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ifeelbetterTitle: Falling In and Out (of Holiday Cheer)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ifeelbetter
Disclaimer: I own nothing of value.
Notes: Sort of on-topic forjenna_marianne? But so also very not. We're back in my Eames-is-mostly-Gene-Kelly and Arthur-is-at-least-two-thirds-Cosmo-probably AU. And now it's Christmas.
"I'm not doing it," Arthur said, opening the door.
"I didn't even say anything. I didn't even say hello and you're rejecting me," Eames said.
"Hello." Arthur rolled his eyes but stepped aside and let Eames in.
"Hello, darling. You're looking dashing this fine and frosty evening," Eames said. He handed Arthur a bouquet of flowers. White roses, poinsettias, and holly. Only Eames could come up with a bouquet like that.
"I'm still not doing it," Arthur said. He did like the smell of holly, though. And poinsettias reminded him of his mother and sort of chronically made him smile.
"At least let me pose the proposition before you trample my dreams," Eames said with a long-suffering sigh. If for no other reason than to prevent him developing a sense of his own so-called oppression, Arthur waved him onwards.
"Fine. Make your pointless pitch," he said and he meant it graciously.
"Dom wants to do a picture about two best friends who go to--"
"Dom hates working with both of us."
"I know, Arthur, everyone knows but even he can't fight the hordes of girls who will flock to the box office--"
"He actually is fully capable of fighting--" Arthur said. It was true: Dom had sworn off them as a combo after that last picture. Mostly because it was his wife who ended up sidelined when Eames made accidental moon-eyes at Arthur instead of following the script.
"But he won't, see, because my father's Cambridge chum is bankrolling the whole affair and he'll let me have you if I--"
"Oh, he'll let you have me, will he?" Arthur asked, crossing his arms.
"Ignore the phrasing. It's why they pay me to look pretty and someone else decides what I say," Eames said hopefully.
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Just listen to this tune, darling, you're going to simply adore it." Eames pulled a rolled up copy of the song and did that thing--where he put his hand in the small of Arthur's back and, in leaning into it, Arthur got guided in a direction that he hadn't been aiming for--and shepherded Arthur to the old upright piano.
"Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas," Arthur read. "Very direct name."
"Just play," Eames said, tapping the sheet.
And the stupid bit of Arthur--the bit totally behind the getting-shepherded-around-the-room thing and the bit that sobbed at the scene in Mal's last film where she went blind and died--agreed. The song was something to die for. It was the kind of song that could make the most cynical cynic cry like a geyser.
And that was just the intro, before Eames joined in. He slid onto the bench next to Arthur, his fingers ready with the tip of the page. Arthur had to go under his arm to hit one of the high notes and it should have annoyed him...but it didn't.
The song just suited Eames and he just would make Arthur an offer he couldn't refuse because he just would know that this song--this would win him.
"OK, yeah, let's do this picture together," Arthur said when the song ended. Eames's face split into a grin wide enough that Arthur would have promised him ten pictures, right then-and-there, if he could get another grin just as wide.
"It's a Christmas miracle," Eames said, fluttering a couple of high notes and then cascading down the scale. Arthur swatted his hand away from the lower keys.
"Get off of my piano," he said. Eames was leaning around Arthur to get to the lower keys anyway and--as if he might as well when he was in the area--he pressed a kiss into Arthur's neck. Completely unromantic--the most awkward of kisses imaginable--and Arthur thought there must be something wrong in his head.
There must be something because he sort of loved the man.
Author:
ifeelbetterDisclaimer: I own nothing of value.
Notes: Sort of on-topic for
jenna_marianne? But so also very not. We're back in my Eames-is-mostly-Gene-Kelly and Arthur-is-at-least-two-thirds-Cosmo-probably AU. And now it's Christmas."I'm not doing it," Arthur said, opening the door.
"I didn't even say anything. I didn't even say hello and you're rejecting me," Eames said.
"Hello." Arthur rolled his eyes but stepped aside and let Eames in.
"Hello, darling. You're looking dashing this fine and frosty evening," Eames said. He handed Arthur a bouquet of flowers. White roses, poinsettias, and holly. Only Eames could come up with a bouquet like that.
"I'm still not doing it," Arthur said. He did like the smell of holly, though. And poinsettias reminded him of his mother and sort of chronically made him smile.
"At least let me pose the proposition before you trample my dreams," Eames said with a long-suffering sigh. If for no other reason than to prevent him developing a sense of his own so-called oppression, Arthur waved him onwards.
"Fine. Make your pointless pitch," he said and he meant it graciously.
"Dom wants to do a picture about two best friends who go to--"
"Dom hates working with both of us."
"I know, Arthur, everyone knows but even he can't fight the hordes of girls who will flock to the box office--"
"He actually is fully capable of fighting--" Arthur said. It was true: Dom had sworn off them as a combo after that last picture. Mostly because it was his wife who ended up sidelined when Eames made accidental moon-eyes at Arthur instead of following the script.
"But he won't, see, because my father's Cambridge chum is bankrolling the whole affair and he'll let me have you if I--"
"Oh, he'll let you have me, will he?" Arthur asked, crossing his arms.
"Ignore the phrasing. It's why they pay me to look pretty and someone else decides what I say," Eames said hopefully.
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Just listen to this tune, darling, you're going to simply adore it." Eames pulled a rolled up copy of the song and did that thing--where he put his hand in the small of Arthur's back and, in leaning into it, Arthur got guided in a direction that he hadn't been aiming for--and shepherded Arthur to the old upright piano.
"Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas," Arthur read. "Very direct name."
"Just play," Eames said, tapping the sheet.
And the stupid bit of Arthur--the bit totally behind the getting-shepherded-around-the-room thing and the bit that sobbed at the scene in Mal's last film where she went blind and died--agreed. The song was something to die for. It was the kind of song that could make the most cynical cynic cry like a geyser.
And that was just the intro, before Eames joined in. He slid onto the bench next to Arthur, his fingers ready with the tip of the page. Arthur had to go under his arm to hit one of the high notes and it should have annoyed him...but it didn't.
The song just suited Eames and he just would make Arthur an offer he couldn't refuse because he just would know that this song--this would win him.
"OK, yeah, let's do this picture together," Arthur said when the song ended. Eames's face split into a grin wide enough that Arthur would have promised him ten pictures, right then-and-there, if he could get another grin just as wide.
"It's a Christmas miracle," Eames said, fluttering a couple of high notes and then cascading down the scale. Arthur swatted his hand away from the lower keys.
"Get off of my piano," he said. Eames was leaning around Arthur to get to the lower keys anyway and--as if he might as well when he was in the area--he pressed a kiss into Arthur's neck. Completely unromantic--the most awkward of kisses imaginable--and Arthur thought there must be something wrong in his head.
There must be something because he sort of loved the man.
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Date: 2010-12-04 03:47 pm (UTC)(p.s. there's no title in the title)
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Date: 2011-08-04 08:32 am (UTC)Lovely, lovely, and lovely-ly lovely. I totally treasure Arthur being all no-absolutely-not-damn-you-you're-incorrigible-and-I-don't-like-you-at-all-hang-on-when-did-we-get-into-bed ^^