osaki_nana_707 | Give me a prompt

Ahem. *taps mic* Hi. Long time reader, first time commenter. Is, uh, this thing on?

*flinch at feedback* Okay, so. I guess it's working.

Um. Hi. I'd love to see a drabble about... um.. Pink socks. On Arthur. 'cause he did the laundry wrong or...something.

I'll just be going now. *waves*

When Eames entered the flat, he had to check the thermostat because of the temperature in the room because it was so cold, but then he realized the iciness was coming off of Arthur who was sitting at the kitchen table looking absolutely ready to murder, and unfortunately Eames was the only living thing in the kitchen.

"Ah... hello," Eames greeted, playing dumb and hoping Arthur would believe it and move on.

"What have I told you about washing whites with colors?" Arthur asked, deadly quiet. The tone made his skin crawl with worry, goosebumps rising on the flesh of his forearms.

Oh, fuck.

"Ah--"

Arthur stood, mouth in a hard frown and said, "Get down on your knees."

"Oh, I see, we're playing a kinky game-"

"On your knees," Arthur demanded, and Eames immediately did as he was told. He was hoping he'd been right about the game, but unfortunately, he was once again wrong.

Arthur lifted his leg and planted his foot against the side of Eames's face. "What color are these socks, Eames?" Arthur asked.

Eames blinked.

"Answer the question, Mr. Eames."

"They're pink."

"That's correct. Now, if I recall, I never owned a pair of pink socks. Do you recall me ever owning a pair of pink socks?"

"I don't go rummaging through your sock drawer--"

"I don't own a pair of pink socks, Eames. You see, these socks used to be white. You washed them with your red socks, and now they're pink."

"Am I to be punished with a spanking?" Eames asked, grinning cheekily because he couldn't help himself. If he was going to be killed, he figured he might as well enjoy his last few minutes.

"Eames, I told you that you have to separate your whites from your colors! Fuck! Everyone knows that! Your incompetence sometimes is absolutely astounding, really it is."

"Personally, I think you should calm down. These pink socks are just precious on you."

"I'm not a two year old girl, Eames!" Arthur growled, getting riled up over being called precious, just as Eames had learned he did. "I don't wear pink socks! If I liked pink socks, I would already own a pair!"

"But you do own a pair," Eames continued cheekily, and really he'd be making just as much progress getting a shovel and digging a hole in the garden to bury himself in.

"These were white, Eames! I want white socks!"

"White socks are easy to purchase. It's the most common color of socks. These pink socks are much more interesting."

"I don't care about how interesting my socks are, and these pink socks are hideous, and I don't llike them!"

"You're a sock racist," Eames said, and Arthur shoved him until he was sprawled on his back laughing uproariously.

"You're unbelievable," Arthur grumbled, stalking off somewhere else in the house to go pout. "God, why do I put up with you?!"

"Because you love me?" Eames called after him, not getting up from the floor.

"Yeah, I do! Asshole!" and Arthur slammed the door.

Oh.. oh. SOCK RACIST!!!!

You had me at sock racist.

Once again, I must ask you to be my interwebs wifey person.

If you say no, then I shall be forced to bake you internet cookies. =D

I do not know you, but I LOVE YOU!

Aww, I thank you kindly for the love and possible internet cookies. :P

I suppose I could be your internet wife. XD

Ummm

Eames has an obsession with odd photography - trains, camel toes, clouds, mushrooms, Arthur's shoes, anything odd really.

When Arthur finds out he's surprisingly accepting

"What... what is this?" Arthur asked, lifting up the photographs.

Eames just stared at the folder that had fallen off of the pile of folders he'd been carrying, not completely sure how to explain himself, unable to come up with a good enough lie about how it could be important for the job.

"It's just a bunch of pictures of hands," Arthur said, lifting the folder gingerly to place the sprawled photos out on the desk. "They can't be for your forgery because clearly these are a bunch of different... Eames, what is this?"

"They're ah..." Eames said awkwardly, placing the large pile of folders on his own desk. "Well..."

"Did you take these pictures?" Arthur asked, lifting a couple of them to show to Eames, one of a child's hands reaching for an ice cream cone, another of an old couple's hands clasped together.

"Ahm... sort of... I guess I just get kind of bored when I'm staking out sometimes, and I have this really nice camera I use to get good photographs of my forgeries, and I sometimes use it for ah... for these. I sort of have an obsession with hands, I guess."

He literally winced as he said it, embarrassed to admit it.

"Oh," was all Arthur said at first, leading Eames to believe that he was about to be reamed for focusing on other things during work, that he shouldn't be wasting his time, that the pictures were weird and creepy and all that, but Arthur did none of these things. "So you did take these pictures."

"Yes, I did."

"They're really nice. I had no idea you were such a photographer, Eames."

"You mean... you're not angry?"

Arthur's lips quirked into an almost smile, which was about as much as Eames could ask for from the stony faced co-worker, and he said, "No. As long as it's not causing problems, I don't see why having a hobby as much of of a problem... Are these my hands? They are, aren't they. That's my watch."

"Ah... yeah..." Eames said nervously, and he knew he surely must have been in for it because there were absolutely far too many pictures of Arthur's hands in the pile for him not to think it was creepy.

"There's--"

"Before you say anything, I'm not trying to be creepy or weird. You've just got beautiful hands is all."

Yeah, that didn't sound creepy at all.

Arthur frowned in concentration, lifting his hands up to his eyes as if to see for himself. "You think so?"

"They're ah... some of the most beautiful hands I've ever seen."

...and then Arthur did something Eames didn't expect.

He really did smile.

Eames was pretty sure he must have slipped into a coma and was dreaming all of it.

"Thanks, Eames," he said simply, pushing the pictures back into the folder and handing them back to him. "If you take any more, I'd like to see them. I took a photography class in college, and your pictures are really good. Also, you don't have to take pictures of my hands so discreetly if you like them so much. I don't care if you come over and take pictures as long as you don't interrupt my work, all right?"

He smiled again, and seriously, was this really happening?

All Eames could weakly say was, "All right."

...and he thought that he might be able to find a new photography obsession.

Smiles.

Omg this was so cute!! I loved Eames' awkwardness hehehe!!
Awwww and smiles >.<
So sweet!!

Thank you for this :Db

YAY \o/ Prompts and pink socks FTW!!

ok umm. prompt.... how about ~

Arthur accidentally stumbles upon Eames' collection.

He begins to wonder if he really knows him at all.

Arthur's not one for breaking into people's places most of the time (he can get his information in other ways), but he does know how to do it, and do it he does. He picks the lock of Eames's apartment and slips inside, and normally he doesn't give a damn what the forger is up to, but he's worried because he hasn't heard back from him in days-- and he's not worried about him, he's not. He's just wondering if Eames is actually doing his job or bumming around in his apartment, so he has to make sure.

It doesn't seem that Eames is there though, Arthur realizes after doing a quick onceover of the place, holding his gun protectively like he didn't just break into the place. It's in Eames's bedroom that he comes across something, and although it isn't Eames, it is a bit confusing.

At first it just looks like boxes, but Arthur can be just as curious as anyone else, so of course he opens one of them.

"What?" he whispers to himself, forgetting all about his search.

The box is filled to the brim with magnets.

Opening every box there reveals the same result...

...and all Arthur can think is... why?

Out of all the research he'd done on Eames, on everyone involved with Eames, he'd never heard anything about this bizarre little collection...

Well, little wasn't really the right word. Massive was a more appropriate term.

Taking a handful out of each box, he examins them more closely, discovering they are all different. One is shaped like the Las Vegas sign, one is simply the letter Q, one is advertising a chiropractor's office, one of them with a Disney character Arthur can't remember the name of, one in Japanese, one in Russian... there are literally thousands of them, each one unique.

"What on earth--" Arthur says, at a loss because really, who collects magnets and who collects them to such an extent? Did he seriously carry the boxes with him wherever he went?

Arthur had never been left with so many unanswered questions so suddenly, and he feels so foolish for not discovering this information before. Sure, it isn't really important, but he makes an effort to know absolutely everything about his co-workers just in case, and now he's at a loss because he never knew this. He knew the name of Yusuf's fourth girlfriend in high school, her age, her GPA that year, and her fucking locker combination at that time, but he didn't know Eames collected useless little magnets.

"What are you doing?"

At least Eames sounds good-humored when Arthur is discovered, though he still jumps and scrambles, tipping one of the boxes so that magnets spill ungracefully around him.

...and well, saying 'nothing' probably wouldn't suffice.

"Why do you have all of these?" Arthur asks instead.

"Oh, I get magnets from every place I go as my own little souvenir," Eames says simply. "As you can see, I've been around quite a lot."

"Every place as in every city or every place as in everywhere including the market, the theater, the doctor's office-"

"Well, for someone like me who is almost never in the same place twice, every time I go somewhere it's kind of new and exciting," Eames replies, shrugging. "Don't you collect things, Arthur?"

Arthur most certainly did not. He couldn't afford to haul useless little trinkets around... but he did remember that his mother used to collect music boxes, that he would go into the room and pick out his favorite one, wind it, and let the tune soothe him over and over...

but that's a digression.

"You're not going to question why I'm in your apartment?" Arthur asks.

"I imagine it's because you've been concerned about my lack of communication with the rest of the team."

"I wasn't concerned-"

"I dropped my mobile in a puddle. Sorry. I've got a new one now though, and I've got all the information on my forgery that I need. We can go back to the warehouse now... ah... provided you help me clean this up first."

All Arthur can do is nod and do as asked, staring curiously when Eames lifts up one of the items in particular and smiles a little more warmly.

"Is that your favorite or something?" Arthur asks.

Eames grins even wider, answering with his smile.

It's only later that night when Arthur is tucking himself into bed that he realizes that the magnet had advertised some sort of sporting event in Toronto, and that it had been the exact same year, the exact same place that Eames had first met Arthur.

Huh.

omg, the end was so cute @.@

(sorry for creepin lol)

AWESOME!! I nearly died when you chose magnets. My best friend is an avid collector and she makes me pick her up one when I go someplace new. Who knew Eames was such a romantic that he wanted memories of places he had been.
Love your writing!! ♥

Oooh! How about underage arthur having older Eames meet his parents? :D

The confusion on Arthur's parents' faces was clear, and he for one couldn't blame them. The fact that there was a twenty-something year old man they've never met before in their kitchen was probably pretty vexing, much more so with the fact that he's been here alone with their sixteen year old son.

Surely, it looked bad.

The worst part was, it was exactly what it looked like. Arthur felt his face blanching because he could almost guarantee that they could see right through him. Could they tell that he and this twenty-something year old man had been doing unspeakably obscene things in his bed, in his shower, and on their kitchen table?

"Arthur, who is this man?" Arthur's father asked hesitantly.

Arthur looked at Eames and then back at his father. "Ah..."

"I'm Eames," Eames said standing and offering a hand to shake. "I'm Arthur's French tutor."

Both parents exchanged glances, and Arthur for one was grateful that he'd mentioned to Eames that he'd been failing French.

"You're a bit, ah... a bit old to be tutoring a sixteen year old, aren't you Mr. Eames?" Arthur's mom asked, shaking his hand after Arthur's father had finished doing so.

"Well, I work at the library, not at the school," Eames continued effortlessly. "In exchange for tutoring, he helps me organize the books there."

"Ahh, so that explains where Arthur's been going in the afternoons," Arthur's father said, smiling.

"Arthur, why didn't you tell us?" his mother asked, and for a moment Arthur was so relieved that they were believing this utter bullshit that he couldn't answer.

"I was just ah... well, I thought you would be mad at me because I needed a tutor..."

Arthur could play vulnerable far too well.

"Oh, sweetie," Arthur's mom said, pulling him to her and hugging his shoulders. "We could never be angry with you for trying to do well in school."

"He's a bright boy," Eames continued. "I guarantee you his next report card will be better than the last."

After a bit of small talk, Arthur's parents excused themselves to their room, and then Eames whirled on Arthur.

"I didn't think they'd be home so soon," Arthur said quietly.

"You told me you were eighteen," Eames replied, but he didn't sound terribly dismayed over it.

"Does that mean you don't want to do it anymore?" Arthur asked lightly, smiling because he already knew the answer.

"It means from now on we're doing it somewhere where we won't be interrupted, you twat."

"So, your place?"

Oh my God, that was perfect. I'm sitting here grinning like a loon <3 would it be too much to ask for more? :D

More of this prompt or new prompts?

I'll take new prompts. I might continue some of these later, but right now I'm just getting my creative juices going. :P

I've got other stories I intend to start on, so I don't need to add more to those lists. XD

ummmm. prompt.....

one day, after a passing comment from someone, arthur wonders if he and eames (having been in an established relationship for a while) are a family, if eames thinks they are, and if they're family enough to make it bigger with a kid or two. and more importantly, how he can ask eames any of these questions.

maybe? :)

It was at a visit to his sister's that the idea comes up. He was sitting on her back porch with a glass of sweet tea, and Eames was out in the yard with her three children (Adrianne, Alan, and Addison) being hunted down with more fervor than some of the hitmen that had tracked them down had used.

"So, you and Eames are quite the family now, huh," Arthur's sister, Angela, said.

"Family?" Arthur scoffed. "I hardly think the two of us qualify as such."

"Well, why not? A family lives under the same roof, loves and bickers with one another, and goes to visit other family members together on crazy stupid road trips where you get lost eleven times."

"We only got lost twice, and it was all Eames's fault--"

"I'm making a point, Arthur. Don't you think that qualifies as a family?"

"It's a little small, don't you think?" Arthur huffed, sipping at his glass, enjoying the breeze lilting through the oak trees. "I'm pretty sure most people would just consider us a couple."

"Maybe," she shrugged, and that was the end of it for her. She always did concede to Arthur before an argument could even start, and it was particularly frustrating when he wanted to argue. She always had the fact that she was older to win anything, but she never used it.

Still, it sat in Arthur's chest a little bit, at least to the point that that night when they were both crawling into his sister's guest bed, he couldn't even sleep.

"Is there a problem?" Eames asked lightly, nosing against Arthur's neck.

"Would you say that we're a family, Eames?" Arthur asked, expecting to be laughed at.

"You're the most family I've ever had, yes," Eames replied lightly, resting his chin on Arthur's shoulder.

"Don't you think that two people is a little small to be a family?" Arthur asked.

Eames sat up and stared at Arthur, holding back a smile with as much effort as he could (which apparently wasn't much because the corners were twitching). "Well, I was an orphan, so anything is good for me, but that's not what this is about, is it."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked because of course that was what it was about! Why else would he have asked the question if...

"D'you want more?" Eames asked.

"More what?"

"Family. You know."

"What," Arthur snorted, "You mean like kids?"

A moment of silence passed between them where they just stared into each other's eyes and Arthur realized, yes, that was exactly what he meant.

"Oh... no, Eames, we couldn't do that... I mean... we couldn't with our work.... Could we?"

Arthur couldn't believe they were discussing such a thing. They really couldn't handle children when they were working in mind crime, they just couldn't.

Could they?

"Well, I mean, if you wanted..." Eames continued. "I mean, you and I both have enough money saved up that we could drop off of the grid for a little while. We could get a little place and... you know... do the domestic thing for a little while."

If he had asked Arthur that a year ago, Arthur would have rolled his eyes because really, how could they ever manage domesticity?...

...but now... the prospect seemed a little...

...well...

"Um... maybe we should talk about this in the morning... Let's uh... let's sleep on it."

"All right," Eames said, laying down, "but... for the record, I think you'd make an excellent father."

It wasn't until Eames was asleep that Arthur was able to squeak out a tiny, "You too."

oh that was so cute ;-; @.@ *happiness*

We could get a little place and... you know... do the domestic thing for a little while."

i love that line ^-^

I did too. X3

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