Fic: There's got to be a morning after - Chapter 8c American Boy

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There's got to be a morning after
Chapter 8c: American Boy

Master post of all chapters here.
Wordcount: 21,500


Chapter 8c: American Boy

"Check your ten 'o clock," Arthur says quietly as they enter the farmer's market.

Eames lowers his head as if to examine the cobblestones and glances in the direction Arthur indicated. There's a fruit stand piled high with oranges. Hidden poorly behind said pile is Tansy.

"Good lord," Eames mutters. "I thought we were done with this."

"Evidently not." Arthur pauses to browse a cheese stall. "What does she want?"

"I have no idea. She was the one who ended our last meeting." Every thirty seconds, Tansy's head pops up over the orange pile and down again. Her gaze is not directed at Eames.

"She's staring at me," Arthur says. "Why is she staring at me?"

"It likely has to do with some notion that you are the home-wrecker who destroyed any chance of happiness between me and her mother."

Arthur turns to give Eames a deeply unimpressed look. "Oh really."

Eames shrugs expansively. "Who knows from where young people conjure their fanciful theories?"

"Are you going to handle this? Because I don't want her following us home and hiding in the bushes."

"Must I?" Eames sighs. "Yes, alright. I'll go and see what she wants."

While Arthur continues perusing the cheese selections, Eames makes his way over to the orange stand and says, loudly, "My goodness, what a magnificent fountain. I believe I'm going to have a sit over there. By myself."

He pockets an orange and takes a seat on the rim of the fountain. He's halfway done peeling it when Tansy appears.

"Eames," she says, hovering awkwardly over him. "I wanted to apologize for how I ran off the other day. I'd built up such a huge fantasy of what you'd be like and I put that onto you, which I shouldn't have."

Eames lifts one shoulder in acknowledgment. "Why have you been hiding behind citrus and staring at Percy?"

She flushes. "I didn't intend-I simply saw you both and I thought-well, I was curious and I. I apologize."

Eames takes the first bite of his orange. It's tart, not as sweet as he expected, but rather juicy. "Very well."

"I'm leaving tomorrow," she says abruptly. "I'll be taking the Chunnel back to London first thing in the morning. You won't have to worry about me-popping up again."

"I see," Eames says, relief settling over him. "That's probably for the best."

Tansy takes a deep breath and straightens. "Why did you marry Chulda?"

And not my mother, is the unasked second half of the question. Eames considers a lie, but perhaps the truth would be easier to understand. Tansy is leaving anyway. "Chulda wished to become an English citizen. Enough to pay handsomely for it."

"Then you-" Tansy's eyes widen; not entirely dull-witted, then. "And that is why you live apart?"

"Correct."

"And Percy?"

"What about him?"

She glances over at where Arthur is negotiating with a vegetable seller, gesticulating at some produce. "Do you plan on returning to England?"

"Unless work requires me to, no."

"Then you enjoy it? Traveling and living abroad?"

"I don't enjoy England." Eames eats another slice of his orange.

"I see." She opens her purse and pulls out a rather worn pocket diary. This round, she is prepared. "When you were my age, you were attending university?"

"Yes."

"You studied Linguistics and Psychology?"

Eames takes a long look at her. "You spoke with your mother, didn't you?"

"Yes." Tansy flattens a crease in one of the pages of her diary. "I told her we'd met and she. She was finally willing to answer some of my questions."

"Then this is confirmation of what you already know."

"She can't tell me anything about what you did after you graduated. Other than that you were in the military and shipped out of the country."

"I joined the Special Air Service. As part of mandatory training, I was shipped to several remote locations. That was about the period in which I lost contact with your mother."

"And I was born." Tansy pauses. "Did you know about me?"

"No, not until a few months ago."

"Are there any others?"

"Other what?"

"Do you have any other children?"

"I don't know for certain but it's probable." Eames eats another piece of fruit. "I did any number of foolish things when I was younger. It's actually rather shocking worse things haven't happened with everything I got up to."

"But you came out alright in the end, didn't you?" Tansy sits forward with a sudden sense of urgency. "You're doing what you want to be-aren't you?"

"I-"

"Mum keeps telling me to study law and become a barrister, but I know she's only saying that because Ron's a barrister." Tansy rolls her eyes. "She never gave a fig about the law before he showed up. Now, it's the noblest calling anyone could aspire to."

Eames blinks. "And you want to-"

"I haven't the foggiest. I tried art and was wretched at it. I tried dance and was worse. I thought biomedical sciences would allow me to change the world and help humanity, but thus far all they've succeeded in doing is putting me to sleep. What I need is-what I want to know is what you've done. What you suggest."

Eames stares at her flushed face and realizes, abruptly, that this is what she's been chasing after. Not him-but an identity. Clarity. A truth he couldn't provide even if he wanted to. It's a relief and yet-somehow disappointing.

"You already know what I studied in university."

"And that's what you decided to do with your life?" she asks, hopeful.

"I stumble from project to project," Eames says. "It is only in hindsight that any progress appears."

This isn't the answer she craves, that much is clear. He feels the faintest twinge of regret, and wonders how much more difficult disappointing her might be if he'd raised her. Loved her.

"That's all you have to say?" she asks, hope fading. "I came out here for you to tell me that hindsight is the only truth?"

"The truth is that there is no truth. Nobody bloody knows what they're doing-certainly not me. We all muddle along, waiting for answers that never appear. Until one day you wake up, realize you're forty, and have somehow grown more accustomed to not knowing."

"You can't be serious." Tansy stares at him in horror. "You are serious."

"It's-"

"No, I don't believe you. What do you know, anyway? You're just another man going through a midlife crisis by cheating on his wife with someone half his age."

"Half my-" Eames stops. "What in the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't act like you don't know," she says. "Percy's practically my age."

"Percy is thirty-three," Eames says, bewildered.

"Thirty-three?" Now it's her turn to be flummoxed. "Really?"

"He wears his years exceedingly well," Eames acknowledges. "But believe me, I've absolutely no interest in anyone your age."

Her nostrils flare much the same way her mother's used to when she was irritated with Eames. "That much is obvious."

He finishes the last of his orange and crumples the fragrant peel in his palm. "Is there anything else you want from me?"

"If Percy is-" She glances across the plaza at Arthur, who is in the process of buying an apple fruit tart (Eames' favorite). "Does he know about your wife?"

"Yes."

"And about me?"

"Would be rather difficult to conceal you at this point, wouldn't it?"

"And he doesn't mind?"

"Should he?"

Tansy's hands ball up into fists in her lap. "You're impossible."

"It runs in my side of the family." Eames raises an eyebrow. "I'm certain your mother would agree."

For a long minute, she teeters on the edge of annoyance and what will likely be a bout of angry shouting. At the last moment, however, she ducks her head and snorts. "Yes, I expect she would. I suppose it's good to know where I get it from now."

Eames smiles faintly. "You descend from a long line of detestable aristocrats. Such things can hardly be helped."

"What were your parents like?"

"Miserable. Alcoholic. To say my father was a idle layabout would be an insult to idle layabouts."

"I see." Tansy pauses to think, and then asks, "Can I meet Percy?"

That catches Eames off-guard. "What? Why?"

"He seems like a decent sort." She pitches her voice a bit lower. "And he's very good-looking. Especially for a man his age."

"A man his age," Eames repeats. "And what do you think I-"

"He's right over there, I can wave." She leans over to wave wildly at Arthur. "Percy! Percy!"

"What are you-stop that," Eames says, shaking his head sharply when Arthur glances over. "No, you may not meet Percy. You're making a scene."

"But-"

"My mother, your grandmother. You can-I will tell her about you. And if you'd like, you can go to meet her on the estate where I grew up."

That recaptures Tansy's attention, finally. "My grandparents are alive?"

"Your grandmother is. Barely. She spends most of her waking hours intoxicated, so I wouldn't count on much scintillating conversation. Also, she's not fond of immigrants-"

"Your old estate-is that in Scotland?" Tansy says, clearly not listening. "Could I go to visit her there?"

"If she wants to meet you, I suppose-"

"I've never been to Scotland before. I'll have to pack and make preparations." She puts away her diary and pulls out her mobile. "What's her number? I'll ring her right now. And shall I call her gran or nana or-"

"Do not call her gran or nana," he replies. "And put away your phone. I have to speak with her first. If you stomp onto her estate without warning, she may take you to be an intruder and shoot you. Alternatively, you may simply frighten her into a decline."

"Send me her information and I will introduce myself before I arrive." Tansy's face is set in a determined expression that reminds Eames so much of Bittu it's startling.

"If she agrees."

"You have my email address and contact information." Tansy stands, as if oblivious to the possibility that she might not get what she wants. "I'll expect to hear from you soon."

"Mm," Eames says in a noncommittal acknowledgement.

He stands as well, ready to take his leave when Tansy moves in, arms outstretched. Eames steps back, startled, and she drops her left arm to her side, right hand swinging round to the front in an awkward attempt at a handshake. This, too, fails when she reaches to find that his hand is holding a pile of orange peel.

"Er," she says as Eames stares at her. "Cheers then. Cheerio. Toodle pip."

Tansy backs away with an awkward wave, nearly collides with an elderly woman, and finally disappears into the crowd.

"Did she say 'toodle pip?'" Arthur says, appearing beside Eames.

"I believe she did."

"Are you really going to introduce her to your mother?"

"If it'll get her off my back, yes. My mother hasn't much of the advice that Tansy seems to be searching for, but she has been significantly less horrid ever since my father died."

"Guess it'll give Tansy someone new to terrorize, huh?" Arthur smiles and then holds up a cardboard box. "By the way, I picked up an apple tart. Managed to get thirty percent off."

"If I had a tail, it'd be wagging right now," Eames says absently as he peers into the box.

Arthur chuckles as he touches the small of Eames' back. "Let's get out of here."

* * * * *

Eames hasn't set foot on the grounds of his alma mater in years-decades, even. Dreadful to realize he's decades removed from anything.

The dream's surroundings are drawn from his memories. University College London is likely quite different topside, but here it's frozen in the years of his attendance. The projections milling about are dressed in that era's fashion; regrettable colors and trends and hairstyles abound.

Eames catches sight of his reflection in a window and it's a striking recreation of the man-boy-in Tansy's photo. Handsome, clean-shaven, with sharp cheekbones above full red lips. A veritable Ganymede, the picture of youthful temptation itself.

Pleased with what he sees, Eames strolls through the campus. Men send him envious, assessing glances, while women twirl their hair and blush.

In one corner of the green, there are people picnicking. In another, a gaggle of female students surround a well-dressed professor-an older gentleman, and rather charismatic if the giggles and rapt adoration are any indication. Everywhere, there are projections chatting, wandering from building to building. Arthur is nowhere to be found.

Eames pauses in a second scan over the green, movement in his peripheral vision. The professor is turning, walking away from his worshipful students. Eames' breath catches.

Arthur's hair is a silvery grey, flecked with white. Combined with his boyish face, the effect is startling, jarringly beautiful. He looks not so much his age as ageless.

Arthur meets Eames' gaze and blinks, visibly taken aback as Eames levels his most confident, knowing stare.

Eames feels the years slipping away as he approaches Arthur, the eager sexuality of his twenties returning, the desire to consume everything, experience all. And of course, beneath that, the carefully hidden desire for approval and validation. Although upon reflection, perhaps not quite as well-hidden as he'd have liked to believe.

Arthur matches Eames' stare not with heat but with a thoughtful curiosity. No matter. That will change soon enough. It always does.

Eames feels a shiver of anticipatory pleasure as he sidles up to the lovely new visiting lecturer he's going to devour. "Hello."

"Hello, my name's Percy. I'm supposed to be getting a tour from one of the students-do you know anything about that?"

"Yes, that's me. My name is Miller." Eames holds out his hand to shake. Percy's grip is strong, palm cool and dry. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting long."

"No, I've been admiring the scenery." Percy adjusts his tortoiseshell glasses-which do little to mask how gorgeous and young he is-as he glances around. "This isn’t exactly what I was expecting."

Eames steps closer to Percy-a hair improper for such new acquaintanceship, and notes that Percy doesn't back away. "What were you expecting?"

"I don't know." Percy looks at Eames, but once again, it's not a lustful look. "Maybe it was silly to have expectations in the first place."

Slightly unsettled by Percy's scrutiny, Eames gestures at a footpath before them. "Shall I tell you about the history of this university?"

"Sure," Percy replies as they fall into step together.

"We're standing in the University College London Quad, which was originally founded in 1826 as a secular alternative to the religious universities of Oxford and Cambridge," Eames says. A tedious piece of trivia he had to memorize in order to do these tours, mostly for American visitors who aren't aware England has any universities besides Oxbridge. "So it's rather old."

Percy chuckles. "Like a lot of things in England, I'm guessing."

"Indeed."

"You're a third year student, aren't you?" At Eames' nod, Percy continues, "What was it that brought you here? That made you decide to enroll at this particular school, I mean."

"I could say something about the storied history of the institution or the fine teachers, but it was the chance to live in London, really."

"Did you grow up somewhere else?"

"My parents had an estate in the Scottish countryside where we'd spend our summers, and I was sent to a boarding school in England when I was quite young. Went through several schools in different locations before I enrolled here."

"Is that normal? Going to a bunch of different boarding schools before coming to university?"

There's a shrewdness to Percy's expression that surprises Eames. Perhaps Eames had underestimated the pretty American. "It's not-precisely the norm."

"You were a little troublemaker growing up, huh?" Percy's smiling as if he'd discovered a secret.

"Do you disapprove, Percy?" Eames asks, relishing the forwardness of using a lecturer's first name. "Do you prefer a classroom full of quiet model students?"

"I preferred engaged students to quiet ones," Percy says. "Sometimes the troublemakers are the most engaged of all-they just need someone to remind them of their place."

Eames swallows, mouth drying up. "That's a rather bold philosophy, isn't it? One might have to take rather strong measures to enforce such discipline."

"I think that given the right incentives, students could come to appreciate discipline. Maybe even enjoy it."

Eames keeps his eyes straight ahead of him. Percy hadn't yet said anything that couldn't be interpreted in a perfectly innocent way. And yet. "I see."

"Do you like it here?"

"It suits me well enough." Eames walks a bit closer to Percy. "I'm not a lecturer, though. I couldn't tell you how the experience is from the other side of the classroom."

"Do you like what you're studying?"

"I don't hate it. You have an awful lot of questions about me." Eames lowers his eyelashes. "I haven't told you very much about the university yet."

"I think learning about the student body is a good way to judge a university, don't you?"

"Is that what you're concerned with?" Eames drifts deliberately to the right, the back of his hand brushing against Percy's. "A deeper examination of student bodies?"

"Only if I feel that they're representative of the school," Percy replies coolly, seemingly unaffected by Eames' proximity. "I wouldn't want to waste my time."

Eames feels a surge of desire run through him, shuddery and warm. Any other student-or lecturer-would be falling over themselves to suck his cock. But this Percy, this American-he appears only mildly interested, if at all. It's maddening.

"Yes, I'd imagine you have a rather full schedule." Eames gestures at a doorway nearby. "Would you like a tour of one of the buildings?"

"Yeah. Maybe we could go someplace quieter."

They step through a doorway into a structure that's not an exact replica of any campus building, but an amalgam of all of them. There are long corridors, bright rectangular windows, and endless staircases ending in various private nooks. Eames leads Percy through the building, pointing out a classroom here or an architectural feature there.

They make their way up a narrow, winding staircase to the highest point in the building and, by extension, the highest point on campus. The room the staircase brings them to isn't particularly impressive-dusty, cramped, a bit moldy-but the windows provide an unobstructed view of the entire university below them.

"Wow," Percy says, seeming truly impressed for the first time as he peers out at the green below them. "This is incredible."

"It's my favorite spot," Eames says as he watches Percy crane his head this way and that to take in the scenery. "No one else ever bothers to come up here. I have it all to myself."

"Now it's our secret, huh?" Percy smiles, and the sight of it makes Eames want to sink to his knees.

Eames approaches Percy, no longer bothering to mask his own hunger. "You aren't going to tell anyone about this, are you?"

"If anyone asks, I'll say I had a knowledgeable and informed tour guide." Percy allows Eames to crowd him, to stop short of touching though they're close enough to share breaths.

"Is that all?" Eames noses along Percy's jaw-still not touching, not yet-and gazes up at him.

Percy trails a single finger down Eames' spine, coming to rest directly above the curve of his arse. "I'd like to say that my guide made me feel welcome at the university, but I'm afraid that's not true yet."

"No?" Eames breathes, heady with Percy's smell, his confident touch. "What can I do to remedy this situation?"

"I think if you applied yourself…" Percy drags his hand up and brings it round to press a thumb against Eames' lower lip. "A little discipline could go a long way."

Eames purses his lips round Percy's thumb and licks the tip. "Do you think I'm going to enjoy this?"

Eames kneels, Percy's hand comes to rest on the back of his head. Eames is already salivating, dick hardening in his trousers. "I think you should stop asking questions and start concentrating on doing what you're told."

Eames inhales shakily, fingers fumbling to take hold of Percy's cock. It's mostly soft, but long and beautiful, thrilling to behold. Eames places eager kisses all round the base, rubs his cheek against it eagerly, and feels it plump as he takes Percy's bollocks in his mouth. As he sucks, he reaches down with one hand to fumble his own trousers open, cock straining painfully.

"Focus," Percy says, hand moving from the back of Eames' neck to cup his jaw. "I know you can."

Eames pulls off to stare up at Percy imploringly. "I won't be distracted, I promise. I-"

"Focus or we'll stop," Percy says, voice too deadly calm to be a bluff.

Eames releases his own cock reluctantly, and brings both hands up to stroke Percy's inner thighs.

"Very good," Percy says with a faint smile and Eames feels a surge of pleasure zip through his body.

Eames begins to nuzzle at Percy's half-hard dick again, rubbing it against his nose, his chin, his mouth. Percy watches languorously, allowing him to do as he pleases without reproach.

Eames puts the head between his lips and tongues the underside, fascinated with the novelty of a circumcised cock, reveling in the approving way Percy hums above him. Eames takes the entire length into his mouth and feels it stiffen, reach the back of his throat. He closes his eyes and savors the fullness of it, the way it seems to only barely fit.

"There we are," Percy murmurs, stroking Eames' hair back from his eyes with an indulgent expression. "Doesn't that feel good?"

Eames pulls off to nod, nearly shy. His own cock is heavy and wet with precome against his thigh, but it's a triviality, a minor distraction. It's nothing compared to the way Percy is smiling at him.

"You're doing well," Percy says as Eames sucks him, holds until he has to pull off again for air.

Eames bobs up and down, eyes fixed on Percy's face. Percy returns the gaze with hooded eyes, voicing low encouragement that makes Eames squirm in pleasure.

Percy comes and Eames swallows with a sense of deep satisfaction. He suckles until every last drop is gone and then rests his forehead against the cradle of Percy's hip.

"You did very well," Percy says as he tilts Eames' head up. Eames hurriedly rises to his feet in order to bask in Percy's attention. "You were focused and disciplined for me, weren't you?"

"Yes," Eames whispers, wanting nothing more than for Percy's tender caresses to continue.

"You've been patient." Percy presses a chaste kiss to Eames' mouth. "Now you can focus on yourself for me."

Eames has barely wrapped a hand round his own cock before he's come, harder than he can remember doing in ages. He's practically shaking with it, clinging to Percy, who soothes and murmurs soft praise. When Eames is finished, he feels wrung out and sleepy, savoring the afterglow as a part of him surfaces from the role, tenses up in realization of what they-he's--done.

When they wake from the dream, Eames braces himself for teasing and humiliation, or at the very least, severe awkwardness. He avoids Arthur's eyes as he removes his IV and prepares to slip out of the room as quickly as possible.

"Hey," Arthur says, catching Eames' elbow before he can flee. "That was fun."

"Oh?" Eames does his best to affect nonchalance. "Yes, I suppose that wasn't terrible. You appeared to enjoy yourself."

"I did. Is that what you were really like when you were young?"

Eames half-shrugs. "Yes."

"No wonder you're used to getting what you want." Arthur rests a palm lightly on the center of Eames' chest. "You've been worshiped your whole life."

"I used to be." Eames means to make a joke. Words nowhere near funny slip out instead. "Obviously, I don't look quite the same anymore."

"No, you don't." Arthur studies Eames' face, gaze frank and unsympathetic. "I like you better now, though."

"There's no call to lie-"

"Eames--"

"We could do more in dreams." Eames smooths down the front of Arthur's shirt, thin over the firm lines of his torso. "It's not a difficult forge to maintain. And I could roleplay or-or act as myself, as I am now. If you'd prefer."

"I don't need more dreams," Arthur says. "I like this body. It's a reflection of you. Of who you are today."

"Middle-aged with a gut-"

"A man who knows who he is." Arthur kisses the corner of Eames' jaw. "A man that's lived the hell out of his forty-something years."

Eames touches Arthur's slicked-down hair, dark once more. "And your hair?"

Arthur's voice is low, slightly muffled. "I haven't worn it like that in almost a decade. Not since I left the military."

"It's gorgeous." Eames kisses the top of Arthur's head. "As soon as I saw you, I wanted to fall straight to my knees."

Arthur chuckles, some of the tightness in his neck easing. "Is that right?"

"I had no idea you were a silver fox masquerading behind a lamb's face," Eames teases. "I'd certainly have enjoyed my classes more if any of my lecturers looked like you."

"Would you have stuck around after class for extra credit?" Arthur grins as he presses his mouth to Eames. "Arranged some one-on-one tutoring?"

"Absolutely." Eames kisses one of Arthur's dark eyebrows and pictures it grey. Pictures Arthur, the way he truly is.



Poll There's Got to be a Morning After Chapter 8: American Boy

Next: Chapter 9: Hound Dog
Fabulous art for the chapter by motetus here!