GENRE:  Inception, Fanfiction, Eames/Beatrice (Original Character)


SUMMARY: This happened because of Inception.  Eames takes on another job and gets entangled with his employer’s young wife.

They loved dirty and quick.

Eames and Beatrice.

His Sweet.

At first,  they did it only in the carefully constructed space of the dream.

They both pretended it made things less …messy, that the messiness wasn’t what made it better.

It began like this…

Eames owed Beatrice’s husband a substantial amount of money, a killing amount.  An international hotelier known as Harvey Benson. As good as Eames was at slipping about, the man’s reach was long.

When he was introduced to her –enchanting smile and naughty…no bra; can see the outlines of  her nipples,  lovely shade of brown and the size of coppers, thank god for translucent tees-,  he noted her fitness and smartly barely gave her a second glance.

Peripheral was plenty enough.

She was an obvious trophy, a chic little bird; trendy hair and clothing, model cute on the arm of a fat graying billionaire.

In return for forgetting his debt, Harvey needed his skill.

He wanted him to repeatedly Forge a Shade for an enemy of his until he created the desired paranoia and stupidity in the real world.

A real mindfuck.  It was dirty work, but then this was a dirty world.

The Mark would make bad business decisions and make Eame’s client all the more wealthy.

Eames sat in the man’s imposing office space, his shiny loafers propped up on his desk, absently walking a poker chip over his knuckles.

“I can, and will do it only if I get the agreement in writing.”

Benson didn’t even give the man the courtesy of eye contact. He leaned forward, acrid cigar smoke seeping out from the corners of his mouth and poked a shoe.

Eames finally looked up at the old’s man’s watery glare and got the message.

“-Right then,  let’s put on an air of pleasantries then, shall we?” His plump lips quirked darkly.

The billionaire stood as another man entered the room.  This one had a distinctive lawyerly look about him, basically an asshole in a suit.

The man set a suitcase on the desk and removed a contract.

On a yacht during a low-key black-tie get together, he was an attractive young blond woman.

The Mark was another aging billionaire,  slimmer,  slightly less gray but the same for all intents and purposes.  He approached and made small talk about the sea.  In the dream it was like glass,  so calm there was nary the tiniest ripple.

He escorted the Mark back to his cabin and excused himself to the restroom.

There, he studied the small photo and became it.  The Mark opened the door and screamed.

This routine continued for a time and with caution, as he never slipped in at the same time or space until the deed was done.  He worked with freelancers, so it was all very basic, but he didn’t need any more than that to drive the man mad.

…Just properly planned repetition.

On his fifth entrance,  he noticed she was there.  She looked different, but it was definitely her.  Still black, just a shade or two darker and slightly heavier.  Tried to pass herself off as a Projection but her actions were far too independent and purposeful.

…Something beyond the attack-mode.

She was there to steal something.

He watched her watch him make certain of his ignorance before she strode off down a corridor.

Down she went past fewer people as the space became increasingly narrow.

Ultimately, it became too small for her to go on in present form.  She became a little boy, red-haired and freckled.

Even then she still had to crawl.

In the end she could barely reach the crumpled up bit of paper.  But she did, unfurled it, and read what was there.

That done, she chewed it up, swallowed, and went back the way she came.

“Fancy seeing you here, darling.”  The little boy stared up at Eames and tried to feign indifference.

“-Sorry. Who?-”

“Do not try to lie. You’re not nearly as good at it as I am, in whatever form. …Though, I much prefer your real one. ”  He arched an eyebrow.

A flicker of annoyance passed through the boy’s expression.

Beatrice. -The old man’s man bird.  Are you really going to attempt to convince me that’s not who you are?

-That you weren’t just delving about in this man’s subconscious for something I am sure is just as juicy as you are?”

The boy remained still and silent.  In truth it was nothing more than the key to getting under this man’s skin, his “heart“. Nothing this thug needed to know.

Beatrice had spent her young life seducing billionaires.

She figured if she was going to waste her time sleeping with a bunch of frogs in pursuit of her prince that likely didn’t exist, she’d at least get lasting wealth out of it.

“Right.  They always have to be difficult.”  He scooped her up and pressed a small tab against her neck.

Her eyes drifted shut and she sagged in his arms, becoming the beautiful woman he’d only met in passing.

Beatrice was staring into her glass of champagne, watching bubbles trail up to the surface of the golden liquid.

Her husband was sitting across from her.

“Come on,  Sweet.  We have our own at home.”  He was using that patronizingly coaxing tone again.  Feed her, ply her with spirits and fuck her.  Oh, how she loathed this man.

He took her tiny hand into his own beefy mitt and…

She was standing in his master bedroom while he circled her like a hungry jackal.  He stood behind her and planted both hands on her small waist.  He could nearly fold them all the way around her.

His lips descended to her ear.

“Did you get it?”

She frowned.  “Get what?”

– Warms lips pressed against her jugular, one hand sweeping beneath her belly-button, the other teasing a shoulder-strap.

He should be on top of her by now, if not in her…

She was smart enough not to let the realization show.

“-Ah, yes.”  -What no one- least of all my husband sent me for, Mr. Eames.

“Where is it?” He said, dexterous fingers moving lower.

“Safe.”  She said, turning around to face him.

She could almost see the man peering from beneath this veneer.  She’d thought him ruggedly handsome, but obvious trouble.  The bad boy type she’d hoped she’d grown out of.  All boyish handsomeness, self-satisfied  condescension, and muscle.

…But whose dream was he inhabiting?

She tried an experiment and closed her eyes.  Reopening them, knowing who he was, he appeared as exactly that.

“Mr. Eames,  I presume?”

He tsked.

“Mmm,  too bad, I had hoped to get a little farther along before you caught on.”

She stepped further into his space and looked up at him.

“We’re still dreaming…”

Their nude exerted bodies tangled with the ruin of the bedspread.

Eames rolled onto to his back.


Beatrice stirred.

“Sated?”  She inquired groggily.

“Not nearly enough, love.” He said, peppering kisses along her shoulder. “Though, I haven’t forgotten your little excursion.”

She sighed.  “I won’t throw a wrench in your plans,  so don’t for my own.  We had fun. You don’t need to know what I took.”

He sat up and straddled her, pressing both of her wrists into the bed.  He stared at her as if he weren’t sure if he wanted to fuck her or hit her.

She simply smiled back.

She’d called him on his bluff.  “I don’t much care for being told what to do without payment.”

“And money is the only thing that will suffice-”

“-It has been awhile for you, hasn’t it? You know, I’m good.”  She said smugly, as she writhed beneath his already burgeoning hardness.

His grip tightened. “Don’t play. I need to know.”

She stared back into his eyes, seriously.  “Release my wrists.”

He did and she told him.

“I’m a gold-digger, just like you. I just need an extra tip of the odds in my favor.”

“…So it seems.” He said.

“I take it your Harvey Benson isn’t the open-relationship type.”

“No.  He gets very jealous, but technically this isn’t cheating, Mr. Eames.”

“Nothing wrong with a healthy fantasy life…”  he replied.

With a little maneuvering he was having another incredibly vivid wet dream.

The song filled his head.

He looked over at her, his eyes sweeping over her nude form,  finally resting on her open eyes as she looked back at him, smiling.

He was fucked.

She pushed a fortune cookie across the sheets into his hand.  He cracked it open and read.

He awoke in the corridor.

Where she still lay, no longer a boy.  He sat up and watched the Chemist kneel next to her sleeping form.

“..Interesting dream you seemed to be having.”  he said, pointedly, knowing exactly who this girl was.

“I was uncertain what you wished to do with her.”

“-She’s not in on the job, is she?”

He blinked up at him, at once suspicious and afraid. Yusuf prided himself on his ability to stay very much off-the-radar.   More notice meant more possible trouble.

Eames avoided the question. “Just give her the kick.  She’ll awaken where she is”

Yusuf pulled the syringe from his coat pocket and pressed it into her wrist.

“Okay. We’re nex-”

The job was done and they’d met where she’d said and then there after, often.

Dreaming their little dreams until that wasn’t enough.  …Not near enough.

Hyper-realistic and perfect as everything was, time got away far too easily, only to prove so very brief in reality.

Risky as it was, he needed the clumsiness, the messiness, the tangibility of coming together in the real world.

Perfection wasn’t what made these things worth having.

He was supposed to meet her in this dingy cafe.  And he was nowhere to be found.

She left money for the now ice cold cappuccino on the table and got up to leave.

As she past the bathroom entrance someone pulled her in, hand clapped over her mouth.

Shh, Sweet.”

She turned and shoved him.

You were supposed to meet me in the cafe!” she whispered, brusquely.

“Yes,  and you were supposed to make certain you weren’t being followed, he said, indicating the imposing bodyguards sitting in a booth across the cafe.  …Still, here I am.” He smiled smugly.

She dove onto his mouth,  full and pliant while his hand cupped her ass, lifting so her legs hooked his waist.  She gasped at the hardness nudging her sex.

He pulled and stretched the crotch on her panties, allowing more room to prepare her.

He propped her ass up on the sink and freed himself.

Both exhaled in relief when he was quickly, finally sheathed within her.

Few sounds after except the rhythmic rocking of the porcelain basin and the muffled grunt of his completion.

…Just sweat and fluids and gasps of exertion.

Dirty and quick, like he liked it.

Worth the risk, because he lived for it.


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