yeah so guess what I saw recently
Jan. 3rd, 2012 06:07 pmTitle: A Love Song of Fight Or Flight
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
For
paxlux (because she asked, though tbh it was going to be for her anyway ♥)
*
A Love Song of Fight Or Flight
He's a kick to the chest.
You're only truly alive when there's danger singing in your veins,
arias of adrenaline,
and he threat-sparks your thunderclap heartbeat with a gun report smile
that shoots you right between the eyes.
The whole point to living, you've learned,
is so he can kill you.
(And death doesn't feel right unless it's by his hand.)
He's a knife to the throat.
No one still living knew your weaknesses.
You had no blind spots. You had perfect defenses none could breach,
then you let him through.
You looked away and he slid shiv-sharp right between your ribs.
Now you're spread out, arms open come-get-me wide,
presenting yourself like an offering of pressure points
for him to bruise beneath his hands.
He's a blow to the head,
a fist to the teeth.
His lips pressed to your skin hit like a punch in the gut
until three whispered words
go pop-pop-pop
and shatter your sternum;
you'd never even felt the press of metal concealed by tongue and teeth.
You help him steady his aim, tell him to fire again, again,
already craving the taste of more blood in the back of your mouth.
He's a kick to the chest, and you're falling.
He's a kick to your chest,
and you fall,
and you fall,
and you
*
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
For
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
*
A Love Song of Fight Or Flight
He's a kick to the chest.
You're only truly alive when there's danger singing in your veins,
arias of adrenaline,
and he threat-sparks your thunderclap heartbeat with a gun report smile
that shoots you right between the eyes.
The whole point to living, you've learned,
is so he can kill you.
(And death doesn't feel right unless it's by his hand.)
He's a knife to the throat.
No one still living knew your weaknesses.
You had no blind spots. You had perfect defenses none could breach,
then you let him through.
You looked away and he slid shiv-sharp right between your ribs.
Now you're spread out, arms open come-get-me wide,
presenting yourself like an offering of pressure points
for him to bruise beneath his hands.
He's a blow to the head,
a fist to the teeth.
His lips pressed to your skin hit like a punch in the gut
until three whispered words
go pop-pop-pop
and shatter your sternum;
you'd never even felt the press of metal concealed by tongue and teeth.
You help him steady his aim, tell him to fire again, again,
already craving the taste of more blood in the back of your mouth.
He's a kick to the chest, and you're falling.
He's a kick to your chest,
and you fall,
and you fall,
and you
*