Inception - Bite Hard (4/11)
Title: Bite Hard (part 4)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: ~4,000
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Dom Cobb, Mal, Yusuf, Ariadne
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: language, age difference/underage, dub-con
Summary: AU. Sixteen year old Arthur wakes up in another man's apartment.
Part Four
"Are you pissed off at me?" Arthur asked over his fried rice. His shirt was sticking to his back, his hair still dripping, but he didn't notice over the overwhelming bloom of guilt in his stomach.
"No," Eames replied, but he certainly sounded pissed off when he said it.
"I didn't mean to fall down. I mean, it was an accident."
"I know."
"I just wanted to see who you were talking to. He's your friend, right? He talks like he's your friend."
"He's Yusuf. He lives in the flat directly below. We've known each other for years."
"Oh… Yeah, I thought I heard he had an accent too…" Arthur picked at his food for a few more minutes before saying, "You are pissed at me."
"I'm not mad, Arthur," Eames replied in exasperation, running a hand over his hair. "We have to be careful with this though. You understand how much we're risking with this, how much I'm risking. We're playing a dangerous game here. We can't just go all in."
"I'm so-" Arthur stopped himself. "I'll be more careful."
"If you want to meet Yusuf, you'll need to be fully clothed, at least," Eames sighed. "He also thinks you're older than you are."
"Maybe I should get a fake ID."
Eames nodded, mulling the idea over in his mind. "That'd probably be a good idea. I bet you'd look older if you'd dress older too."
Arthur smiled, relieved to feel the heaviness lifting from the air between them. "Okay. I'll go buy some new clothes."
The silence that followed was much more companionable.
"So, Eames," Arthur said, grabbing a piece of gyoza with his chopsticks. "Do you do any other kind of art besides painting and drawing and stuff? I mean, do you do photography or sculpture or anything like that?"
"I had to do a lot of different things in school, but I never had a knack for it." Eames stood and paced across the floor to a box in the corner, opening it up and digging through it until he produced a camera. "I spent over two hundred dollars on this thing, and I don't do a thing with it." He handed it to Arthur, sitting back down to his meal. "I suppose I should take some of this to Yusuf. It is his, after all."
"Can I have it?" Arthur asked, looking through the viewfinder of the camera at Eames. "I'll take nude photos for you."
Eames choked on his food a little but then laughed. "It's not doing any good sitting in that box. If you can handle the batteries, you can do whatever you like with it.
"Cool," Arthur said, hanging it around his neck. "I guess I owe you."
"I can think of a way you can make it up to me."
"When you said I'd make it up to you, this isn't exactly what I had in mind," Arthur said, leaning over the window sill to peer out the window. Eames sat a few feet behind him with his canvas and paints, admiring Arthur's ass through the thin fabric of his shirt. The cotton had been wetted down again so that it clung to his skin and revealed every line and curve on his body.
"You're here to be my model, darling," Eames replied, cleaning his brush and dipping it into a glob of paint. "I've got to get something done, don't I? This is my livelihood we're talking about here."
"Are you seriously going to sell these paintings?" Arthur asked, glancing over his shoulder at Eames.
"If somebody buys them, sure," Eames said. "I've taken care to keep all of the full nudes from behind to keep your anonymity so far."
"You just like my backside."
"That too, but really, I adore your face, so don't accuse me of such things. It was your face that attracted me in the first place."
"A face seen through the drunken haze of tequila?"
"Piss off."
Arthur turned back to the window. "You know, if someone told me a few weeks ago that I would be doing this, I wouldn't have believed them."
"I'm lucky I found you myself. Another artist might have snatched you up and posed you for their masterpieces."
"I'm hardly that noticeable. I think I had a little something more than looks to hold your interests."
"What makes you think you're so unnoticed?"
"Experience…" Arthur said quietly, and Eames didn't respond to that. Arthur stared out into the city lights, glimmering amongst the dark blanket of night and thought back to that first time with Eames, the way he had cried because no one seemed to see him amongst the crowds of people and amongst the organized chaos of society that he lived in, how everything in the universe seemed to be more important.
He knew now why he had gone back to Eames.
Out of the crowds, out of the dark, Eames had seen him. Eames had made him feel like there was no one more important in the world. Eames was risking so much just so Arthur could be with him, and Eames thought he was beautiful no matter how average he believed himself to be.
Arthur dropped his chin to his chest, blinking back the mist that blurred his vision. His fingers twitched on the sill. He sucked on his bottom lip. Nothing seemed to make the realization go away. He wasn't sure if the tears were from sadness over his situation, or happiness that someone cared, but he thought that maybe he knew when Eames's arms snaked around him and pulled him away from the window. "What's wrong?"
Arthur pressed his face into Eames's chest, fingers gripping into the front of his shirt, and he sniffed, shaking his head.
Eames combed through Arthur's hair with his fingers, kissed the top of his head. "I'm finished with it, if you'd like to see," he said quietly.
"Okay," he said weakly, muffled against Eames's t-shirt.
The painting was beautiful. "I really don't know how you can see me this way," Arthur said, ghosting his finger just above the spine of the illustration. "I don't think I look like this."
"Sometimes all you need is to see someone else's perspective," Eames hummed against the back of Arthur's neck where he placed feather light kisses after every other word. "How can my Muse want subject to invent while thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse," he quoted.
"Didn't know you were a fan of Shakespeare," Arthur whispered, leaning back into Eames's touch, letting his damp shirt fall to the floor.
"I'm not, but I am quite the fan of yours."
Arthur couldn't help but feel just the slightest flutter of panic settle in his chest as he realized he very well might have been starting to fall, and he wasn't sure if anyone could catch him before it was too late.
"What are you doing?"
Arthur nearly fell off the sink he was sitting on, choking on smoke.
Cobb was in the doorway of the bathroom, stunned.
Arthur looked at the cigarette between his fingers and quickly hid it behind his back, as if that would erase Cobb's short term memory.
"What're you doing in here?" Arthur yelped.
"I saw you come in here, came to see how you were. I didn't see you walking to school this morning. You smoke now?"
Arthur blushed. "Sometimes."
"Mal is going to yell at you," Cobb said, snagging the cigarette from Arthur. "She already yells at me for it, and I'm just her boyfriend. She treats you like a fucking son." He puffed off of it and handed it back. "Weren't you always against doing stuff like this?"
"I don't remember having a strong opinion of anything one way or the other," Arthur said blandly, taking a long drag on it. "It just loosens me up when I'm stressed. It's not like I'm shooting up or cutting myself. I'm not self-destructing or anything."
"Are you sure about that?"
Arthur gave Cobb an appraising look while Cobb just raised his eyebrows at him, revealing nothing. "What do you-"
"You've been acting really weird lately, Arthur, but you keep saying it's nothing, it's nothing. Something is going on. Are your parents getting divorced?"
"My parents don't see each other enough to discuss that," Arthur huffed. "Seriously, Cobb, I'm fine. I'm better now than I have been in a while, actually."
"You left me no choice," Cobb sighed, stepping back to the door and pulling it open, and Arthur groaned when Mal stomped inside, large eyes wide with determination.
"You bastard," Arthur grumbled at Cobb while Cobb locked the door.
"Arthur, mon cher, I'm surprised at you," Mal said, disappointment thickening her French accent. Mal had moved to the states with her father three years ago and had dated Cobb for two and a half of those years. From the moment Arthur had met her, he'd been unable to deny anything she asked. Mal had a way of getting underneath a person's skin to the point that disappointing her was physically painful. Her grip was particularly tight on Arthur, second only to Cobb who would have willingly done anything for her whether he felt guilty or not.
Arthur put out the cigarette, blushing with shame, and hopped down off of the sink. "I'm sorry, Mal," he said.
"I do hope this isn't Dom's influence," she said, turning her eyes sharply to Cobb by the door. He shrank a little under her gaze, and when she looked back at Arthur, Arthur saw him raise his arms in confusion, not knowing how he was suddenly in trouble too. "Arthur, please, tell me what's going on. You know we won't judge you. We're your friends, and we're worried about you."
Arthur swallowed hard but realized there wasn't much he could say because he couldn't honestly come up with a concrete answer. He couldn't lie to her ever, but he wasn't positive of what the truth was, so he said the only thing he could come up with. "I'm alive."
This earned him looks from both Cobb and Mal.
"I…" he continued, running a hand through his hair, "I'm… leaving behind monotony of the same day over and over and over again. I'm doing things I never thought possible. I'm seeing, and I'm… being seen for the very first time. You don't need to worry about me. I'm good. I'm… great, even. Things are actually kind of awesome right now, so please… let me have this. I need this. I can't… I can't go back to how I was. I was drowning."
"What brought all of this about?" Cobb asked, leaning against the door, and he seemed more concerned now than ever.
Arthur smiled. "Someone taught me to look at things from a different perspective."
"Who?" Mal asked.
"You don't know him," Arthur told them. "He's this really cool guy that I met in the city. He's more human than anyone else I've met in this godforsaken town… you know, besides you guys. He's… he has passions and desires and… he goes after what he wants. He doesn't care about money or reputation, and he lives for his dreams, and it's fucking glorious!"
Arthur's voice bounced off of the walls of the bathroom, and it was only then that he realized how worked up he'd gotten over it. He clamped his mouth shut, flushing bright red from what he was sure was head to toe and looked down at the floor.
"Arthur," Mal said quietly.
The bell rang, rattling all of them.
"I've got to get to class," Arthur said, shoving passed Cobb and escaping their eyes for the moment.
Arthur didn't tell Eames about Cobb and Mal's confrontation, but Eames could tell he was bothered over something.
"This isn't about what I said yesterday, is it?" Eames asked.
Arthur looked up from his plate of reheated Chinese take-out. "Huh? What is? No, I'm fine. I don't know what you're talking about."
Eames leaned his cheek onto his fist and smirked. "You're in your head a lot. Something's bugging you."
"It's… It's just my friends," Arthur admitted. "They think I've been acting different, and they're worried about me."
"Well, they have a right to be," Eames teased, "what with you smoking cancer sticks and committing sodomy and whatnot." Eames stopped joking when Arthur's response was to slide down into his seat looking ill. "Oh, come now, Arthur, don't-It's all right."
The thing was, Eames didn't understand that Arthur didn't feel bad about the sins he was committing so much as the fact that he felt bad about not caring. He was concerned that he didn't mind in the slightest what he was doing, foolhardy as it was… and he was only concerned because he was dragging Eames along for the ride.
"Eames… why do you like me?" Arthur asked, sipping from the can of beer on the table.
"What kind of a question is that?" Eames chuckled.
"A simple one. Why do you like me?"
Just then, there was a knock on Eames's door. Eames motioned to Arthur that he'd be right back and opened it, leaving the chain on.
It was Yusuf.
"Ariadne called and invited us to go to the karaoke bar tonight. She said you weren't answering your phone."
"Oh," Eames blinked, patting his pockets before digging out his cell. "Oh, I do have a missed call. Silly me. This damn thing never rings." He looked back at Arthur who was sitting there in his skinny jeans and t-shirt, beer can clasped between both hands, watching.
"Is someone in there with you?" Yusuf asked. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
"N-no," Eames stammered. "Just ah-"
Arthur stood up and placed the beer can on the table and started glancing around. He seemed to settle on something, but Eames was trying to keep eye contact with Yusuf to avoid allowing his eyes to wander. "So, karaoke, eh? I don' t know if I'm willing to sit through another drunken rendition of 'I Will Survive', Yusuf."
"Ariadne's not so bad of a singer."
"You sang that song, Yusuf."
Arthur had slipped into one of Eames's never worn blazers hanging in the back of the closet. He'd had it since middle school and had never thrown it out. His mother had always claimed he never threw anything out, but Eames figured that was just how artists were. Glorified hoarders.
Arthur looked damn good in it too. It aged him up just slightly.
"If you're not hiding anything, why won't you let me inside? Eames, I told you, I already know you were fooling around yesterday-"
"This isn't the same person," Eames interrupted.
Arthur had combed his hands through his hair, and somehow with it messier, he seemed more adult. After he'd lit a cigarette, he was almost convincing.
Eames shut the door and opened it with the chain off.
"Who are you?" Yusuf asked, eyeing Arthur suspiciously.
"An artist," Arthur replied, lifting the camera Eames had given him and taking Yusuf's picture. He'd gotten batteries for it on his way back to Eames's that afternoon after school, "and a model."
Yusuf raised an eyebrow, and Arthur took a drag on his cigarette. "You seem familiar."
"Mr. Eames hired me to model for him. I need a little extra money since I'm paying for art school, so I took him up on the offer," Arthur lied, never batting an eyelash, never letting an ounce of doubt creep into his words. He was even speaking more deeply.
"You look a bit… young to be modeling for money, for art school."
"I get that all the time," Arthur laughed. "It's fucking ridiculous."
Realization seemed to dawn on Yusuf. "Holy shit, you're… you're the muse boy! The one Eames's said he'd never see again!" He turned on Eames. "You lied to me!"
"I said I'd probably never see him again. He wasn't really all that interested in my offer," Eames said, joining in on the lying, "but he lost his job, and now we're talking about prices." He clapped Yusuf on the shoulder and started leading him out before he saw the half-finished and completely finished paintings of Arthur already littering the place. "So, karaoke, eh? Sounds like fun! Eh, Arthur?"
"Sounds like a blast," Arthur agreed, finishing off his beer. "Who's driving?"
Arthur had never gone to sing karaoke before. He'd never done any kind of 'going out' before, really, so he couldn't help but feel excited. He tried to act nonchalant though, as though he'd gone out all the time.
"Oh, fuck, I forgot my I.D.," Arthur lied, looking into his wallet after climbing into the backseat of Yusuf's car.
"I can handle your drinks," Eames shrugged. "Besides, where we're going, they don't really give a shit."
"We know the owner," Yusuf assured Arthur.
Arthur spent the drive taking photographs of the passing city at night. "So, who's Ariadne?" he asked idly. "Is she your girlfriend, Eames?"
"No, no, nothing like that," Eames said. "She's just a girl I work with at the restaurant."
"Oh. Cool," Arthur replied, aiming the lens at Eames's profile and clicking. "You have a magnificent profile, Eames. Maybe you should be my model sometime."
"Maybe," Eames laughed.
"Do I detect flirting?" Yusuf asked flatly. He didn't look amused.
"You don't understand art, Yusuf," Eames scoffed. "No wonder you flunked out of school."
"You flunked out of school, Eames. I studied Chemistry, you twat. We're here."
The three of them got out of the car, and Arthur stayed at the back of the group so that Yusuf couldn't compare their heights. "So, is Ariadne single?" he asked.
"God, I hope so," Yusuf said dreamily, and Eames wheezed with laughter.
Ariadne was tiny and adorable, and Arthur and Eames were both grateful for that because she made Arthur seem much older. They seemed to click instantly, Arthur and Ariadne, laughing and joking over things only they seemed to understand. Yusuf wasn't too fond of their fast friendship, but Eames was sure there was nothing to worry about and assured Yusuf of such.
Yusuf still got drunk and sang 'All By Myself'.
Arthur was pretty buzzed as well after only a few beers, and he could tell by how he laughed a bit too loud at a terrible performance of No Doubt's 'Don't Speak'.
"Artie," Ariadne slurred, patting him on the back. No one else could get away with calling him that. Ariadne was just so cute when she did it. "You should sing."
"Oh, no, I couldn't," Arthur shook his head, grinning ear to ear. "I couldn't, I couldn't. I've never been very good-I, I get stage fright."
"Do it!" Eames cheered, lifting his bottle in the air. Eames had been drinking two beers for every one of Arthur's.
"No!" Arthur cried, blushing, and the table broke into a chant of 'do it, do it, do it' so he ended up sighing and saying, "Fine, fine, I'll do it! You're animals."
Arthur clambered onto the stage, tossing his jacket to Eames, to a round of applause. Eames was grinning like he was waiting for Arthur to embarrass himself.
Arthur decided he'd just need to knock his socks off as revenge and picked his songs.
The crowd broke into laughter as the opening notes started up, but Arthur didn't care, licking his lips and grabbing the microphone.
Eames apparently didn't catch the reasoning behind Arthur's choice until he started to sing because that was when his smile faded a little, and he just stared.
"You think I'm pretty without any make-up on, you think I'm funny when I tell the punch line wrong, I know you get me, so I'll let my walls come down, down…"
"Oh, you bastard," Eames whispered quietly enough that it may have just been in his head.
"Before you met me, I was all right, but things were kind of heavy, you brought me to life, now every February you'll be my valentine," he smiled at Eames. He couldn't stop smiling at Eames. "Valentine…"
"Oh, I love this song!" Ariadne squealed drunkenly and grabbed Yusuf by the arm. "C'mon, dance with me!"
"Oh, all right," Yusuf said as if it was some kind of chore, but his eyes were gleaming excitedly.
Eames didn't even notice them leave, too busy staring at Arthur, trying to keep his mouth from watering too much because fuck, he knew what Arthur looked like naked, and now it was all he could see.
"Let's go all the way tonight… No regrets, just love."
"Oh, now that's just not fair," Eames mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
"We can dance until we die, you and I will be young for-ev-er-"
Arthur spread his legs apart, and shit he was practically fucking the microphone stand. "You-" He pointed at Eames, "make- me-" an overdramatic point at himself-Christ, he was drunk. "-feel like I'm living a teen-age dream-"
Okay, Eames decided, Arthur was definitely doing the song to fuck with him.
Smart little bastard.
"I- can't- sleep, let's run away and don't ever look back, don't ever look back…" Arthur looked into Eames's eyes, and suddenly... suddenly, this wasn't a game anymore, and he knew Eames felt it too, that sudden shift. "My- heart- stops-when you look at me. Just- one- touch-now baby, I believe, this- is- real, let's take a chance and don't ever look back, don't ever look back."
Arthur sang the second verse and chorus in a haze.
Eames watched while Arthur ran his long fingered hands up his hips, licking his lips unconsciously, lost in Arthur's slightly pitchy, somewhat slurred, "I will get your heart racing in my skin tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight. I'll let you put your hands on me in my skin tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight."
By the time the song ended, Arthur was pretty sure he'd molested the microphone stand and nearly fallen off the stage twice, but he was one-hundred-percent sure that he was half-hard.
Eames apparently shared a sentiment similar because as soon as Arthur stumbled off the stage, Eames grabbed him and dragged him away to the bathroom.
"Eames, what-" Arthur started, but Eames shut him up with a fierce kiss on the mouth.
"You cheeky little brat," Eames said, pulling away before diving back in.
"I thought you'd think it was funny," Arthur smirked.
"You didn't even think it was funny," Eames countered and shoved his hands down Arthur's pants. Arthur squealed, hips jutting towards Eames's touch. "Now see, this, this is funny." Eames grinned like the devil himself.
"Oh," Arthur sighed, head lolling back on his neck. "That's just hilarious…"
He clumsily slipped his hands into Eames's pants in response, causing him to grunt. Arthur plastered on a lazy, crooked grin, and the two of them jerked each other off until they were both a mess inside their underwear.
While Eames set to cleaning them both up (since Arthur was usually pretty much useless once he had been spent), in the back of his mind Arthur thought that this was another moment he should have been regretting or feeling guilty about, but he just couldn't get his brain working around the alcohol and lust and something that felt a little bit like a dream.
It felt a little bit like a dream and a lot like love.
Oh, shit.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: ~4,000
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Dom Cobb, Mal, Yusuf, Ariadne
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: language, age difference/underage, dub-con
Summary: AU. Sixteen year old Arthur wakes up in another man's apartment.
Part Four
"Are you pissed off at me?" Arthur asked over his fried rice. His shirt was sticking to his back, his hair still dripping, but he didn't notice over the overwhelming bloom of guilt in his stomach.
"No," Eames replied, but he certainly sounded pissed off when he said it.
"I didn't mean to fall down. I mean, it was an accident."
"I know."
"I just wanted to see who you were talking to. He's your friend, right? He talks like he's your friend."
"He's Yusuf. He lives in the flat directly below. We've known each other for years."
"Oh… Yeah, I thought I heard he had an accent too…" Arthur picked at his food for a few more minutes before saying, "You are pissed at me."
"I'm not mad, Arthur," Eames replied in exasperation, running a hand over his hair. "We have to be careful with this though. You understand how much we're risking with this, how much I'm risking. We're playing a dangerous game here. We can't just go all in."
"I'm so-" Arthur stopped himself. "I'll be more careful."
"If you want to meet Yusuf, you'll need to be fully clothed, at least," Eames sighed. "He also thinks you're older than you are."
"Maybe I should get a fake ID."
Eames nodded, mulling the idea over in his mind. "That'd probably be a good idea. I bet you'd look older if you'd dress older too."
Arthur smiled, relieved to feel the heaviness lifting from the air between them. "Okay. I'll go buy some new clothes."
The silence that followed was much more companionable.
"So, Eames," Arthur said, grabbing a piece of gyoza with his chopsticks. "Do you do any other kind of art besides painting and drawing and stuff? I mean, do you do photography or sculpture or anything like that?"
"I had to do a lot of different things in school, but I never had a knack for it." Eames stood and paced across the floor to a box in the corner, opening it up and digging through it until he produced a camera. "I spent over two hundred dollars on this thing, and I don't do a thing with it." He handed it to Arthur, sitting back down to his meal. "I suppose I should take some of this to Yusuf. It is his, after all."
"Can I have it?" Arthur asked, looking through the viewfinder of the camera at Eames. "I'll take nude photos for you."
Eames choked on his food a little but then laughed. "It's not doing any good sitting in that box. If you can handle the batteries, you can do whatever you like with it.
"Cool," Arthur said, hanging it around his neck. "I guess I owe you."
"I can think of a way you can make it up to me."
"When you said I'd make it up to you, this isn't exactly what I had in mind," Arthur said, leaning over the window sill to peer out the window. Eames sat a few feet behind him with his canvas and paints, admiring Arthur's ass through the thin fabric of his shirt. The cotton had been wetted down again so that it clung to his skin and revealed every line and curve on his body.
"You're here to be my model, darling," Eames replied, cleaning his brush and dipping it into a glob of paint. "I've got to get something done, don't I? This is my livelihood we're talking about here."
"Are you seriously going to sell these paintings?" Arthur asked, glancing over his shoulder at Eames.
"If somebody buys them, sure," Eames said. "I've taken care to keep all of the full nudes from behind to keep your anonymity so far."
"You just like my backside."
"That too, but really, I adore your face, so don't accuse me of such things. It was your face that attracted me in the first place."
"A face seen through the drunken haze of tequila?"
"Piss off."
Arthur turned back to the window. "You know, if someone told me a few weeks ago that I would be doing this, I wouldn't have believed them."
"I'm lucky I found you myself. Another artist might have snatched you up and posed you for their masterpieces."
"I'm hardly that noticeable. I think I had a little something more than looks to hold your interests."
"What makes you think you're so unnoticed?"
"Experience…" Arthur said quietly, and Eames didn't respond to that. Arthur stared out into the city lights, glimmering amongst the dark blanket of night and thought back to that first time with Eames, the way he had cried because no one seemed to see him amongst the crowds of people and amongst the organized chaos of society that he lived in, how everything in the universe seemed to be more important.
He knew now why he had gone back to Eames.
Out of the crowds, out of the dark, Eames had seen him. Eames had made him feel like there was no one more important in the world. Eames was risking so much just so Arthur could be with him, and Eames thought he was beautiful no matter how average he believed himself to be.
Arthur dropped his chin to his chest, blinking back the mist that blurred his vision. His fingers twitched on the sill. He sucked on his bottom lip. Nothing seemed to make the realization go away. He wasn't sure if the tears were from sadness over his situation, or happiness that someone cared, but he thought that maybe he knew when Eames's arms snaked around him and pulled him away from the window. "What's wrong?"
Arthur pressed his face into Eames's chest, fingers gripping into the front of his shirt, and he sniffed, shaking his head.
Eames combed through Arthur's hair with his fingers, kissed the top of his head. "I'm finished with it, if you'd like to see," he said quietly.
"Okay," he said weakly, muffled against Eames's t-shirt.
The painting was beautiful. "I really don't know how you can see me this way," Arthur said, ghosting his finger just above the spine of the illustration. "I don't think I look like this."
"Sometimes all you need is to see someone else's perspective," Eames hummed against the back of Arthur's neck where he placed feather light kisses after every other word. "How can my Muse want subject to invent while thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse," he quoted.
"Didn't know you were a fan of Shakespeare," Arthur whispered, leaning back into Eames's touch, letting his damp shirt fall to the floor.
"I'm not, but I am quite the fan of yours."
Arthur couldn't help but feel just the slightest flutter of panic settle in his chest as he realized he very well might have been starting to fall, and he wasn't sure if anyone could catch him before it was too late.
"What are you doing?"
Arthur nearly fell off the sink he was sitting on, choking on smoke.
Cobb was in the doorway of the bathroom, stunned.
Arthur looked at the cigarette between his fingers and quickly hid it behind his back, as if that would erase Cobb's short term memory.
"What're you doing in here?" Arthur yelped.
"I saw you come in here, came to see how you were. I didn't see you walking to school this morning. You smoke now?"
Arthur blushed. "Sometimes."
"Mal is going to yell at you," Cobb said, snagging the cigarette from Arthur. "She already yells at me for it, and I'm just her boyfriend. She treats you like a fucking son." He puffed off of it and handed it back. "Weren't you always against doing stuff like this?"
"I don't remember having a strong opinion of anything one way or the other," Arthur said blandly, taking a long drag on it. "It just loosens me up when I'm stressed. It's not like I'm shooting up or cutting myself. I'm not self-destructing or anything."
"Are you sure about that?"
Arthur gave Cobb an appraising look while Cobb just raised his eyebrows at him, revealing nothing. "What do you-"
"You've been acting really weird lately, Arthur, but you keep saying it's nothing, it's nothing. Something is going on. Are your parents getting divorced?"
"My parents don't see each other enough to discuss that," Arthur huffed. "Seriously, Cobb, I'm fine. I'm better now than I have been in a while, actually."
"You left me no choice," Cobb sighed, stepping back to the door and pulling it open, and Arthur groaned when Mal stomped inside, large eyes wide with determination.
"You bastard," Arthur grumbled at Cobb while Cobb locked the door.
"Arthur, mon cher, I'm surprised at you," Mal said, disappointment thickening her French accent. Mal had moved to the states with her father three years ago and had dated Cobb for two and a half of those years. From the moment Arthur had met her, he'd been unable to deny anything she asked. Mal had a way of getting underneath a person's skin to the point that disappointing her was physically painful. Her grip was particularly tight on Arthur, second only to Cobb who would have willingly done anything for her whether he felt guilty or not.
Arthur put out the cigarette, blushing with shame, and hopped down off of the sink. "I'm sorry, Mal," he said.
"I do hope this isn't Dom's influence," she said, turning her eyes sharply to Cobb by the door. He shrank a little under her gaze, and when she looked back at Arthur, Arthur saw him raise his arms in confusion, not knowing how he was suddenly in trouble too. "Arthur, please, tell me what's going on. You know we won't judge you. We're your friends, and we're worried about you."
Arthur swallowed hard but realized there wasn't much he could say because he couldn't honestly come up with a concrete answer. He couldn't lie to her ever, but he wasn't positive of what the truth was, so he said the only thing he could come up with. "I'm alive."
This earned him looks from both Cobb and Mal.
"I…" he continued, running a hand through his hair, "I'm… leaving behind monotony of the same day over and over and over again. I'm doing things I never thought possible. I'm seeing, and I'm… being seen for the very first time. You don't need to worry about me. I'm good. I'm… great, even. Things are actually kind of awesome right now, so please… let me have this. I need this. I can't… I can't go back to how I was. I was drowning."
"What brought all of this about?" Cobb asked, leaning against the door, and he seemed more concerned now than ever.
Arthur smiled. "Someone taught me to look at things from a different perspective."
"Who?" Mal asked.
"You don't know him," Arthur told them. "He's this really cool guy that I met in the city. He's more human than anyone else I've met in this godforsaken town… you know, besides you guys. He's… he has passions and desires and… he goes after what he wants. He doesn't care about money or reputation, and he lives for his dreams, and it's fucking glorious!"
Arthur's voice bounced off of the walls of the bathroom, and it was only then that he realized how worked up he'd gotten over it. He clamped his mouth shut, flushing bright red from what he was sure was head to toe and looked down at the floor.
"Arthur," Mal said quietly.
The bell rang, rattling all of them.
"I've got to get to class," Arthur said, shoving passed Cobb and escaping their eyes for the moment.
Arthur didn't tell Eames about Cobb and Mal's confrontation, but Eames could tell he was bothered over something.
"This isn't about what I said yesterday, is it?" Eames asked.
Arthur looked up from his plate of reheated Chinese take-out. "Huh? What is? No, I'm fine. I don't know what you're talking about."
Eames leaned his cheek onto his fist and smirked. "You're in your head a lot. Something's bugging you."
"It's… It's just my friends," Arthur admitted. "They think I've been acting different, and they're worried about me."
"Well, they have a right to be," Eames teased, "what with you smoking cancer sticks and committing sodomy and whatnot." Eames stopped joking when Arthur's response was to slide down into his seat looking ill. "Oh, come now, Arthur, don't-It's all right."
The thing was, Eames didn't understand that Arthur didn't feel bad about the sins he was committing so much as the fact that he felt bad about not caring. He was concerned that he didn't mind in the slightest what he was doing, foolhardy as it was… and he was only concerned because he was dragging Eames along for the ride.
"Eames… why do you like me?" Arthur asked, sipping from the can of beer on the table.
"What kind of a question is that?" Eames chuckled.
"A simple one. Why do you like me?"
Just then, there was a knock on Eames's door. Eames motioned to Arthur that he'd be right back and opened it, leaving the chain on.
It was Yusuf.
"Ariadne called and invited us to go to the karaoke bar tonight. She said you weren't answering your phone."
"Oh," Eames blinked, patting his pockets before digging out his cell. "Oh, I do have a missed call. Silly me. This damn thing never rings." He looked back at Arthur who was sitting there in his skinny jeans and t-shirt, beer can clasped between both hands, watching.
"Is someone in there with you?" Yusuf asked. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
"N-no," Eames stammered. "Just ah-"
Arthur stood up and placed the beer can on the table and started glancing around. He seemed to settle on something, but Eames was trying to keep eye contact with Yusuf to avoid allowing his eyes to wander. "So, karaoke, eh? I don' t know if I'm willing to sit through another drunken rendition of 'I Will Survive', Yusuf."
"Ariadne's not so bad of a singer."
"You sang that song, Yusuf."
Arthur had slipped into one of Eames's never worn blazers hanging in the back of the closet. He'd had it since middle school and had never thrown it out. His mother had always claimed he never threw anything out, but Eames figured that was just how artists were. Glorified hoarders.
Arthur looked damn good in it too. It aged him up just slightly.
"If you're not hiding anything, why won't you let me inside? Eames, I told you, I already know you were fooling around yesterday-"
"This isn't the same person," Eames interrupted.
Arthur had combed his hands through his hair, and somehow with it messier, he seemed more adult. After he'd lit a cigarette, he was almost convincing.
Eames shut the door and opened it with the chain off.
"Who are you?" Yusuf asked, eyeing Arthur suspiciously.
"An artist," Arthur replied, lifting the camera Eames had given him and taking Yusuf's picture. He'd gotten batteries for it on his way back to Eames's that afternoon after school, "and a model."
Yusuf raised an eyebrow, and Arthur took a drag on his cigarette. "You seem familiar."
"Mr. Eames hired me to model for him. I need a little extra money since I'm paying for art school, so I took him up on the offer," Arthur lied, never batting an eyelash, never letting an ounce of doubt creep into his words. He was even speaking more deeply.
"You look a bit… young to be modeling for money, for art school."
"I get that all the time," Arthur laughed. "It's fucking ridiculous."
Realization seemed to dawn on Yusuf. "Holy shit, you're… you're the muse boy! The one Eames's said he'd never see again!" He turned on Eames. "You lied to me!"
"I said I'd probably never see him again. He wasn't really all that interested in my offer," Eames said, joining in on the lying, "but he lost his job, and now we're talking about prices." He clapped Yusuf on the shoulder and started leading him out before he saw the half-finished and completely finished paintings of Arthur already littering the place. "So, karaoke, eh? Sounds like fun! Eh, Arthur?"
"Sounds like a blast," Arthur agreed, finishing off his beer. "Who's driving?"
Arthur had never gone to sing karaoke before. He'd never done any kind of 'going out' before, really, so he couldn't help but feel excited. He tried to act nonchalant though, as though he'd gone out all the time.
"Oh, fuck, I forgot my I.D.," Arthur lied, looking into his wallet after climbing into the backseat of Yusuf's car.
"I can handle your drinks," Eames shrugged. "Besides, where we're going, they don't really give a shit."
"We know the owner," Yusuf assured Arthur.
Arthur spent the drive taking photographs of the passing city at night. "So, who's Ariadne?" he asked idly. "Is she your girlfriend, Eames?"
"No, no, nothing like that," Eames said. "She's just a girl I work with at the restaurant."
"Oh. Cool," Arthur replied, aiming the lens at Eames's profile and clicking. "You have a magnificent profile, Eames. Maybe you should be my model sometime."
"Maybe," Eames laughed.
"Do I detect flirting?" Yusuf asked flatly. He didn't look amused.
"You don't understand art, Yusuf," Eames scoffed. "No wonder you flunked out of school."
"You flunked out of school, Eames. I studied Chemistry, you twat. We're here."
The three of them got out of the car, and Arthur stayed at the back of the group so that Yusuf couldn't compare their heights. "So, is Ariadne single?" he asked.
"God, I hope so," Yusuf said dreamily, and Eames wheezed with laughter.
Ariadne was tiny and adorable, and Arthur and Eames were both grateful for that because she made Arthur seem much older. They seemed to click instantly, Arthur and Ariadne, laughing and joking over things only they seemed to understand. Yusuf wasn't too fond of their fast friendship, but Eames was sure there was nothing to worry about and assured Yusuf of such.
Yusuf still got drunk and sang 'All By Myself'.
Arthur was pretty buzzed as well after only a few beers, and he could tell by how he laughed a bit too loud at a terrible performance of No Doubt's 'Don't Speak'.
"Artie," Ariadne slurred, patting him on the back. No one else could get away with calling him that. Ariadne was just so cute when she did it. "You should sing."
"Oh, no, I couldn't," Arthur shook his head, grinning ear to ear. "I couldn't, I couldn't. I've never been very good-I, I get stage fright."
"Do it!" Eames cheered, lifting his bottle in the air. Eames had been drinking two beers for every one of Arthur's.
"No!" Arthur cried, blushing, and the table broke into a chant of 'do it, do it, do it' so he ended up sighing and saying, "Fine, fine, I'll do it! You're animals."
Arthur clambered onto the stage, tossing his jacket to Eames, to a round of applause. Eames was grinning like he was waiting for Arthur to embarrass himself.
Arthur decided he'd just need to knock his socks off as revenge and picked his songs.
The crowd broke into laughter as the opening notes started up, but Arthur didn't care, licking his lips and grabbing the microphone.
Eames apparently didn't catch the reasoning behind Arthur's choice until he started to sing because that was when his smile faded a little, and he just stared.
"You think I'm pretty without any make-up on, you think I'm funny when I tell the punch line wrong, I know you get me, so I'll let my walls come down, down…"
"Oh, you bastard," Eames whispered quietly enough that it may have just been in his head.
"Before you met me, I was all right, but things were kind of heavy, you brought me to life, now every February you'll be my valentine," he smiled at Eames. He couldn't stop smiling at Eames. "Valentine…"
"Oh, I love this song!" Ariadne squealed drunkenly and grabbed Yusuf by the arm. "C'mon, dance with me!"
"Oh, all right," Yusuf said as if it was some kind of chore, but his eyes were gleaming excitedly.
Eames didn't even notice them leave, too busy staring at Arthur, trying to keep his mouth from watering too much because fuck, he knew what Arthur looked like naked, and now it was all he could see.
"Let's go all the way tonight… No regrets, just love."
"Oh, now that's just not fair," Eames mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
"We can dance until we die, you and I will be young for-ev-er-"
Arthur spread his legs apart, and shit he was practically fucking the microphone stand. "You-" He pointed at Eames, "make- me-" an overdramatic point at himself-Christ, he was drunk. "-feel like I'm living a teen-age dream-"
Okay, Eames decided, Arthur was definitely doing the song to fuck with him.
Smart little bastard.
"I- can't- sleep, let's run away and don't ever look back, don't ever look back…" Arthur looked into Eames's eyes, and suddenly... suddenly, this wasn't a game anymore, and he knew Eames felt it too, that sudden shift. "My- heart- stops-when you look at me. Just- one- touch-now baby, I believe, this- is- real, let's take a chance and don't ever look back, don't ever look back."
Arthur sang the second verse and chorus in a haze.
Eames watched while Arthur ran his long fingered hands up his hips, licking his lips unconsciously, lost in Arthur's slightly pitchy, somewhat slurred, "I will get your heart racing in my skin tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight. I'll let you put your hands on me in my skin tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight."
By the time the song ended, Arthur was pretty sure he'd molested the microphone stand and nearly fallen off the stage twice, but he was one-hundred-percent sure that he was half-hard.
Eames apparently shared a sentiment similar because as soon as Arthur stumbled off the stage, Eames grabbed him and dragged him away to the bathroom.
"Eames, what-" Arthur started, but Eames shut him up with a fierce kiss on the mouth.
"You cheeky little brat," Eames said, pulling away before diving back in.
"I thought you'd think it was funny," Arthur smirked.
"You didn't even think it was funny," Eames countered and shoved his hands down Arthur's pants. Arthur squealed, hips jutting towards Eames's touch. "Now see, this, this is funny." Eames grinned like the devil himself.
"Oh," Arthur sighed, head lolling back on his neck. "That's just hilarious…"
He clumsily slipped his hands into Eames's pants in response, causing him to grunt. Arthur plastered on a lazy, crooked grin, and the two of them jerked each other off until they were both a mess inside their underwear.
While Eames set to cleaning them both up (since Arthur was usually pretty much useless once he had been spent), in the back of his mind Arthur thought that this was another moment he should have been regretting or feeling guilty about, but he just couldn't get his brain working around the alcohol and lust and something that felt a little bit like a dream.
It felt a little bit like a dream and a lot like love.
Oh, shit.