Regret
Rating: R
Total word count: 387
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Arthur, Arthur/Eames
Warnings: Violence, angst, character death.
Summary: For This Prompt in Inception Kink
Arthur is beat to death with a brick. Either dreamspace or reality, but I prefer reality.
Author's notes: Just a drabble, I'm currently writing another fill for this prompt that is entirely different and much longer.
Beta(s): none. Please be gentle!
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by the Christopher Nolan and Warner Bros. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. They are not mine, I just like to play with them.
____
This is reality. This is reality and Arthur knows this. He wishes he didn't because it would be comforting right now to imagine this is a dream and that he will wake up when it's over. He wishes he could imagine that he will be able to wake up from this and see the people he loves again.
He wishes he could hope that he will wake up and see Eames.
It's not a revelation. It's not an epiphany or a secret that's finally revealing itself. He's known. He's known that he's wanted, loved, Eames but he's never acted on it. He will regret this. He's regrets it now. This isn't a dream. The blows raining down on his head, tearing his skin, fracturing his bones, mashing his features into a bloody mess are inescapably real. The pain is acute, engulfing his world into fine points of searing hot focus. His mind is mess, a whirl of thoughts but all with a pinpointed subject. The scattered memories flashing through his battered head are all of one person. He sees the parts of a lifetime spent chasing and avoiding, circling, dancing around the enigmatic man of his dreams. A figure who's often literally in his dreams. A person he's worked with fluidly, fought with needlessly, drank with occasionally, and laughed with scarcely. He regrets that last bit now as well. They should have laughed more.
Each bit of grit embedding itself into his ravaged flesh is a painful reminder that he will never see that crooked toothed smile again. He will never see gray eyes light up with amusement and jest. He'll never see the spark of a cleverly formed retort sparkle in them just before his lips release it.
This is the worst way to die, slowly. Instant death, he realizes now, is better not because you escape physical pain, but because you escape emotional realizations. You escape self-reflection and regret. You escape the knowledge of the life you haven't lived and the choices you should have made.
He wishes he could focus on the pain, the downward thrust of a brick gripped in bloody hands. He wishes that it were his world. But all he can think about is Eames. With every strike, just Eames, his eyes, and a life he will never get a chance to live.
Total word count: 387
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Arthur, Arthur/Eames
Warnings: Violence, angst, character death.
Summary: For This Prompt in Inception Kink
Arthur is beat to death with a brick. Either dreamspace or reality, but I prefer reality.
Author's notes: Just a drabble, I'm currently writing another fill for this prompt that is entirely different and much longer.
Beta(s): none. Please be gentle!
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by the Christopher Nolan and Warner Bros. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. They are not mine, I just like to play with them.
____
This is reality. This is reality and Arthur knows this. He wishes he didn't because it would be comforting right now to imagine this is a dream and that he will wake up when it's over. He wishes he could imagine that he will be able to wake up from this and see the people he loves again.
He wishes he could hope that he will wake up and see Eames.
It's not a revelation. It's not an epiphany or a secret that's finally revealing itself. He's known. He's known that he's wanted, loved, Eames but he's never acted on it. He will regret this. He's regrets it now. This isn't a dream. The blows raining down on his head, tearing his skin, fracturing his bones, mashing his features into a bloody mess are inescapably real. The pain is acute, engulfing his world into fine points of searing hot focus. His mind is mess, a whirl of thoughts but all with a pinpointed subject. The scattered memories flashing through his battered head are all of one person. He sees the parts of a lifetime spent chasing and avoiding, circling, dancing around the enigmatic man of his dreams. A figure who's often literally in his dreams. A person he's worked with fluidly, fought with needlessly, drank with occasionally, and laughed with scarcely. He regrets that last bit now as well. They should have laughed more.
Each bit of grit embedding itself into his ravaged flesh is a painful reminder that he will never see that crooked toothed smile again. He will never see gray eyes light up with amusement and jest. He'll never see the spark of a cleverly formed retort sparkle in them just before his lips release it.
This is the worst way to die, slowly. Instant death, he realizes now, is better not because you escape physical pain, but because you escape emotional realizations. You escape self-reflection and regret. You escape the knowledge of the life you haven't lived and the choices you should have made.
He wishes he could focus on the pain, the downward thrust of a brick gripped in bloody hands. He wishes that it were his world. But all he can think about is Eames. With every strike, just Eames, his eyes, and a life he will never get a chance to live.