Inception - Pretend That You're Alone (2/11)

[osaki_nana_707]

Title: Pretend That You're Alone (2/11)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 4,149
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames
Rating: NC-17(this part)
Warnings: language, underage, age difference (16/32)
Summary: AU. Eames is a burned out university professor who goes to the park for lunch to get away from the chaos of his life. There he meets 16-year-old Arthur and begins to befriend him for his ability to have an intelligent conversation with him. When he discovers the boy is homeless, he decides to take care of him, but things with Arthur get more complicated than he could ever expect.



Part Two

With Arthur up next to him and Eames really paying attention, he couldn't understand how he had ever missed the fact that he was homeless. He had a distinctive smell and look of someone who hadn't bathed. He also had a weariness to his bones that no child should have, and frankly Eames just found it appalling that he hadn't noticed, hadn't attempted to help him sooner.

When the bus pulled to a stop, he led Arthur down the street to his building and then up to his floor. Once he'd shut the door, they both just stood in the foyer next to one another for a long moment.

"This is a nice place," Arthur said, his bag sliding off of his shoulder and thumping to the floor. "I feel like I should take off my shoes or something."

Eames shrugged. "I've only got one bedroom, so you'll have to sleep on the settee."

"Do you have a shower?" Arthur asked, looking over his shoulder after he ventured a little further into the house. He'd taken his shoes off to reveal a pair of socks full of holes. Eames was pretty sure he could see blisters on his heels.

"Of course I do," Eames said. "Would you like for me to wash those clothes of yours?"

"They're the only pair I've still got," Arthur said. "Why are you doing this?" He turned fully towards him then, swinging his scrawny arms. "Did you have like… a homeless brother or something that you didn't help and now you feel guilty? Or is it that I seem just so pathetic that you felt the need to take me home like some sort of stray dog?"

He didn't sound agitated or even offended; in fact he just sort of sounded bemused, a little humored by the whole thing, like he thought that surely he must have been dreaming it. Eames didn't really have much of an answer, so he just chuckled and said, "I honestly don't know. It's like I said before, I just like you, and I don't want you sleeping on the streets. I'd worry, you know."

"I've been doing it just fine since I was twelve," Arthur said, grinning boyishly at him. "I'm not some delicate flower. I've lived through colder winters than this one."

Even with that comment, Arthur seemed perfectly content with making himself at home, slipping out of his coat and hanging it up on one of the hooks and hopping over the back of the couch to bounce on the cushions a couple of times. "So, do you have any roommates? A girlfriend?" he asked, never pausing in his bounce as he took in the view of the city through the glass windows. "A cat? A fish? A pet rock? Anything?"

"Nope. It's just me by my lonesome," Eames said, hanging up his coat and scarf. "The bath is through here."

Arthur climbed off of the sofa and fell in behind Eames, taking in the info as Eames pointed out his office, his bedroom, the kitchen, and then the bath.

"I haven't had any bath without the use of a sink in a long time," Arthur said staring in wonder at the tile. "Cool… Thanks."

"Don't worry-" Eames started to say, but he was surprised the boy was already unabashedly stripping out of his clothes, revealing the dirt-smudged, milky white skin over his spine and shoulder blades, and then he was dropping his jeans and briefs and showing Eames his equally pale ass. Eames cleared his throat and turned his eyes away, and then Arthur let out a far too beautiful laugh.

"Oh, what, like you've never seen a bare ass before," Arthur teased, turning the water on as hot as physically possible. "I have a dick too, and a pair of testicles, if you can believe that. Come on, Eames, they're the same pieces of machinery that you have."

"How old are you anyway?" Eames asked, not turning to peek (at least not very much-and purely just for eye contact, really).

"Sixteen," Arthur replied, wincing and hissing through his teeth as he dropped one foot into the rising water, and-

Seriously, why was there a sixteen-year-old boy with his dick hanging out in the middle of his bathroom?

"You're awfully extroverted, aren't you?" he mumbled.

"Like I said, it's all the same parts," Arthur said, sinking into the tub with a sigh. "It's only inappropriate if you think it is."

"I'll uh… I'll take these and wash them then," Eames said, excusing himself with the pile of Arthur's smelly, holey clothes. He wasn't even sure if they would so much as hold up in his washing machine, but he threw them in anyways and ran them on the gentle cycle. He checked his phone messages (nothing new), checked to make sure he'd locked the door, and then he went back to check on Arthur…

…only to find that he wasn't there.

"Arthur?" he called out, ignoring the very obvious ring around the rim of the bath, the dirty handprints on the soap.

"Boo!" Arthur shouted, jumping out from behind Eames's bedroom door in one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers. He had left the top three buttons of the salmon, white-striped shirt unbuttoned, the collar of it hanging over his left shoulder so far that one of his nipples was showing.

"Those are my clothes," Eames said, and he wasn't really sure why he said it since clearly they both knew that they were.

"Thank you for that. I had no idea," Arthur said, tugging the shirt up only for it to slip back down again. "I told you I didn't have anything else, and since you took my clothes, I decided to take some of yours." He leaned over to tug up one of the socks he'd pulled on, but it rolled right back down his ankle.

"Well, you should at least button it up all the way," Eames scolded, stepping forward to take the fabric between his fingers to close it up a bit more. "I was going to wear this shirt tomorrow."

"This shirt is hideous, and for the record, I didn't button it because I don't like-" he paused to jerk Eames's hands away. "I don't like things on my throat."

"It wouldn't be on your throat even if you buttoned it up all the way. It's too big on you," Eames said.

"I don't like it," Arthur reinforced, but at least Eames had buttoned one button so that it didn't slide down quite so much. "What's the big deal, anyway? I'm dressed, aren't I? You invited me here, but now you're acting like I intruded. You really aren't used to company, are you?"

"Not particularly, no," Eames admitted. "I pretty much get up, go to work, and come home with the occasional day where Yusuf and I go for drinks."

"Yeah, well," Arthur said, just the slightest twinge of bitterness in his voice, "I wish my life could be so predictable. Do you have anything to eat?"

Eames had made him some ramen noodles because they were quick and easy, and the boy was devouring them with gusto. He certainly didn't have much for table manners, slurping loudly away at the noodles, but Eames would assume that would improve when his hunger lessened. Arthur could clearly use chopsticks anyhow, so it wasn't like utensils were new things for him.

"So," Eames said, folding his hands together and dropping his chin onto the top of them, "why the bloody hell have you been living in the streets?"

"Well," Arthur said, pausing to swallow, "my mom had this drug problem, right? When I was born, I was addicted to meth, and the hospital kind of had to put us both through rehab. She got her shit together, and she got me back, but by the time I was three years old, she was back on the stuff. One thing led to another, and we lost our house, and then we lost the apartment we were staying in, and then the guy she was staying with kicked us out. We ended up on the streets. Things went pretty typically from there on out, her sending me off to beg for money so she could buy more drugs while she did the same for herself. I kept some of the money I'd get so I could buy food-usually a cinnamon bun, they're so good. Um… yeah, she started to get it together again for a little while, and we moved into a shelter, but uh… but one morning I woke up, and she had left me there. She had run off somewhere, and I haven't seen her since then.

"No harm done though," he continued. "I can handle myself. By that time, I knew how to get by. I left the shelter because everyone kept thinking I did something to my mom, but I didn't need them anyway. Ever since, I've just been living my life. I go to the library like I always do, and I just sit and read for hours. I get my hands on some money, and I buy food… You know, and then you came along, and I didn't have to scrape around quite so much."

He had slowed to picking at the noodles, growing just the slightest bit shy at the admission. Eames could tell that Arthur was trying not to act ashamed of his upbringing, but he wasn't doing a very good job.

"Well, it's all right now," Eames said. "You can stay here as long as you like."

He wanted to believe it was a terrible idea, that he shouldn't have said it… but the appreciative look and grateful smile he got from saying it was enough to satisfy any of his fears for the moment.

He was just a kid. All he needed was a chance.

"So, uh…" Arthur said, gesturing around. "You're a pretty good looking guy, and you've got this killer pad. Why don't you have, you know, a wife or a girlfriend or whatever?"

"Ah… well, I suppose I just never found the right person. I was married to my work very early in life, and I'm pretty sure I just missed the boat."

Arthur pulled a face. "You're not even that old. You're what, like twenty-nine?"

"Thirty-two."

"That's not even old. Seventy is old. You could get all the chicks you want if you just went out and made the effort."

"I appreciate that, but I'm not terribly interested in starting up a relationship at this point. It's too much trouble to attempt to maintain. I've never been all that good at holding up my end on romantic affairs-"

"What are you, gay or something?"

"Where did you get that-"

"I don't know. I just got that vibe off of you, I guess," Arthur shrugged. "If it makes it easier to admit, I'm gay too."

"I'm not-You can't even know what you are. You're only a teenager. You don't know what you want yet."

"Don't give me that shit," Arthur said, smiling. "We all know what we want. It just takes some people longer to admit it than others. Wanting is a carnal desire, instinct. No, it doesn't control everything we do, I'm not Sigmund Freud, but… well, yeah, it does have a lot to do with how we function."

"Here I thought that I was the psychologist," Eames said with a smirk.

"I told you. I like to read," Arthur said simply. "It's not that I'm trying to claim you don't know what you're talking about…" Surely he was just backtracking to say such a thing so Eames wouldn't send him out (even though he wouldn't anyway). "I'm just saying that if you're claiming that you don't know what you want, then all you're really doing is denying yourself."

"You should probably save your theories for your thesis, pet," Eames chuckled, and watched as Arthur raised his eyebrows at him.

"Maybe I will, someday," Arthur agreed, though he seemed to be halfway teasing. "I'm not much of a writer though. It's not that I don't know how words work, but my handwriting is kind of… bad… I never really went to school, you know?"

"Yeah, ah, I had a feeling since your living situation has been complicated-"

"I did get to go for a couple of years… you know, off and on, but uh… I guess I just sort of fell behind, and once I was by myself I figured I'd be better off learning on my own, so I read anything I could get my hands on."

"Well, you certainly seem smarter than some of my daft students. I think you could give them a run for their money, though admittedly I don't really think that's saying much."

Arthur drank the broth from his noodles and stared over the edge of his bowl at Eames. His eyes were so dark, like black pits, and Eames for one was finding it a little difficult to look away. "Cool," he said when he was finished. "I think I need a cigarette."

A few moments later, Arthur was out on his balcony smoking, and Eames was sitting at the table alone, staring at the little dark green bowl he'd eaten out of, wondering just what he had been denying of himself.

Five o' clock came far too early, but Eames beat his alarm clock into submission and crawled out from the warmth of his covers anyway.

He padded out of his bedroom with the slightly too long edges of his pajama pants swishing against the floor, rubbing at his eyes and his stubble as he stifled a yawn. He had nearly forgotten that Arthur was there at all, so he paused when he saw the curled up lump on his couch.

As Eames approached, he found himself just a little enchanted by the sleeping boy's face. The light flutter of his eyelashes as he drifted through REM, the slight part of his lips, the way his cheeks were flushed just so and how one strand of dark hair fell in a curl over the milky white bridge of his nose…

He looked like a fucking angel.

He brushed the hair back into place, and Arthur's shifted, head pressing further into the pillow, and Eames's fingertip touched the skin just above his eyebrow. At the realization of the feel of the slightly cooler skin, Eames's hand jerked away as if he'd been burned.

"What am I doing?" he asked himself, shaking his head as he moved away. Of course he knew the answer to that. He was being ridiculous. He shouldn't have been even laying a finger on him; he was just a kid!

…but it wasn't like Eames had meant anything by the gesture. He was just admiring him in a purely platonic way. Lots of people admired children for being precious and precocious and oddly wise. He was just sleeping peacefully, and Eames had innocently gone and tucked a strand of his hair away. That was all.

He was freaking out over nothing.

He really had been alone too long. That was all.

He reminded himself that he needed to clean the bath when he got home but still jumped in the shower anyway, giving himself a quick scrub down. The water was warm and helped wake him up a little… but he still didn't want to go into work. In fact, he was dreading walking through the doors and wondering if all of his students might just show up today or not. He also had to start auditions for the play this afternoon, and that used to be his favorite thing to do, but now it was like torture. He didn't even know if he'd get enough auditionees this time around, and even if he did, there was no guarantee there'd be any sort of talent in the bunch.

He sighed dejectedly as he pulled back the curtain and stepped out of the tub, and-

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted, jumping back behind the curtain when he realized Arthur was standing there, leaning in the doorway. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Standing," Arthur replied simply. "Stop being such a pussy."

"Forgive me," Eames complained, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist before stepping out behind the curtain, "if I don't want my junk hanging out in front of other people."

"That's not what your problem is," Arthur said with a smirk, coming into the bathroom further as if to spite Eames and shutting the door. "It's only because I'm so young. You think it's inappropriate, but really that's stupid because once you hit puberty your junk kind of stays the same until you get old."

"I don't know if your anatomy theories are quite correct," Eames said flatly. "Why the bloody hell are you in here?"

"You didn't lock the door, so I figured I could," Arthur said, and Eames had to remind himself that Arthur clearly didn't have household etiquette and probably had never had a reason to. "I thought I would thank you for letting me stay here."

"You could have waited until I got out of the bath," Eames said.

"Technically, I did," Arthur replied.

"Good point," Eames said. "How about you run along now so I can brush my teeth and get dressed, and then we'll have breakfast-"

Arthur shoved him up against the sink, hand planted square in the middle of his chest, and Eames would have easily fought him off if he'd expected it. He met eyes with Arthur, and any words he'd been intending to say were left just behind his teeth. Arthur's eyes were black, and all Eames could do was question with his own eyes because his mouth wasn't working.

"Thanks," Arthur said and dropped to his knees.

Eames gasped, hands gripping to the sink when Arthur wrapped his mouth around his cock, taking him right down without any warning. The towel he'd wrapped around himself lay bunched in the floor; he'd never even realized Arthur had tugged it off.

…which really, he shouldn't have even bothered to think about because clearly Arthur was sucking his cock. There was so much wrong with what was happening that he couldn't even form words.

Arthur, sixteen-year-old Arthur, sixteen years old, was rolling his tongue under the underside of his prick, and even though he hadn't been hard at first, Arthur seemed to know exactly how to make it that way. Wherever his mouth couldn't reach, he'd wrapped his fist around and was jerking it in rhythm with his mouth… and he never looked away from Eames the entire time, his gaze locked with Eames's while he hollowed out his cheeks around him. Why was he doing this? More importantly, why was Eames letting him do it?

Eames started to make a move to pull away, but then Arthur hummed around his dick, and suddenly he couldn't move. He hadn't had sex in about seven months, with a girl Yusuf had introduced him to but ultimately hadn't been able to hold his interest for more than one night, and he hadn't been sucked off since he couldn't even remember… and Arthur was damned good at it too, unbelievably so. Eames was choking back on sounds before he even realized he was making them, heat filling him up from head to toe. He thought for a moment that he was going to break the sink off of the wall…

…and then he remembered just what was happening, and he shouted, jerking his hips away from Arthur who didn't put up too much fight to let him go only because it was already too late. White, hot come released itself across Arthur's face, beading in his hair, and the boy was fucking smiling like he'd wanted it to happen.

"Wow, you're pretty spry to be in your thirties," Arthur laughed, stroking his fingers through the mess and sucking them clean. He was most definitely enjoying himself. "I admire that in a man."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Eames hissed, grabbing Arthur by the arm and pulling him up onto his feet. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

There were still strands of come dripping off of Arthur's hair. It was mildly distracting. "You can't just… do those things," Eames whispered fiercely as if there were people listening from every wall. "God damn it, I can't believe that you-"

"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you," Arthur said, and he was still grinning cheekily, not at all ashamed. "I've seen the way you look at me. You can't pretend you didn't want it."

"You're a bloody demon is what you are," Eames growled. "The whole angel face of yours, that's just a façade. You fucking tricked me."

"I didn't trick you. That would have required an amount of effort," Arthur replied smugly as he picked the towel up off of the floor and finally cleaned the mess off of his face. "Don't get all freaked out."

"You… you sucked my cock," Eames said, as if Arthur hadn't been aware. "I didn't even give you permission to-"

"I guess not," Arthur responded, tossing Eames the towel, "but if we were to go toe to toe in court, I wonder what the judge would believe happened."

"You bastard," Eames said darkly.

"Relax. I'm not going to tell anyone. Consider it services exchanged on behalf of allowing me to stay here. I'm being a nice houseguest is all."

"Nice… nice houseguests do chores and clean up after themselves-"

"You can act upset all you want, but you enjoyed it. There's spunk on that towel and in my mouth to prove it."

"You can't-the body reacts to-it didn't have anything to do with you!"

Arthur was laughing. The brat didn't seem to understand the seriousness of the situation, no matter how much Eames tried to make it clear. He had never had such a strong urge to hit someone in his entire life. Eames didn't even have words.

His laugh really shouldn't have been so fucking charming.

"Seriously," Arthur chuckled, wiping away tears of mirth from his eyes, but all the laughter immediately stopped when he saw the look on Eames's face. He cleared his throat and started again, "Seriously… would you just relax? I'm not going to tell anyone. It was fun, all right? It's not like I haven't done it before with guys older than you."

"What?" Eames asked, at a loss. "How can you just say that so casually? Jesus Christ!"

Arthur's expression shifted then, unreadable, and then he said hesitantly, "I… like you. Don't you like me?"

"This isn't high school," Eames grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"So you don't like me."

"I didn't say that."

"Well, do you or don't you?"

Eames sighed in frustration. "Yes, okay? I like you. I wouldn't have let you come here if I didn't."

"So what's the problem?" Arthur asked, his entirely-too-precious little smile creeping back onto his face.

"I don't think I need to remind you that you happen to be sixteen, do I? God, you're not even old enough to drink. You're barely old enough to drive," Eames grumbled.

"Age is just a number," Arthur replied, slouching against the wall and looking even younger as if to spite him, "and I happen to be very mature for my age."

"You're unbelievable," Eames said in exasperation, moving to leave the bathroom at last, shaking his head. "We are not doing this again, understand?"

"Does that mean I can still stay here?" Arthur asked, mockingly innocent as he trailed along behind Eames.

Eames didn't dignify his teasing with a response, choosing instead to get dressed and skip breakfast.

He left Arthur standing in the foyer, still smiling that devilish little smile and looking far too charming.

He was beginning to think he'd made a massive, massive mistake… but all the same he couldn't go back on it now. Arthur was a little shit, but he was still a kid… Besides, maybe he was just misguided. Actually, he was surely, most definitely misguided. Eames had gathered that Arthur had sucked cock before (since he'd told him so), and maybe he was under the impression that it was the only way he could connect with people. He'd been so alone for so long, he'd probably had to do some things he wasn't proud of to get by. Eames just needed to help him get back to living normally. All Arthur needed was a little help.

…and Eames didn't need any help. He wasn't flustered or just a little bit curious about what else the boy could do with his mouth or any of that nonsense.

Really.

I have no idea where I'm going with this.