FIC: Carve Your Name Into My Arm (Instead of Stressed I Lie Here Charmed) 2/4
MASTER POST
See part one for warnings etc.
Word Count for part two: ~3900
A/N: W00t, thanks so much for your comments, everyone, I love you! You are awesome! :) Also, this is going to be longer than I thought, so there's at least one more part to come. WHICH MEANS THIS IS STILL A WIP HOW HORRIBLE OF ME I KNOW, SORRY... ♥
Anyway, here's part two, in which Arthur is difficult and Eames is sexually frustrated concerned. There is also weed, another reference to Placebo, and a conversation that might or might not have anything to do with Shakespeare. IDK.
*
They hadn't exactly talked about how they were going to act from then on, which meant that they didn't have a plan, or at least that's what Eames had thought. Turned out, he just hadn't been handed the script.
Arthur kept coming and going as he pleased, appearing at Eames' side without warning and leaving just as deftly once he deemed they'd made enough of a public appearance together. Eames kept seeing him in the corridors, in class, but Arthur had been excellent at avoiding getting caught alone by Eames, if that's indeed what he was doing.
Eames wasn't sure how he felt about it all, the way Arthur just appeared at Eames' side at times, casually fitting their hands together and talking about things like art or algebra or aliens -- something beginning with an 'a', anyway, and possibly some other letters. Eames wasn't entirely sure; sometimes he got distracted by watching Arthur's mouth move and forgot to listen.
Which made him a shitty pretend boyfriend, he thought, watching Arthur get lost in the flow of students.
"You," Yusuf said, appearing at Eames' side like he'd been taking lessons from Arthur, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You've been keeping secrets from me, my friend."
"What are you talking about?" Eames asked, tearing his eyes away from where Arthur had been just moments ago, blinking at Yusuf in confusion.
"I'm talking about Arthur, dude," Yusuf said, shaking his head sadly. "It hurts me deep inside that you'd lie to me like this."
"You know about --"
"Of course I do!" Yusuf said, throwing his hands up and consequently knocking some papers loose from the file he was carrying. He made a dismayed sound, crouching down to pick them up before they got kicked to the other side of the school by the students walking by. Eames stooped down to help him.
"The whole school knows by now," Yusuf said, staring disapprovingly at the papers he'd scrounged up as though they'd personally disappointed him. Or maybe that look was meant for Eames, who knew. "It's not like you've made an effort to keep it secret, now is it?"
"It's not --"
"Not from anyone but me, anyway," Yusuf continued, stuffing the papers back into the file. "I get a little distracted for a couple of days, and you go ahead and act on your little crush without consulting me first."
"It's not --" Eames started to say again, then blinked. "Wait, what? My what?"
"Your crush. What, you think I hadn't noticed you mooning over the most recent school celebrity? Especially after you told me -- with very little detail, I might add -- that he'd, how should I say, intercepted you in the hallway?"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it, you're very observant and shit," Eames said, rolling his eyes. "And you can't blame me for not keeping you in the loop -- you haven't just been 'distracted', you've been practically living at the chem labs. You didn't even come back to the dorm last night!"
"Really, now," Yusuf started to defend himself, but Eames wasn't going to take it.
"I didn't know they allowed students to have overnight lab parties," he said.
"Well," Yusuf said, looking shifty. "Technically --"
"Right," Eames said, shaking his head in amusement. "Say no more."
"Ah, details," Yusuf said, waving his hand grandly. "So, about Arthur, then..."
Yusuf obviously didn't feel like allowing himself to be distracted. Eames tilted his head back, sighing.
"Fine. Just, let's get out of the corridor first," he said.
"Ooh, I sense a juicy confession ahead," Yusuf said gleefully.
"I wonder about you sometimes," Eames said weakly, following Yusuf into a deserted bathroom.
"I've told you not to go through my bookmarks," Yusuf pointed out. "It's obviously not good for you."
"Your addiction to gossip sites, creepy as it is, wasn't actually what I meant."
"You only wish you were as awesome as me," Yusuf said, checking the stalls for good measure. His face scrunched up a little. "As awesome as I?"
"Don't look at me, mate, I can barely stay awake in English."
"Details, details, never mind," Yusuf said, seemingly more to himself than Eames. "Okay, shoot."
Eames scratched the back of his head, not sure where to start.
"Oh, wait," Yusuf said, rummaging around in his bag. "The new patch came out pretty well, wanna test it?"
Eames looked from Yusuf to the offered joint, feeling a slightly hysterical laughter bubbling inside him.
"Yeah," he said, "why the hell not."
If he was going to spend his free period talking about how his pretend boyfriend only pretended to like him and how it was totally screwing him up inside, instead of studying like he was supposed to... well, being high during the conversation really couldn't hurt.
How did that song go... a friend in need's a friend indeed...
"A friend with weed is better," Yusuf finished with a smug smile. Eames looked at him, startled. He had to be more out of it than he'd thought if he was starting to speak out loud without noticing. He gave Yusuf a wane but sincere smile.
"So," Yusuf said, lighting up. "Tell me about it."
Eames did.
-
"You smell like pot," Arthur said, tucking his hand in the crook of Eames' elbow.
"And hello to you, too, darling," Eames said, smiling sunnily. Arthur glared a little but didn't comment on it.
"Where did you get your hands on weed anyway," Arthur said, ignoring Eames' greeting. "I wouldn't have pegged you for the type to get high during school."
"'Cause I'm such a good boy?" Eames asked curiously, finding the idea amusing.
"No," Arthur said, looking Eames slowly up and down, considering. "Not that. But you're quite good at... pretending."
Eames smirked, tugging Arthur a little closer. "Wanna see me pretend a little more? Yeah?" He kissed the corner of Arthur's mouth, a reverse image from their first day 'together'. Arthur's eyelids fluttered. Eames couldn't read his expression at all.
"Perhaps this isn't the place or the time," Arthur said. They were in the middle of a hallway, the other students throwing curious looks their way.
"I thought you wanted to be Mr. PDA about this whole thing," Eames said, nuzzling Arthur's jaw.
"Don't be an ass, Eames," Arthur said, twisting away a little.
"Pot, kettle," Eames said, backing Arthur against the wall of the corridor. Arthur narrowed his eyes. Using Eames' bulk to disguise what he was doing, he slid his hand down to cup Eames' crotch, squeezing a little. Eames squeaked.
"We," Arthur said, "are going to head to our respective classes, and in the future there will be no molesting in the hallways. Are we clear?"
"No need for cruelty, pet," Eames said, hissing a little as Arthur raised a demanding eyebrow and tugged. "Yes, we're clear, Jesus."
Arthur let him go, and Eames couldn't help but take a wary step back, making room between them. Arthur cut a look to the side, adjusting his shoulder bag.
"Look, you have drama club today, right?" At Eames reluctant nod, he said, "I'll meet you at the auditorium when you're done. Okay?"
"Yeah, sure." Eames agreed, easily enough. "I would appreciate it if you'd leave my balls out of it the next time you feel like making a point, though."
He couldn't tell if the twist of Arthur's mouth was a frown or a smirk.
"I'll keep that in mind," Arthur said. He seemed to hesitate for a split second, then gave Eames a peck on the cheek before slipping away into the stream of students. Eames stared after him, feeling awkward and not entirely sure what had just happened.
He was getting hungry, too. His life was so hard.
-
"Hey," said Ariadne, standing to the side of the stage with Eames. "Isn't that -- that's Arthur."
"What?" Eames said, distracted by trying to remember his lines.
"Arthur," Ariadne said, nodding towards the ascending seats. "You know, your boyfriend?"
Eames coughed to cover up the fact that he'd almost managed to choke on air. He turned to look where she'd indicated and, yes, there was Arthur alright, his arms folded on the back of the chair in front of him. Arthur lifted a hand in a lazy wave when he noticed Eames looking. Eames returned the gesture weakly.
"Yeah," Eames said belatedly. "How'd you even --"
"Please," Ariadne said, laughing. "Even if I wasn't his lab partner, well, everyone must know by now, right? You haven't exactly been subtle."
Apparently Yusuf had been right about that much, at least.
"I guess not," he said. Then he frowned. "I didn't know you two actually knew each other."
"We share some classes," Ariadne shrugged. "We get along, but it's not like we're hanging out after school or anything."
"Well," Eames said, floundering a little. "Now I know."
"Wait," Ariadne said, holding up a hand. "I should have been totally insulted that you two haven't been talking about me, right? Way to boost a girl's self-confidence, buster."
"As marvelous as you are, Ariadne, my dear," Eames said, taking her hands in his, "you're barking up the wrong tree if you think I'll waste my time talking about you when I'm with Arthur. Or talking about anything at all, for that matter," he added, waggling his eyebrows.
"Ha!" Ariadne exclaimed, delighted, taking her hand from his so she could to punch him in the shoulder. As far as shows of camaraderie went, it was a bit painful. "Tell me more," she demanded.
"Uhh, no, I know what's best for my health, thanks," Eames shook his head, rubbing the spot where she'd punched him.
"Aw," Ariadne said, pouting. She looked up towards Arthur again and waved at him a little, smiling again. "I think it's totally cute that he came to see your pathetic attempts at acting, though."
"Oh, excuse me, Ms. Broadway," Eames said, rolling his eyes.
"You're excused," Ariadne said in a haughty manner, her eyes filled with mirth.
Needless to say, Eames had trouble concentrating on his acting for the rest of the rehearsal. Not only was Arthur there, watching, but Ariadne's knowing looks and 'helpful' comments were, in fact, extremely unhelpful. Eames didn't know why he liked her, really; she was a menace.
-
"Shakespeare, huh?" Arthur asked as Eames jogged up to him after the practice had wrapped up for the day.
"What, you don't approve? Have something against Midsummer Night's Dream?"
"Not what I said."
"You like his tragedies better?" Eames said, raising his eyebrows. "Figures. What's your favorite, then?"
"Maybe I don't care for Shakespeare, period." Arthur challenged.
"Please, I bet you're a closeted little literary geek," Eames scoffed. "So, King Lear? Othello? The Winter's Tale?"
"The Winter's Tale isn't a tragedy," Arthur pointed out.
"Right you are." Eames said with a smug grin. "So what is it -- Hamlet? Romeo and Juliet? Come on, you can tell me."
"I suppose you prefer his comedies, then?" Arthur said, deflecting. Eames decided he could be gracious and agree to change the subject, just this once.
"Not particularly," he said, shrugging, then slanted a look at Arthur. "Though maybe I have been warming up to The Taming of the Shrew, of late."
"I would hope, for your sake," Arthur said, raising an eyebrow skeptically, "that you're not trying to imply anything with that."
"No, of course not," Eames said quickly. "Our affair, such as it is, is barely Shakespearian at all. Not enough fairies, for one." Or true love, for that matter. Though it was possible that their story might turn into a tragedy yet, Eames thought.
Arthur slowly shook his head at him and stood up. "I'd comment on that, but I fear it would just feed into your fantasy about me secretly being a literature geek. Besides, we have places to be, come on."
"Where are we going?" Eames asked, following Arthur out of the auditorium.
"My room," Arthur said shortly.
"Yeah?" Eames asked, hesitant, telling himself not to get any ideas. Well, any more ideas. "How come?"
Arthur looked at him over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "I thought making out was one of your requirements," he said. "If you've changed your mind on that, I'd appreciate the update."
"Gnh," Eames said intelligently. "I mean, no. I haven't. Changed my mind, that is."
"Okay, then," Arthur said, amused, and led him to the dormitories. Eames had zero objections, at least when it came to the making out. How Arthur had scored a single room, however, was another matter.
"It's just luck," Arthur said between kisses. "I arrived in the middle of the year, everyone else already had a roommate, and voilà."
"It's still, mnh," Eames said. "It's still dreadfully unfair."
"My heart weeps for you," Arthur said, sounding long-suffering. "Do you want to talk or do you want to make out? Because you can only have one of those."
"Make out, definitely make out." Eames said, because when Arthur had a point, he had a point.
"Then I suggest," Arthur said, pushing him down on the bed and climbing over him, straddling his hips, "that you go ahead and shut up."
"Shutting up," Eames said, turned on beyond belief. "Starting right now."
"I'm still not sleeping with you," Arthur said, leaning close, his breath tickling Eames' lips. "So don't get any ideas."
Eames shook his head emphatically. Arthur snorted, but finally kissed him again. He didn't complain about Eames' roaming hands, either.
Fifteen minutes later found Eames standing in the hall, having just been evicted from Arthur's room. Apparently they'd reached the make out quota for the day, or something. Despite getting kicked out and left to deal with his sexual frustration on his own, Eames was giddy enough from being allowed into Arthur's room in the first place that he couldn't bring himself to mind. Much.
-
They hung out more often after that, as though they'd reached some sort of unspoken agreement. Overall, Eames became quite comfortable in his role as Arthur's pretend boyfriend over the next couple of weeks. Maybe too comfortable.
The thing was, even if he ignored the fact that he was falling for a guy who was using him, Eames was beginning to suspect that he'd hit a little too close to the mark in thinking that Arthur was maybe a bit screwed up. There were some things about Arthur that made him wonder, like the way he deflected and got defensive about certain things. The general attitude he had towards the world, defiantly uncaring. His recklessness, simmering just beneath the calm veneer he usually projected. Mostly, it was the way he tasted like alcohol sometimes, often, even during school hours.
And maybe Eames didn't have any claim on Arthur's well being, and not exactly being a straight arrow himself it felt hypocritical to point out that maybe walking around school under the influence wasn't such a great idea, but he couldn't deny that, over invested as he was, he was getting a bit worried. It wasn't his place to confront Arthur about it, but he'd never been all that good at staying in his place. Which, predictably, led to their first fight, which, incidentally, took place in the same spot as their first real kiss: out in the school grounds, behind the shed.
"What are you, my mom?" Arthur asked when Eames brought up his drinking, his mouth twisting like he found his own words both hilarious and devastating. "You're not my boyfriend, so back off."
Well, Eames thought; saw that one coming.
"I'm just saying," he said, insistent, "if there isn't a problem, why would you take the risk of getting drunk during school?"
"Says the guy who gets high and then goes to class," Arthur said mockingly. Strike two.
"That's only happened a couple of times," Eames pointed out, trying to keep on track because it wasn't like he hadn't seen this coming. "You drink way more regularly than that. What happens if you get caught? Or do you even care -- is this why you got transferred in the first place?"
Arthur smiled, but it wasn't a nice sort of smile. He stepped forward and pushed Eames against the brick wall of the shed, his palm flat against Eames' sternum.
"First of all," Arthur said, still with that sharp, unpleasant smile, "if I had gotten kicked out for drinking, don't you think there'd be a note in my records? If that was the case, someone might have been paying closer attention and noticed by now, no?"
Point, Eames thought, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Arthur increased the pressure against his sternum in warning.
"Second," he said, staring at Eames coolly, "what I do with my life is none of your business. If you think you have some sort of right to it because you've had your tongue down my throat, you've got another thing coming, capiche?"
At Eames silent nod, he dropped his hand and took a step back. He was still staring at Eames though, steady and flat, obviously not done yet.
"Third," he said, "let me repeat; I'm not your boyfriend; we're barely even friends. If you can't get that straight, then maybe we shouldn't hang out anymore."
"You mean, pretend to hang out," Eames said, his mouth twisting into a frown.
"Whatever," Arthur said, his lips pressed into a thin line. "This was obviously a mistake."
He picked his bag off the ground and started walking away. Eames swallowed, stepping away from the wall.
"Yeah," he called after him. "Go ahead, give up."
Arthur didn't turn around. Eames felt a moment of panic, which quickly gave in to anger.
"Coward," he said, half expecting Arthur to ignore him, but evidently he'd hit a nerve, if the way Arthur spun around was any indication. He stalked back to Eames, throwing his bag to the ground and pushing at Eames aggressively, forcing him to take a step back.
"Watch your mouth," he snapped. The look in his eyes was furious, no trace of the ice from before.
"Just saying it like I see it, darling," Eames said, something ugly curling around his insides. "This whole thing was your idea to begin with, but at the first hint that things aren't going according to your plan, you bail out. What would you call it?"
"Why do you even care? You didn't want this in the first place!" Arthur snapped.
"You're such a delight to be around, I can't imagine why that might be," Eames snapped back.
Arthur took a step back -- Eames couldn't tell whether it was because he felt like he'd been slapped, or because he was trying not to resort to violence. Maybe both. Just then, Eames didn't even care.
"Like you're such a prize yourself," Arthur said, his eyes flashing.
"Fuck you," Eames spat. He hadn't asked for this, Arthur had no right --
"You wish," Arthur said with a twisted smile, like he knew what Eames wanted and was mocking him for it. Eames had thrown the punch before he knew he was going to.
The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, his arm twisted behind his back.
"Fuck," he muttered. The pressure on his arm and against his back eased a little. There was a moment of silence that felt almost hesitant, and then Arthur said,
"You going to take another swing at me if I let you go?"
Eames closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the grass. Shit, he thought, feeling nauseous. He'd hit Arthur. Well, he'd tried -- he didn't think the punch had connected. Still.
"No," he said, swallowing. "I'm good."
After a moment, the weight at his back disappeared completely. Eames pushed himself up into a kneeling position and then to his feet, testing his arm gingerly. Sore, but he could live with it. He probably deserved worse.
Looking up, he found Arthur standing a few feet away from him, his face blank. Eames rolled his shoulders experimentally, wincing a little.
"I'm sorry," he said with some difficulty. "I shouldn't have... done that."
Arthur shrugged.
"The way you took me down," Eames said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Pretty cool. How are you so good at fighting anyway?"
Arthur's eyebrow twitched, and Eames took a moment to regret opening his mouth, not eager to get straight back to fighting.
"Sorry," he said. "None of my business, right?"
Arthur reached down to pick up his bag, fishing out his packet of cigarettes and leaning against the bricks. He eyed Eames warily before offering him one. Eames wasn't really a smoker, but what the hell, he could recognize a peace offering when he saw one. He took the cigarette, nodding his thanks.
"I've taken self-defense classes and mixed martial arts since I was little," Arthur said, lighting up. "Plus, I was sent to a military school for a couple of years when I was thirteen. Learned some discipline, so I guess they got what they asked for, for all the good that it did."
Eames almost dropped the offered lighter, blinking at Arthur.
"Your parents sent you to military school?"
"More like, my uncle did," Arthur said, taking a drag from his cigarette. Eames told himself to stop staring and lit up his own instead. Their fingers brushed when he handed back the lighter.
"So..." Eames said, inhaling the smoke and wondering if it was a good idea to pry after the fight they'd just had. "Did you go to your previous school from there?"
"Yeah. Didn't last more than half-a-year, though," Arthur said, his eyes hooded. Eames nodded, then paused as he actually processed the words.
"Wait," he said, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers. "That'd make you a year younger than me."
"So?" Arthur said, rising an eyebrow.
"So, we're in the same grade," Eames said. "The math's off."
"It's not. I skipped a grade in elementary school," Arthur shrugged.
"Yeah? I figured you were smart. Just one, though?" Eames couldn't help prodding.
Arthur slanted a look his way and shrugged again. He played with his cigarette, distracted, before bringing it back to his lips and inhaling. He tilted his head back against the bricks for the exhale, and then stayed in that position, his eyes fixed to the horizon.
"My grandmother thought it'd be better for me to stay within my own age group, more or less; vetoed the suggestion of me skipping more grades. My dad didn't really have a say, being dead and all, and my mom didn't care, so."
"Ariadne said you've been helping her with some advanced math and physics," Eames offered hesitantly. Arthur looked down, apparently finding the burning tip of his cigarette fascinating.
"Yeah," he said, weirdly reluctant. "She wants to be an architect or something, I guess she's trying to get ahead."
"And you just... know things like that." Eames said.
"It's easy enough," Arthur said, like it wasn't a big deal. Or maybe like he was uncomfortable with the subject and tried to downplay it.
"You must get really bored, huh?"
"You mean, because of what they teach here, or because I read up on college level theories on my own?"
"Both, I suppose."
Arthur made a noncommittal sound. They smoked in silence for a bit. Then Arthur turned to look at Eames, tilting his head against the bricks.
"This doesn't mean we're friends," he said, his eyes intense and distant and beautiful.
"Sure," Eames said. It only stung a little.
***
part three
See part one for warnings etc.
Word Count for part two: ~3900
A/N: W00t, thanks so much for your comments, everyone, I love you! You are awesome! :) Also, this is going to be longer than I thought, so there's at least one more part to come. WHICH MEANS THIS IS STILL A WIP HOW HORRIBLE OF ME I KNOW, SORRY... ♥
Anyway, here's part two, in which Arthur is difficult and Eames is sexually frustrated concerned. There is also weed, another reference to Placebo, and a conversation that might or might not have anything to do with Shakespeare. IDK.
*
They hadn't exactly talked about how they were going to act from then on, which meant that they didn't have a plan, or at least that's what Eames had thought. Turned out, he just hadn't been handed the script.
Arthur kept coming and going as he pleased, appearing at Eames' side without warning and leaving just as deftly once he deemed they'd made enough of a public appearance together. Eames kept seeing him in the corridors, in class, but Arthur had been excellent at avoiding getting caught alone by Eames, if that's indeed what he was doing.
Eames wasn't sure how he felt about it all, the way Arthur just appeared at Eames' side at times, casually fitting their hands together and talking about things like art or algebra or aliens -- something beginning with an 'a', anyway, and possibly some other letters. Eames wasn't entirely sure; sometimes he got distracted by watching Arthur's mouth move and forgot to listen.
Which made him a shitty pretend boyfriend, he thought, watching Arthur get lost in the flow of students.
"You," Yusuf said, appearing at Eames' side like he'd been taking lessons from Arthur, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You've been keeping secrets from me, my friend."
"What are you talking about?" Eames asked, tearing his eyes away from where Arthur had been just moments ago, blinking at Yusuf in confusion.
"I'm talking about Arthur, dude," Yusuf said, shaking his head sadly. "It hurts me deep inside that you'd lie to me like this."
"You know about --"
"Of course I do!" Yusuf said, throwing his hands up and consequently knocking some papers loose from the file he was carrying. He made a dismayed sound, crouching down to pick them up before they got kicked to the other side of the school by the students walking by. Eames stooped down to help him.
"The whole school knows by now," Yusuf said, staring disapprovingly at the papers he'd scrounged up as though they'd personally disappointed him. Or maybe that look was meant for Eames, who knew. "It's not like you've made an effort to keep it secret, now is it?"
"It's not --"
"Not from anyone but me, anyway," Yusuf continued, stuffing the papers back into the file. "I get a little distracted for a couple of days, and you go ahead and act on your little crush without consulting me first."
"It's not --" Eames started to say again, then blinked. "Wait, what? My what?"
"Your crush. What, you think I hadn't noticed you mooning over the most recent school celebrity? Especially after you told me -- with very little detail, I might add -- that he'd, how should I say, intercepted you in the hallway?"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it, you're very observant and shit," Eames said, rolling his eyes. "And you can't blame me for not keeping you in the loop -- you haven't just been 'distracted', you've been practically living at the chem labs. You didn't even come back to the dorm last night!"
"Really, now," Yusuf started to defend himself, but Eames wasn't going to take it.
"I didn't know they allowed students to have overnight lab parties," he said.
"Well," Yusuf said, looking shifty. "Technically --"
"Right," Eames said, shaking his head in amusement. "Say no more."
"Ah, details," Yusuf said, waving his hand grandly. "So, about Arthur, then..."
Yusuf obviously didn't feel like allowing himself to be distracted. Eames tilted his head back, sighing.
"Fine. Just, let's get out of the corridor first," he said.
"Ooh, I sense a juicy confession ahead," Yusuf said gleefully.
"I wonder about you sometimes," Eames said weakly, following Yusuf into a deserted bathroom.
"I've told you not to go through my bookmarks," Yusuf pointed out. "It's obviously not good for you."
"Your addiction to gossip sites, creepy as it is, wasn't actually what I meant."
"You only wish you were as awesome as me," Yusuf said, checking the stalls for good measure. His face scrunched up a little. "As awesome as I?"
"Don't look at me, mate, I can barely stay awake in English."
"Details, details, never mind," Yusuf said, seemingly more to himself than Eames. "Okay, shoot."
Eames scratched the back of his head, not sure where to start.
"Oh, wait," Yusuf said, rummaging around in his bag. "The new patch came out pretty well, wanna test it?"
Eames looked from Yusuf to the offered joint, feeling a slightly hysterical laughter bubbling inside him.
"Yeah," he said, "why the hell not."
If he was going to spend his free period talking about how his pretend boyfriend only pretended to like him and how it was totally screwing him up inside, instead of studying like he was supposed to... well, being high during the conversation really couldn't hurt.
How did that song go... a friend in need's a friend indeed...
"A friend with weed is better," Yusuf finished with a smug smile. Eames looked at him, startled. He had to be more out of it than he'd thought if he was starting to speak out loud without noticing. He gave Yusuf a wane but sincere smile.
"So," Yusuf said, lighting up. "Tell me about it."
Eames did.
-
"You smell like pot," Arthur said, tucking his hand in the crook of Eames' elbow.
"And hello to you, too, darling," Eames said, smiling sunnily. Arthur glared a little but didn't comment on it.
"Where did you get your hands on weed anyway," Arthur said, ignoring Eames' greeting. "I wouldn't have pegged you for the type to get high during school."
"'Cause I'm such a good boy?" Eames asked curiously, finding the idea amusing.
"No," Arthur said, looking Eames slowly up and down, considering. "Not that. But you're quite good at... pretending."
Eames smirked, tugging Arthur a little closer. "Wanna see me pretend a little more? Yeah?" He kissed the corner of Arthur's mouth, a reverse image from their first day 'together'. Arthur's eyelids fluttered. Eames couldn't read his expression at all.
"Perhaps this isn't the place or the time," Arthur said. They were in the middle of a hallway, the other students throwing curious looks their way.
"I thought you wanted to be Mr. PDA about this whole thing," Eames said, nuzzling Arthur's jaw.
"Don't be an ass, Eames," Arthur said, twisting away a little.
"Pot, kettle," Eames said, backing Arthur against the wall of the corridor. Arthur narrowed his eyes. Using Eames' bulk to disguise what he was doing, he slid his hand down to cup Eames' crotch, squeezing a little. Eames squeaked.
"We," Arthur said, "are going to head to our respective classes, and in the future there will be no molesting in the hallways. Are we clear?"
"No need for cruelty, pet," Eames said, hissing a little as Arthur raised a demanding eyebrow and tugged. "Yes, we're clear, Jesus."
Arthur let him go, and Eames couldn't help but take a wary step back, making room between them. Arthur cut a look to the side, adjusting his shoulder bag.
"Look, you have drama club today, right?" At Eames reluctant nod, he said, "I'll meet you at the auditorium when you're done. Okay?"
"Yeah, sure." Eames agreed, easily enough. "I would appreciate it if you'd leave my balls out of it the next time you feel like making a point, though."
He couldn't tell if the twist of Arthur's mouth was a frown or a smirk.
"I'll keep that in mind," Arthur said. He seemed to hesitate for a split second, then gave Eames a peck on the cheek before slipping away into the stream of students. Eames stared after him, feeling awkward and not entirely sure what had just happened.
He was getting hungry, too. His life was so hard.
-
"Hey," said Ariadne, standing to the side of the stage with Eames. "Isn't that -- that's Arthur."
"What?" Eames said, distracted by trying to remember his lines.
"Arthur," Ariadne said, nodding towards the ascending seats. "You know, your boyfriend?"
Eames coughed to cover up the fact that he'd almost managed to choke on air. He turned to look where she'd indicated and, yes, there was Arthur alright, his arms folded on the back of the chair in front of him. Arthur lifted a hand in a lazy wave when he noticed Eames looking. Eames returned the gesture weakly.
"Yeah," Eames said belatedly. "How'd you even --"
"Please," Ariadne said, laughing. "Even if I wasn't his lab partner, well, everyone must know by now, right? You haven't exactly been subtle."
Apparently Yusuf had been right about that much, at least.
"I guess not," he said. Then he frowned. "I didn't know you two actually knew each other."
"We share some classes," Ariadne shrugged. "We get along, but it's not like we're hanging out after school or anything."
"Well," Eames said, floundering a little. "Now I know."
"Wait," Ariadne said, holding up a hand. "I should have been totally insulted that you two haven't been talking about me, right? Way to boost a girl's self-confidence, buster."
"As marvelous as you are, Ariadne, my dear," Eames said, taking her hands in his, "you're barking up the wrong tree if you think I'll waste my time talking about you when I'm with Arthur. Or talking about anything at all, for that matter," he added, waggling his eyebrows.
"Ha!" Ariadne exclaimed, delighted, taking her hand from his so she could to punch him in the shoulder. As far as shows of camaraderie went, it was a bit painful. "Tell me more," she demanded.
"Uhh, no, I know what's best for my health, thanks," Eames shook his head, rubbing the spot where she'd punched him.
"Aw," Ariadne said, pouting. She looked up towards Arthur again and waved at him a little, smiling again. "I think it's totally cute that he came to see your pathetic attempts at acting, though."
"Oh, excuse me, Ms. Broadway," Eames said, rolling his eyes.
"You're excused," Ariadne said in a haughty manner, her eyes filled with mirth.
Needless to say, Eames had trouble concentrating on his acting for the rest of the rehearsal. Not only was Arthur there, watching, but Ariadne's knowing looks and 'helpful' comments were, in fact, extremely unhelpful. Eames didn't know why he liked her, really; she was a menace.
-
"Shakespeare, huh?" Arthur asked as Eames jogged up to him after the practice had wrapped up for the day.
"What, you don't approve? Have something against Midsummer Night's Dream?"
"Not what I said."
"You like his tragedies better?" Eames said, raising his eyebrows. "Figures. What's your favorite, then?"
"Maybe I don't care for Shakespeare, period." Arthur challenged.
"Please, I bet you're a closeted little literary geek," Eames scoffed. "So, King Lear? Othello? The Winter's Tale?"
"The Winter's Tale isn't a tragedy," Arthur pointed out.
"Right you are." Eames said with a smug grin. "So what is it -- Hamlet? Romeo and Juliet? Come on, you can tell me."
"I suppose you prefer his comedies, then?" Arthur said, deflecting. Eames decided he could be gracious and agree to change the subject, just this once.
"Not particularly," he said, shrugging, then slanted a look at Arthur. "Though maybe I have been warming up to The Taming of the Shrew, of late."
"I would hope, for your sake," Arthur said, raising an eyebrow skeptically, "that you're not trying to imply anything with that."
"No, of course not," Eames said quickly. "Our affair, such as it is, is barely Shakespearian at all. Not enough fairies, for one." Or true love, for that matter. Though it was possible that their story might turn into a tragedy yet, Eames thought.
Arthur slowly shook his head at him and stood up. "I'd comment on that, but I fear it would just feed into your fantasy about me secretly being a literature geek. Besides, we have places to be, come on."
"Where are we going?" Eames asked, following Arthur out of the auditorium.
"My room," Arthur said shortly.
"Yeah?" Eames asked, hesitant, telling himself not to get any ideas. Well, any more ideas. "How come?"
Arthur looked at him over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "I thought making out was one of your requirements," he said. "If you've changed your mind on that, I'd appreciate the update."
"Gnh," Eames said intelligently. "I mean, no. I haven't. Changed my mind, that is."
"Okay, then," Arthur said, amused, and led him to the dormitories. Eames had zero objections, at least when it came to the making out. How Arthur had scored a single room, however, was another matter.
"It's just luck," Arthur said between kisses. "I arrived in the middle of the year, everyone else already had a roommate, and voilà."
"It's still, mnh," Eames said. "It's still dreadfully unfair."
"My heart weeps for you," Arthur said, sounding long-suffering. "Do you want to talk or do you want to make out? Because you can only have one of those."
"Make out, definitely make out." Eames said, because when Arthur had a point, he had a point.
"Then I suggest," Arthur said, pushing him down on the bed and climbing over him, straddling his hips, "that you go ahead and shut up."
"Shutting up," Eames said, turned on beyond belief. "Starting right now."
"I'm still not sleeping with you," Arthur said, leaning close, his breath tickling Eames' lips. "So don't get any ideas."
Eames shook his head emphatically. Arthur snorted, but finally kissed him again. He didn't complain about Eames' roaming hands, either.
Fifteen minutes later found Eames standing in the hall, having just been evicted from Arthur's room. Apparently they'd reached the make out quota for the day, or something. Despite getting kicked out and left to deal with his sexual frustration on his own, Eames was giddy enough from being allowed into Arthur's room in the first place that he couldn't bring himself to mind. Much.
-
They hung out more often after that, as though they'd reached some sort of unspoken agreement. Overall, Eames became quite comfortable in his role as Arthur's pretend boyfriend over the next couple of weeks. Maybe too comfortable.
The thing was, even if he ignored the fact that he was falling for a guy who was using him, Eames was beginning to suspect that he'd hit a little too close to the mark in thinking that Arthur was maybe a bit screwed up. There were some things about Arthur that made him wonder, like the way he deflected and got defensive about certain things. The general attitude he had towards the world, defiantly uncaring. His recklessness, simmering just beneath the calm veneer he usually projected. Mostly, it was the way he tasted like alcohol sometimes, often, even during school hours.
And maybe Eames didn't have any claim on Arthur's well being, and not exactly being a straight arrow himself it felt hypocritical to point out that maybe walking around school under the influence wasn't such a great idea, but he couldn't deny that, over invested as he was, he was getting a bit worried. It wasn't his place to confront Arthur about it, but he'd never been all that good at staying in his place. Which, predictably, led to their first fight, which, incidentally, took place in the same spot as their first real kiss: out in the school grounds, behind the shed.
"What are you, my mom?" Arthur asked when Eames brought up his drinking, his mouth twisting like he found his own words both hilarious and devastating. "You're not my boyfriend, so back off."
Well, Eames thought; saw that one coming.
"I'm just saying," he said, insistent, "if there isn't a problem, why would you take the risk of getting drunk during school?"
"Says the guy who gets high and then goes to class," Arthur said mockingly. Strike two.
"That's only happened a couple of times," Eames pointed out, trying to keep on track because it wasn't like he hadn't seen this coming. "You drink way more regularly than that. What happens if you get caught? Or do you even care -- is this why you got transferred in the first place?"
Arthur smiled, but it wasn't a nice sort of smile. He stepped forward and pushed Eames against the brick wall of the shed, his palm flat against Eames' sternum.
"First of all," Arthur said, still with that sharp, unpleasant smile, "if I had gotten kicked out for drinking, don't you think there'd be a note in my records? If that was the case, someone might have been paying closer attention and noticed by now, no?"
Point, Eames thought, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Arthur increased the pressure against his sternum in warning.
"Second," he said, staring at Eames coolly, "what I do with my life is none of your business. If you think you have some sort of right to it because you've had your tongue down my throat, you've got another thing coming, capiche?"
At Eames silent nod, he dropped his hand and took a step back. He was still staring at Eames though, steady and flat, obviously not done yet.
"Third," he said, "let me repeat; I'm not your boyfriend; we're barely even friends. If you can't get that straight, then maybe we shouldn't hang out anymore."
"You mean, pretend to hang out," Eames said, his mouth twisting into a frown.
"Whatever," Arthur said, his lips pressed into a thin line. "This was obviously a mistake."
He picked his bag off the ground and started walking away. Eames swallowed, stepping away from the wall.
"Yeah," he called after him. "Go ahead, give up."
Arthur didn't turn around. Eames felt a moment of panic, which quickly gave in to anger.
"Coward," he said, half expecting Arthur to ignore him, but evidently he'd hit a nerve, if the way Arthur spun around was any indication. He stalked back to Eames, throwing his bag to the ground and pushing at Eames aggressively, forcing him to take a step back.
"Watch your mouth," he snapped. The look in his eyes was furious, no trace of the ice from before.
"Just saying it like I see it, darling," Eames said, something ugly curling around his insides. "This whole thing was your idea to begin with, but at the first hint that things aren't going according to your plan, you bail out. What would you call it?"
"Why do you even care? You didn't want this in the first place!" Arthur snapped.
"You're such a delight to be around, I can't imagine why that might be," Eames snapped back.
Arthur took a step back -- Eames couldn't tell whether it was because he felt like he'd been slapped, or because he was trying not to resort to violence. Maybe both. Just then, Eames didn't even care.
"Like you're such a prize yourself," Arthur said, his eyes flashing.
"Fuck you," Eames spat. He hadn't asked for this, Arthur had no right --
"You wish," Arthur said with a twisted smile, like he knew what Eames wanted and was mocking him for it. Eames had thrown the punch before he knew he was going to.
The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, his arm twisted behind his back.
"Fuck," he muttered. The pressure on his arm and against his back eased a little. There was a moment of silence that felt almost hesitant, and then Arthur said,
"You going to take another swing at me if I let you go?"
Eames closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the grass. Shit, he thought, feeling nauseous. He'd hit Arthur. Well, he'd tried -- he didn't think the punch had connected. Still.
"No," he said, swallowing. "I'm good."
After a moment, the weight at his back disappeared completely. Eames pushed himself up into a kneeling position and then to his feet, testing his arm gingerly. Sore, but he could live with it. He probably deserved worse.
Looking up, he found Arthur standing a few feet away from him, his face blank. Eames rolled his shoulders experimentally, wincing a little.
"I'm sorry," he said with some difficulty. "I shouldn't have... done that."
Arthur shrugged.
"The way you took me down," Eames said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Pretty cool. How are you so good at fighting anyway?"
Arthur's eyebrow twitched, and Eames took a moment to regret opening his mouth, not eager to get straight back to fighting.
"Sorry," he said. "None of my business, right?"
Arthur reached down to pick up his bag, fishing out his packet of cigarettes and leaning against the bricks. He eyed Eames warily before offering him one. Eames wasn't really a smoker, but what the hell, he could recognize a peace offering when he saw one. He took the cigarette, nodding his thanks.
"I've taken self-defense classes and mixed martial arts since I was little," Arthur said, lighting up. "Plus, I was sent to a military school for a couple of years when I was thirteen. Learned some discipline, so I guess they got what they asked for, for all the good that it did."
Eames almost dropped the offered lighter, blinking at Arthur.
"Your parents sent you to military school?"
"More like, my uncle did," Arthur said, taking a drag from his cigarette. Eames told himself to stop staring and lit up his own instead. Their fingers brushed when he handed back the lighter.
"So..." Eames said, inhaling the smoke and wondering if it was a good idea to pry after the fight they'd just had. "Did you go to your previous school from there?"
"Yeah. Didn't last more than half-a-year, though," Arthur said, his eyes hooded. Eames nodded, then paused as he actually processed the words.
"Wait," he said, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers. "That'd make you a year younger than me."
"So?" Arthur said, rising an eyebrow.
"So, we're in the same grade," Eames said. "The math's off."
"It's not. I skipped a grade in elementary school," Arthur shrugged.
"Yeah? I figured you were smart. Just one, though?" Eames couldn't help prodding.
Arthur slanted a look his way and shrugged again. He played with his cigarette, distracted, before bringing it back to his lips and inhaling. He tilted his head back against the bricks for the exhale, and then stayed in that position, his eyes fixed to the horizon.
"My grandmother thought it'd be better for me to stay within my own age group, more or less; vetoed the suggestion of me skipping more grades. My dad didn't really have a say, being dead and all, and my mom didn't care, so."
"Ariadne said you've been helping her with some advanced math and physics," Eames offered hesitantly. Arthur looked down, apparently finding the burning tip of his cigarette fascinating.
"Yeah," he said, weirdly reluctant. "She wants to be an architect or something, I guess she's trying to get ahead."
"And you just... know things like that." Eames said.
"It's easy enough," Arthur said, like it wasn't a big deal. Or maybe like he was uncomfortable with the subject and tried to downplay it.
"You must get really bored, huh?"
"You mean, because of what they teach here, or because I read up on college level theories on my own?"
"Both, I suppose."
Arthur made a noncommittal sound. They smoked in silence for a bit. Then Arthur turned to look at Eames, tilting his head against the bricks.
"This doesn't mean we're friends," he said, his eyes intense and distant and beautiful.
"Sure," Eames said. It only stung a little.
***
part three