[personal profile] counterfeiture
Title: Permutations
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Eames, Mal/Cobb, Arthur/Ariadne
Rating/Warning(s): R
Author Notes: Originally posted here for [livejournal.com profile] inception_kink; Three sets of people, one kink.


Permutations.

(we're forging points)
Eames is bleeding, and as Arthur cocks back an arm and hits him, he tastes a sharp wetness in his mouth, a gurgling red copper tang spilling from inside his cheek. They're down to their slacks, shirts long discarded somewhere on the floor of the warehouse, and Eames thinks of the movie references he could make as Arthur cups his face with ironic gentleness. The man straddled him with no grace at all; rode him like a man riding a bull, which fit well enough considering how this fight first started as simple horsing around.

"We can be gentle," Arthur said, the words slurred as blood dripped slowly from his split lip. His hands were dirty. His biceps were smeared with floor dust and Eames' blood, swirling in dark sweeps along the pale skin.

And then he's leaning forward, Arthur, taking Eames' mouth and kisses him, delicate with the way his tongue sweeps over Eames' teeth.

He punches Arthur hard in the stomach, flips them over, and in three seconds they're back on their feet again, throwing punches and kicks, butting heads and touching shoulders, elbows digging into their sides--

Two hours later they're still bleeding, staining the pristine sheets of the shared hotel room pink in odd places, and Arthur's riding hard, like a man riding a bull, pushed up against the headboard as Eames fucks him deep.

Eames lets the wound bleed, and Arthur keeps his lip wound open, painting their lips a morbid red, smearing like lipstick, only it's more visceral, more gut-wrenching to the sight and taste; and when Arthur bites down on the other's lip, drawing fresh blood, he chokes, and he turns his head to spit out the excess.

"You always did have a dirty mouth," Eames murmured into his ear, right before he came.

"You would know," was all Arthur gasped, riding out the last of the thrusts Eames made. "Fuck me again."

(like razors)
She was handy with a knife, knew how to cut up vegetables and meat and humans with a simple paring knife, knew how to swing a cleaver to make the cleanest cut. Dom Cobb knew these things, even before he married her.

He knew them intimately before they started sleeping together, and he understood the dangers of a woman like Mal when her father first spoke of her in awed tones.

What he hadn't expected was her madness, and the madness that flowed from Mal seeped into his skin like sweet acid, as he watched her carve little lines along her thigh and made the cuts bleed.

"It's only a razor," she said, brandishing the silver square in front of his face before putting it aside, and then she beckons him to lean in, lifting her elegant leg up to rest against Cobb's shoulder, and he is helpless. Helpless to resist the light in her eyes, the dark, sultry tone of her voice - the sharp red shade seeping out of her skin.

So Cobb leans in, kisses the wound with reverent lips, as Mal whispers a quiet "Happy Birthday" into his ear.

(fit to bleed)
It was all an accident, Ariadne thinks, as she watches with amazement at her finger as it bled. She hadn't meant to cut into it as deep as she did, but she guessed that when the box-cutter came with a warning of "For Adult Use Only" it might have meant both adult and adult, because she felt like a stupid child caught running around with scissors at her mistake.

"I'm sorry," she started saying, "I know you said to wait for you before cutting up the board for the scale models--"

"It will heal," Arthur cut in, cradling her wrist in his hands as he watched the wound darkly. "Do you mind?"

She shakes her head, not minding at all with the assumption that he meant to treat the wound, but she gasps a sweet gasp, the nerves that lie sleeping in her belly firing up, as Arthur takes her finger into his mouth and sucks.

And he watches her watch him, with a glint in his eye, that Ariadne feels like she should be deeply offended by this scenario, only to find that she doesn't care.

"Thank you," was all she said, belated in the fact that Arthur already had her finger cleaned. But she refused the bandage, said that she could do it on her own, and only when Arthur had left her did she put the finger into her mouth to touch the cut with her tongue.

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July 2015

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