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Fandom: Inception
Characters: Arthur, Cobb
Rating: PG-13 for one potentially disturbing description of violence.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me and I make no profit off of borrowing them.
From this prompt:
They were in Hong Kong and Cobb had worked with Arthur for two months. He couldn't have told you how many people he had pulled the trigger on in dreams, but this...this was different.
He was chased down a narrow street, elbowing his way through the crowd. Ducking down an alley that smelled of pee and spices, he made his way to the parallel street, where he abruptly came face to back with a man, crouching, waiting, with gun in hand. For him to turn the corner.
It happened within the space of two seconds, but felt like minutes. The man becoming aware of Cobb, turning around, eyes widening, Cobb raising his arms, pulling the trigger, the sharp thud of the silencer and then, the man's face exploding.
Hours, hours, hours seemed to pass. The man laid still on a pile of garbage, making a picture Cobb would never forget. His reverie was broken by two thuds of a silencer. Two men fell behind him and Arthur was there, grabbing his arm.
"Cobb, come on, we gotta run!" And they did, but later, he couldn't say how they got to the hotel. A vague recollection of a taxi. Once they reached his room, Arthur led him to a chair.
"Sit down. Head between your knees." Cobb could feel deft fingers loosening his tie.
"Feel sick?"
Cobb shook his head. Breathed.
He realized Arthur wasn't even breathing heavily, just walking around the room, swift and efficient and clean as a blade, closing the curtains, adjusting the air conditioning, pouring a drink, then settling in a relaxed stance, one hand in his pocket, studying Cobb intently.
"This was your first?"
Cobb nodded. He felt absolutely drained.
"In the future, don't run off like that if you're not absolutely positive you can handle it on your own. There's a lot at stake here."
"I'd done it before. A million times."
"In dreams. This is a little bit different."
"No shit," Cobb breathed.
Shock was giving way to embarrassment. This guy was six years his junior. And could apparently read minds, because he smiled a little and said:
"My first time was no picnic. I threw up on Eames' shoes."
Cobb stared at him. Arthur shrugged. "I figured it's better that you hear it from me than him."
Cobb couldn't help it. He started to laugh and then, bringing his humiliation to a magnificient climax, burst into tears.
Arthur carefully put his glass on a coaster and pulled him close.
"It's OK. Let it all out."
After some time, Cobb fell asleep. He would wake up a few hours later on the bed with a blanket around him, find his bags packed and his coat ready and try to gather the remains of his dignity.
Arthur would never mention it again.
Characters: Arthur, Cobb
Rating: PG-13 for one potentially disturbing description of violence.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me and I make no profit off of borrowing them.
From this prompt:
They were in Hong Kong and Cobb had worked with Arthur for two months. He couldn't have told you how many people he had pulled the trigger on in dreams, but this...this was different.
He was chased down a narrow street, elbowing his way through the crowd. Ducking down an alley that smelled of pee and spices, he made his way to the parallel street, where he abruptly came face to back with a man, crouching, waiting, with gun in hand. For him to turn the corner.
It happened within the space of two seconds, but felt like minutes. The man becoming aware of Cobb, turning around, eyes widening, Cobb raising his arms, pulling the trigger, the sharp thud of the silencer and then, the man's face exploding.
Hours, hours, hours seemed to pass. The man laid still on a pile of garbage, making a picture Cobb would never forget. His reverie was broken by two thuds of a silencer. Two men fell behind him and Arthur was there, grabbing his arm.
"Cobb, come on, we gotta run!" And they did, but later, he couldn't say how they got to the hotel. A vague recollection of a taxi. Once they reached his room, Arthur led him to a chair.
"Sit down. Head between your knees." Cobb could feel deft fingers loosening his tie.
"Feel sick?"
Cobb shook his head. Breathed.
He realized Arthur wasn't even breathing heavily, just walking around the room, swift and efficient and clean as a blade, closing the curtains, adjusting the air conditioning, pouring a drink, then settling in a relaxed stance, one hand in his pocket, studying Cobb intently.
"This was your first?"
Cobb nodded. He felt absolutely drained.
"In the future, don't run off like that if you're not absolutely positive you can handle it on your own. There's a lot at stake here."
"I'd done it before. A million times."
"In dreams. This is a little bit different."
"No shit," Cobb breathed.
Shock was giving way to embarrassment. This guy was six years his junior. And could apparently read minds, because he smiled a little and said:
"My first time was no picnic. I threw up on Eames' shoes."
Cobb stared at him. Arthur shrugged. "I figured it's better that you hear it from me than him."
Cobb couldn't help it. He started to laugh and then, bringing his humiliation to a magnificient climax, burst into tears.
Arthur carefully put his glass on a coaster and pulled him close.
"It's OK. Let it all out."
After some time, Cobb fell asleep. He would wake up a few hours later on the bed with a blanket around him, find his bags packed and his coat ready and try to gather the remains of his dignity.
Arthur would never mention it again.
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