eames says as he drops into the seat beside Arthur.

Ariadne knows she shouldn’t.

But the sight of the mysterious Mr. Eames sprawled out on a lawn chair, quiet and peaceful with the walls of his of witticisms and jokes finally lowered, is too tempting to resist.

“So seduce me,” Arthur says.

"You do know there's a real version of me willing to sleep with you topside, right?" Eames' projection of Arthur raises an elegant eyebrow.

“What happens when an immovable object meets an irresistible force?”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Arthur says despondently.