ladyvader: (AE - TH Tears)
[personal profile] ladyvader
Sorry again for the mix up last week, I double (ok triple :P) checked the links this time so we should be rocking ;)

Title: Pet [Part 6]
Author: LadyVader
Pairing/s: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Category: Multi chaptered – Completed with postings once a week so to not destroy my poor beta’s brain.
Summary: AU fic - Arthur is in his final year of high school and finds himself entirely too interested in the new English teacher. Entirely inspired by the Police lyrics ‘Sometimes it’s not so easy to be the teacher’s Pet’.
Rating: R rated most parts for language etc, NC17 overall.
Word Count: 100k approx in full, this part 7200 approx.
Warnings: Shameless gacking of movie verse characters and dialogue, high school angst and an inappropriate relationship between teacher and student (if this is something that bothers you then please don’t read the fic).
Disclaimer: INCEPTION and its lovely molestable characters belong to Mr Nolan who incepted me into borrowing them: You’ve no one to blame but yourself Chris!
Authors Note: Thanks to [ profile] dreambastion, [ profile] arineat & [ profile] takola for the cheerleading, [ profile] whisperedtones for the banner :D <3 and most of all to my evol, EVOL muse (and sadly put upon beta/ sounding board/ drill sargeant) [ profile] dysonrules. This one is ALL YOURS hon - you created the monster, I hope you enjoys it ;)

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5a
Part 5b

Pet [Part 6]

Wednesday – usually somewhat uneventful in regards to the lack of rehearsals and English lessons – became a day of quivering, pounding awareness.

Arthur wore one of his standard outfits, a shirt under a sweater, sleeves pushed not quite to his elbows, bare inches from exposing his mark. He couldn’t quite help but run his fingertips over his sore flesh all day, casually stroking his thumb back and forth over it each time he crossed his arms to lean against a desk or talk to friends, his nerve endings firing in response to his new exhilarating submission to his feelings, his body literally throbbing when he saw Eames briefly in passing between classes. It was all he could do to not drop to his knees and suck fervently on the fingers that had inspired such bliss the previous day.

Arthur had been somewhat saddened to find no marks blossoming on his throat that morning, something he had later decided was just as well; he couldn’t stand those horribly obvious couples who left hickeys and love bites and teeth marks in obvious places and, as much as he desperately yearned to be part of just such a couple with Eames, the likelihood of Ariadne not noticing such a thing or commenting on said mark made it decidedly less sexy as a concept.

So giddy was he in general that day that he decided that it wasn’t worth his jeopardizing his newfound heady joy by attempting to stifle it in the presence of its creator. He opted instead to catch a lift home with Ariadne, more than willing to cast off his excess energies in the freshly filled pool waiting at home for him.

So, with a jaunty grin in Eames’ direction as he and Ari darted out from the school just as the bell ceased to chime, he set off for a night of plowing through the thickly scented, warm water, having waited until his Mom and Rick had headed back indoors so he could swim without worrying about displaying his vividly bruised skin. He spent a good half hour before bed just floating there, smiling up at the night sky, allowing himself the moment to really feel how much he wanted Eames with his barriers down, endorphins high, and utterly at peace with the world.

Such things never last, of course.

Thursday dawned dull and murky grey, as many of the days that month had before it; the wind still carried the threat of ice as it stung the cheeks and eyes of those foolish enough to be caught in it.

Arthur had both English and a rehearsal before him and he was so obnoxiously giddy with his general air of bonhomie and peace and goodwill to all men (one in particular of course), that Ari had despaired of him in the lunchroom, frisking his lunch sack for drugs or, at the very least, a magazine with hot, naked men inside.

Upon discovering neither, she had washed her hands of him, despite his promise to at least get a magazine for her to find next time. Her darker mood prevailed, due to her newfound artistic block concerning the projects she wanted to focus on for the Gala. She had stymied herself with over-analysis to the point where the majority of her communication had de-evolved to bitter grunts and teeth gnashing. Arthur wasn’t overly concerned; she generally did this immediately before a breakthrough of epic proportion that would turn her just as equally giddy for days, so he didn’t allow it to encroach on his own sunny mood.

English was marvelous. Eames stepped into the corridor to rage at a student he’d discovered severely misbehaving between lessons, and so Arthur’s class sat and beamed at each other as the man verbally tore the idiotic student to pieces for a crime none of them knew, or cared to know of, because Eames in a passion was just that entertaining. His biting sarcasm and cut glass verbosity made them feel they had stepped into the midst of a West End hissy fit. It was delightful.

Rehearsal was more frustrating, however, with the stage layout frequently changing as Eames happened upon better notions for placement, and then yet better again on a fairly regular basis. Several cast members were still floundering even as the others snapped and bitched about professionalism in a field they had yet to embark upon, each more determined they already knew precisely what to do, so the few mistakes became literally epic in the light of embarrassment and overreaction to minor setbacks.

Arthur always knew where he was meant to be and what to say, and was thoroughly aware that he might well be hated for it, but when he came to the end of his scenes and felt Hamlet’s own, maddened pulse actually residing beneath his skin, and felt Eames’ warm, approving gaze upon him, he couldn’t help but shine.

“You’re in an awfully good mood today.” Eames remarked as the others fled the set at the end of rehearsal. Arthur had paused to collect his jacket and bag slowly because, oh god he really wanted another lift home today, he wanted Eames’ proximity, his voice, his heat, his smell...

“Am I?” he quipped easily, his smile low-key and simmering under the glorious weight of Eames’ attention, his eyebrow lifting as Eames chuckled and gathered his papers together.

“Yes, it’s positively obscene, darling. I quite insist you go back to being the grumpy, sarcastic fiend I first dragged in here kicking and screaming. It’s really quite off-putting, that happy sort of thing you seem to be doing.”

Arthur would have frowned at that had Eames not winked and grinned at him, inspiring a similar smile, if somewhat more smug, from Arthur in return.

“What can I tell you?” He sighed with what he knew was a truly galling amount of smug satisfaction. “I guess spending hours floating in my own private pool of luxurious bliss just wore my edges down a little.”

Eames sagged against his desk and attempted a pitiful groan.

“Jealous, JEALOUS...” He gasped as though it were a literal thorn in his side, grinning despite his melodramatic affectations.

Arthur strolled closer, warming to his subject as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against Eames’ desk to assume an air of helpless contentment. “It’s like swimming in a huge, beautiful bath. And there’s a Plexiglas dome built all around it, so it’s warm when you get out, too, but you can still see the sky and all the poor, cold people without swimming pools going about their daily lives, never knowing what utter bliss it is that they have yet to experience...”

Eames pouted, for want of a better word, and Arthur nearly lost his laid-back facade.

“Are you trying to make me cry, Arthur? Because I will – I’ll cry of the sheer all-encompassing envy that consumes me if THAT is what you’re after. Is it? Do you really want to see a grown man cry?”

Arthur let his grin break through. “No, I’m more than happy to just bask in your overall envy, sans melancholia, if that’s alright by you.”

Eames grinned in return before walking over to the stage to grab the few notepads he’d left scattered at its edge.

“Just as well, darling, I really bloody hate crying on cue. Means I have to think about dead kittens and stuff like that, and I’m just so not in the mood for that this afternoon.”

Arthur snorted and Eames threw him a smile over his shoulder as he resumed stuffing his clearly precious paperwork into his already stuffed bag. “Though, if it helps, I am HUGELY envious. It sounds glorious, Arthur.”

“You should come over.”

No – wait, that wasn’t what he’d meant to say.

“I mean, you should come use it. It’d be totally fine, my mom only ever uses it before work and its really SO GOOD what with the weather and everything and – OH, oh my god, I could make you watch that movie, y’know, This Could be the Night, we were talking about it before and... uh...”

Eames was standing very, very still and Arthur’s every cell screamed that he should just stop talking as he saw the older man’s shoulders stiffen, but he just couldn’t quite seem to stop, digging himself deeper with every desperate word intended to pull him free of the horror he’d abruptly heaped upon himself.

“...I mean, I don’t mean tonight or anything, so no worries or pressure or anything, but you know, I just meant if you did want to use the pool, then that’d be fine, because ... because-”

“Arthur.” Eames said his name with a voice that sounded like he hadn’t slept or smiled for too long and his hands were white knuckled on the edge of his desk where he still faced away from Arthur. “Arthur, I – I’m very flattered, but I think you know how completely inappropriate-”

“No – no, that’s not – I didn’t, I didn’t mean it that way!” Arthur burst out past lungs burning with repressed dread, startling slightly backward as Eames spun, his face oddly furious even as Arthur watched him fight to keep both his expression and tone neutral.

“Yes – yes you did, Arthur, you meant it exactly that way and I am flattered, truly, it’s my own fault, I was actually warned about this, and I-”

Arthur didn’t wait to hear whatever other damning words had been spoken on the subject of his apparently predictable, painful crush. Going by the shut down, absent look on Eames’ face then, it seemed quite likely to rip him in two.

There was nothing for it but to run.

He fled, heart hammering in his ears even as Arthur heard Eames call out after him; his bag swung madly in his hand where he hadn’t had time to do more than clutch it and run, making it to the bus stop just in time to fling himself aboard. He sat with his head between his knees almost all the way home.

He got off at the usual corner just by his house and stood in the cold, gazing at the dark windows of his apartment and mother’s house before he turned and walked directly to Moore’s door. His hand shook as he lifted it to press the buzzer.

She opened the door smiling, only to exclaim over his apparent pallor, usher him indoors for overly sweet strawberry lemonade, and babble at him pleasantly when he sat for a good half hour with the cool glass clasped between his palms, waiting for when he could finally meet her eyes and no longer answer in monosyllables and noncommittal noises.

“I,” he wet his dry lips, horrified to note he was still shaking, “I had a really bad day. Can… can I stay and have dinner here tonight?”

He could never say such a thing to his mother. She’d prod and pry, and perhaps make him feel slightly better with her vehement (and possibly vicious) outpouring of love, but what he needed now was the chance to shut it all off, to silence his head beyond what running could do for him, and lock it away until he thought he could handle his mistake without breaking.

Moore smiled and offered him a cookie. “Of course, you can, dearest. We’ll see what magic you can make with my leftovers in a bit and then maybe we’ll watch a nice film together, alright?”

She patted his knee and it was all Arthur could do to not crumple into a ball of weightless relief at her feet. “Thank you,” he whispered, and if she later noticed him screw his eyes shut and stiffen against the soft sofa during their rather ill-judged viewing of South Pacific, well then, she knew he’d explain it when he was good and ready.

He’d never loved her more in his life and, finally full of more food than despair, he staggered home and managed, despite himself, to fall into a deep and almost crushing slumber.


Friday dawned, as it always did, despite Arthur’s lying awake, groggy and gutted after too many hours of unsatisfying sleep. He stared at his alarm clock long before it was set to go off, pleading with the day to not start, or better yet, turn back, give him back his happiness and his odd, unlikely friendship with the man who had apparently been dreading his childish crush all along.

It hurt, frankly, and Arthur might have sold his soul to be truly, justifiably angry over it, but he was horrifyingly aware that it was he who had broken them, he who had taken it too far, he who now had to drag his sorry self out of bed and sit through a bus trip and previously longed for performance, just so he could spend yet more precious time with the man.

He slumped against the shower wall once he’d finally talked himself out from under the covers and into the bathroom. He remembered with a rush of extra horror that he wouldn’t even have Ariadne to lessen the blow; her classes and extra time in the studio had been too important to skip out on because, as she had eloquently put it, “A play that doesn’t even have the decency to permanently include Leonardo DiCaprio shirtless just isn’t worthy of my time”, not to mention the fact that she hadn’t ever really enjoyed the tragedies beyond how good they’d look on her college applications.

He figured he should make plans, be ready for whatever Eames might do, attempt to discuss it, ignore it, ignore him (Arthur felt the last to be the most likely), but frankly, he couldn’t even begin to think about it or else he simply would not leave the house. So, stuffing his still roiling emotions back into the pit of his stomach, he dressed, ate, and forced himself outside and onto the bus to face his crushing, self-inflicted fear.

Eames wasn’t there.

Arthur climbed up into the coach with a tight, polite smile for the rest of the Hamlet troupe, and placed himself midway down the way to seem less like he was hiding, or eager, or anything that might make the damned situation worse than it was already, only to choke on his own breath as a tense-looking Ms. Liebowitz climbed aboard behind the last of the stragglers.

She held up her hands and called for attention as the bus driver closed the door. He started up the engine with a clanking rumble and Eames wasn’t there.

“Now, now – alright, now, obviously you’ve noticed by the lack of accent and sudden gender switch that Mr. Eames can’t be here with you today.” Everyone but Arthur groaned, “He is very sorry to miss this but he is just too sick to come in. He knows how much you are all looking forward to this so he twisted my arm and now you are stuck with me instead!” There was laughter and mock jeering, as Ms. Liebowitz was one of the most popular teachers. Arthur relaxed minutely even as his heart fell into his shoes.

Even when he knew it would hurt, he had wanted to see Eames.

Rolling his eyes with disgust at himself, he smiled weakly at the others and proceeded to blank out everything but the vague nausea that came of extended bus travel and the gentle excitement that he’d originally felt over a day at the theatre.


The play was superb, better than Arthur could have hoped considering the overexposure it’d had from ballet to film to musicals to spoofs et cetera. He had even seen a bad community theatre version when he was twelve or so with his mother, and had cringed his way through each overdone exclamation of devotion until he’d breathed a sigh of relief when they started killing off all the main characters.

This had been different. The cast had simmered with barely-suppressed violence during the feudal scenes and had almost soared with romance during the slow build to the lovers’ inescapable tragedy. It was sublime and he should have enjoyed it.

He didn’t – couldn’t – not with Mercutio playing the role tenderly and with devastating shock when his death scene came around, cursing them all. Arthur could hear nothing but Eames’ voice whispering the words behind the cast, trembling lower when there should have been jealousy, lilting high when there needed to be humor, cracking as his best friend broke his heart. Arthur broke with him and allowed his eyes to burn where they’d so longed to the day before, blinking back tears as the loss turned to violence onstage. Arthur crushed his own misery back in favor of watching that of others.

He smiled along with the rest of the audience once the curtain finally fell, applauding until his palms were raw and his face ached with the effort of maintaining normality before he trudged back to the bus with the others for yet another long ride of boring queasiness.

Or, it would have been, had Helen Mitchell not suddenly decided to have a nosebleed of epic proportions roughly ten minutes from the school.

What started as something that inspired both sympathy and mild revulsion from the rest of the group soon became an object of horror as the blood continued to stream from her face. Then her lips paled out and more than one person handed over a spare article of clothing to try and staunch the flow.

They finally pulled up outside the empty school and Ms. Liebowitz launched herself from the bus and ran to bring her car around, preparing to drive poor Helen to the ER. Helen’s increasing pallor and dizziness frightened all around her, no matter how often she swore that the apparently frequent bleeds generally went away in their own time.

Most of the students disembarked to stand around, excited and morbidly curious as much as they were worried, Arthur one of the few who remained onboard, soothing both the poor girl and the horrified driver in turn, until Ms. Liebowitz came screeching up beside them.

She hustled back up onto the bus, barking orders as she sent one of Helen’s friends to go and contact her parents, instructed the other to accompany them to the ER, and spun back to the remaining group as a veritable whirling dervish. Her eyes swept over the remainder.

“Alright, who lives out by Emerson Street?”

Arthur and two of the set designers (Matt and Ayesha) raised their hands. Liebowitz’s eyes flickered over them before settling resolutely on Arthur.

“Wright, excellent.” He sighed internally and watched with a vaguely put-upon air as the others took their cues and scrambled away lest something be asked of them. Just once he wished he hadn’t been such a model student.

“I was supposed to take some very important paperwork over to Mr. Eames’ house. Usually I would never ask a student to perform such an important task, or even put such a burden on one, especially after hours, but these documents are very important. Mr. Eames needs to review them because they MUST be submitted to the board on Monday morning, or else he can’t get the insurance forms and planning permission for the stage extensions to be built in time for the gala.”

Arthur blinked.

“You want me to take these to... Mr. Eames?” he croaked through a horror-dry mouth, and felt himself prickle with cold sweat when she nodded emphatically, smiling as though it were a great honor.

“Yes, and as swiftly as possible ideally. I’m sorry to charge you with this on a Friday night Wright, but as the star - as it were - of Mr. Eames’ pet project I’m sure you can understand how awful it would be if the set designs were completely ruined, and substantially reduced in terms of performance space. You said you live by Emerson Street?”

Arthur nodded numbly. “Yes. I live right by it – but, Ms Liebowitz, I just can’t take them to him, I mean, he’s sick. He won’t want a student coming to see him, bothering him. Not to mention, he won’t want one knowing where he lives!”

Liebowitz rolled her eyes. “Yes, I suppose he would hate for his address to get about. But considering how adored he appears to be, and how you’re one of the most responsible students it’s ever been my joy to teach, I rather think it’s unlikely I’ll find his address circling the gossip mill come Tuesday, eh Mr. Wright?”

Arthur swallowed. He knew she was right; he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on... He also knew he simply couldn’t bear to show up on Eames’ damn doorstep barely a day after the man had frowned at him and called him on his stupid crush...

“I could drive Helen to the ER?” he offered weakly, shrinking somewhat under the steadily more annoyed gaze of a previously prized teacher. He wet his lips and felt his fear expand like a fist in his belly. “Where does he live?” he all but whispered.

Ms. Liebowitz smiled and quickly scrawled it on the outside of the manila envelope before she shoved it into Arthur’s feeble clasp. She shouted back that all the information Eames would need was inside the envelope. Then she dove into her car and peeled onto the road so fast Arthur could smell the tires against the tarmac.

Slowly, he lifted the envelope to read the address, flinching when he realized it was barely a ten minute walk from his house, and even less if he got off the bus at a different stop. Barely two days before, the knowledge that he could have walked by the place where Eames was not his teacher would have filled him with possibly reprehensible joy. Now he merely felt a leaden sense of loss and unwelcome duty.

He trudged to the bus stop and seriously considered calling Ariadne. Make her do it; make HER DO IT, but felt a rise of shame so high in him that just reaching for his phone made his fingers burn.

The bus reached the new stop and carefully, Arthur climbed off, feeling as though his feet might shatter with each step he took toward Eames’ house, until he’d find nothing but shards and an envelope on his doorstep.


Arthur could have kicked himself. A smile lit him from so deep within that the few people he passed on the street couldn’t help but smile in return.

ENVELOPE, meaning: that which could be posted through certain irresistible, but definitely to be avoided, teacher’s mailboxes.

Arthur practically skipped up the street.

True enough that Eames wouldn’t want to see him, and now he wouldn’t have to. Then Arthur could go back to licking his wounds until Tuesday (god he loved Presidents’ Day).

The spring in his step died out once he realized which house belonged to Eames.

Shouldn’t be here, his brain whispered and Arthur felt a pang, knowing that even had he possessed the address prior to this moment then he still wouldn’t have showed up here, because the fantasy of being brought here deliberately, because Eames would want him there, was just too beautiful to smash by turning simple stalker and ruining all that they’d had between them.

Like Arthur had already done.

Something in Arthur withered and he felt the ball of pain he’d been steadfastly ignoring expand exponentially as he gazed at number 68 – Eames’ house.

The blue car was in the drive but the house windows were all dark; it seemed unlikely that Eames would be already in bed at not quite 7pm on a Friday night, but then, if he was sick then perhaps he’d simply stayed in bed all day?

Arthur felt a bolt of something like worry roll through him. The urge to go in and make sure Eames was ok briefly warred with his need to creep past the car and get the envelope through the slot before Eames had ever known anyone was there. Self-preservation won out as he finally summoned up the courage to stop staring at the damn place and walk (quietly) up the drive to post the envelope through the mail slot in the front door.

He stood before the door and a lump threatened at the back of his throat as the grief poured through him once again. He mourned his friendship and the happiness that had walked happily hand in hand with it as he reached out to simply push the damn thing through - and then the door jerked open.

“ARTHUR,” Eames snarled and seized him by his sweater to haul him inside, kicking the door shut behind them. He spun to glare viciously at where Arthur had stumbled against a wall; Arthur’s heart beat a terrified patter against his ribcage, “What the fuck are you doing here? Do you have any idea just how fucking INAPPROPRIATE it is for you to even KNOW where I live, let alone BLOODY SHOWING UP HERE?”

“M’sorry.” Arthur panted, appalled beyond words, already planning his enrollment in the Foreign Legion by this time tomorrow, his eyes helpless, greedy, on Eames as they took in his furious form, which vibrated before Arthur in an open woolen sweater, worn jeans and white wife-beater beneath and - oh god, so many tattoos, and DON’T FUCKING STARE YOU’LL MAKE IT WORSE - Arthur stared into the darkness; the only light came from the TV on the far side of the room and lit a myriad of empty bottles and a thoroughly broken-in sofa before it.

“You’re SORRY?” Eames snapped, stepping back and pushing a hand through his already disheveled hair. He laughed briefly, a short, nasty sound, as he strode back to snatch up a glass from a side table and took a heavy swallow of what was within. It reminded Arthur that he was NOT there to stalk the asshole.

“Yeah, I’m SORRY, alright?” Eames turned to face him again, still glaring balefully, his gaze a little unfocused for all the intense displeasure he radiated and suddenly it all clicked into place for Arthur.

“You utter bastard...” he breathed and Eames’ brows shot up even as his mouth tightened and he stalked forward a few feet.

“Excuse me?” he hissed and Arthur brandished the envelope.

“I was sorry. Hell, I was going to apologize for disturbing you when you were SICK, because even though I was goddamn SENT here, I didn’t want to intrude if you weren’t feeling well,” Arthur gestured to what looked like at least two empty whisky bottles on the table before the television, “But now, see, NOW, I know you’re not SICK, you’re fucking DRUNK. So yeah,” he affected a sickly smile and jaunty movements as Eames scrunched his eyes shut on what looked like angry embarrassment, his face tight with rage and some sort of loathing, “I’m awful sorry you don’t feel well, Mr. Eames, but Ms Liebowitz fucking TASKED ME with bringing this to you. I didn’t want to come but she said I HAD to, as it was so goddamn important you had to have it, even though you’re SICK. So, here’s your paperwork. It needs to be completed by Monday. I’ve done my duty– I’m OUT OF HERE.”

Arthur moved to drop the envelope on the low table by the door, spinning to rest a hand on the door handle as something worse than rage crept up his throat and spilled from his lips. “It wasn’t the fucking same without you,” he spat quietly, “We were all disappointed that you weren’t there because we’re all really doing this for you at the end of the day, and you fucking bailed, and it’s pathetic.” His voice wobbled and he ground his teeth together, jaw clenched to hold back his misery as best he could. “Because we never doubted for even a second that you were sick because we all think that much of you. And INSTEAD you’re here, getting drunk and feeling sorry for yourself, fucking avoiding class because you had to tell some poor kid you didn’t want him, but-”

The partly open door slammed back into its frame with such a resounding crash that Arthur flinched, then his body was shoved back hard against the wall behind the door. Eames’ furious face filled his gaze as the larger man pinned him in place with his body.

“I NEVER SAID THAT!” Eames all but roared into his face and Arthur jerked in surprise as thick fingers speared through his hair.

I never said I didn’t want you...” he snarled and crushed their mouths together.

Dimly, Arthur registered the thud of his bag dropping from his shocked, nerveless fingers as Eames pressed his mouth hot hard slick whisky-sour soft over his, before instinct took over and he kissed back just as hard as he was being kissed, parting his lips to nip and suck. Eames pulled slightly back to pant and press fervent kisses over his jaw and chin, then back to his mouth, one hand repeatedly twisting through Arthur’s hair, tilting his head this way and that to match their mouths together. Breath sobbed between them as his other hand seized and stroked and yanked their bodies together, sliding between Arthur and the wall to drag his fingers back and forth over the muscled planes and cobbles of his spine before pulling back to cup his throat in one large, hot hand; the other cradled his face as he gazed at Arthur in broken wonder.

He pressed two harsh, reverent kisses to his face, one at the curve where cheekbone met jaw, the second on the fan of his lashes over his flickered shut eyes, the whole time whispering, “Arthur, Arthur...” as though he’d grieved as Arthur had himself in the hours where they had been lost to each other. Just the barest notion of this had Arthur snarling gently himself; he slotted their mouths back together, slick and sweet, tongues stroking over each other on frenzied breaths. Arthur’s hands roamed over Eames’ chest and shoulders until one anchored at his nape – the better to cling and kiss and kiss and kiss and never fall away – the other soared back and forth over hot, patterned skin, and pushed up over strong shoulders beneath the heavy wool. He dragged blunt nails back down over Eames’ chest before sliding back round to start over, kneading, stroking and mapping whatever skin he found while attempting to bind himself to Eames’ body by fingertips alone. An embarrassing moan rumbling through their kiss as Eames’ hands pushed beneath the fabric of his own shirt to press greedily against his skin.

“Arthur, darling...” Eames muttered thickly when he dropped his mouth to bite the throbbing vein at Arthur’s throat. When his hips jerked forward on a startled cry of arousal, Eames insinuated his thigh between Arthur’s own, pressing high and leaving Arthur helpless but to buck and ride its width; his whimpers falling in odd cadence with the hourly news theme blaring gently in the background as Eames crushed Arthur to him.

Seconds blurred into years as Arthur sucked and nipped at the tongue repeatedly stroking over his, at the lips searing his mouth and skin until all he could do was writhe and breathe, and murmur Eames’ name back against his lips, shuddering as Eames skated his fingers down his spine until just the tips of two fingers slipped just under the edge of his jeans.

Arthur arched back and moaned; his body thrummed with the need to rock in time with his internal plea of fuck me fuck me fuck me, but Eames had stilled, his face pressed in tight to Arthur’s throat as he gasped and abruptly trembled against him in a way that felt nothing like before.

“Fuck,” Eames suddenly whispered and bowed his head as a shudder wracked his body. His fingers clawed and retracted quickly from Arthur’s hair and skin as though burned, braced on either side of them as he dragged in breath through a heaving chest. “Oh, FUCK,” he whispered again and looked up, briefly, brokenly, into Arthur’s face and Arthur thought, No please. Before his brain finished processing it, Eames jerked his body fully back and away from Arthur’s. He stumbled a few feet into the room to shove both hands into his hair and hyperventilate.

Arthur moved from the wall, mouth opening to say something simple, just his name, perhaps when Eames snarled, seized what looked like a pottery ornament from atop a bookshelf and hurled it against the wall, bellowing, “FUCK!!!” once more and effectively freezing Arthur in place.

Eames doubled over briefly, elbows braced on his thighs, face in his palms, his back to Arthur still, and muttered, “fuck-fuck-fuck” over and over into his hands. Arthur moved forward, unsure as to how to handle genuine histrionics from a man so inclined to mock temper tantrums.

Eames straightened slightly then and Arthur realized he could see his face reflected back from the glass fronted bookcase across from them and - oh, how he wished he couldn’t.

Fuck,” Eames said again and this time Arthur watched the emotions blur his features, the terror and disgust and grief crumpling his face even as Arthur watched him try to steel himself. To reject him. To explain to him. To comfort him.

He watched Eames’ horror at himself, and gave himself a moment to entertain the notion of walking up behind him, of wrapping his arms around him, face pressed to his nape, telling him it’d be all right, berating him for behaving like they were just any other student and teacher, kissing him and telling him how happy this would make them both.

“Arthur, I’m so sorry. I should’ve never...” Eames barely managed to say and Arthur watched the wretched twist of emotions cross his face as he attempted to surreptitiously wipe away what appeared to be stray tears.

Arthur picked up his bag and moved quietly to the door.

He licked his lips and shoved his heart down as far into him as he could.

“We were sorry to hear you’re not well Mr. Eames,” he said in a clear voice that told him he could get a fucking Oscar if he wanted one. He schooled his features into casual politeness when Eames spun round in shock, his eyes wet and wide as Arthur continued, “The theatre just wasn’t the same without you. Ms. Liebowitz asked that I drop these papers off to you.” He gestured, swallowing, to where the envelope still sat, haphazardly dumped on the table. “Apparently they’re quite important.”

He smiled and pulled the door open, unable to look away from where Eames swayed, his sweater completely fallen from one ink-swirled shoulder, where Arthur’s hands had clung and tugged, his mouth red and swollen from kissing, his eyes lost. Arthur cleared his throat.

“I hope you’re feeling better by Tuesday, sir,” he said softly, calmly, “We’re just not the same without our Director.”

Then he stepped all the way out and leaned back to pull the door shut behind him.

“Goodbye, Mr. Eames. Feel better,” he whispered and closed the door on Eames’ lips forming words he couldn’t afford to hear.

He slumped against the door but straightened almost immediately, because if Eames looked out his window and saw him there, looking like a kicked puppy, then it would all be for nothing.

Arthur walked down Eames’ drive with a straight spine and didn’t run home. If Eames opened the door and came after him, he didn’t want to look like a puppet with broken strings. He hesitated at the end of the drive before he stepped out onto the pavement, because Eames hadn’t been wearing shoes, and it was cold out, and if he was going to come after him...

Arthur swallowed and made himself walk casually away, not listening for an opening door, or a starting car, or a cried out name behind him, because he’d just done what was right and it seemed Eames was respecting that.

Arthur paused outside the tiny 24 hour shop just at the end of Eames’ road, staring blankly at the neon clock until his brain could make sense of what his guts were screaming at him.

It was 7:07.

Arthur had arrived at just minutes to the hour, five perhaps, and then had cowered and yelled in turn, and then... and then been kissed. He recalled the news theme signaling the hour, and then the kissing had... stopped. He counted back quickly as to how far he’d walked in just a few minutes and snorted.

Three minutes.

Barely three minutes in Eames’ arms.

Something lurched inside him and Arthur cupped his face in his hands. The contact rubbed over stubble burn he hadn’t realized he’d had and a hysterical laugh bubbled out of him.

Roughly six months of feeling – longing – wishing, and now it was over.

Three minutes, and now never again.

The hurt and loss and want he’d pushed down so desperately surged up through him like lava and he cried out against his palms at the burn of it, shaking with the urge to just SCREAM, AND RAGE, AND, and...

Trembling, he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and dialed the familiar number. He swallowed against the heart that beat at the back of his throat.

Hey Arthur, what’s up? Was the play good?”

Ariadne answered barely two rings in and Arthur had to blink back the relief that poured over him in waves.

“Yeah, yeah, it was good. Can I come over?”

Sure, course you can,” came her slightly hesitant reply, and then, “You okay?

“Yeah, m’fine,” he said and swallowed again. “I’m actually just down the road. I’ll see you in a few.” He hung up and switched his phone to silent. It was a longer walk than he’d let on, but he had time. He tried to think of nothing but where he put his feet as he walked.

She was waiting for him, sitting out on the front steps. Nothing new, as they had put the world to rights many a time on her front porch, but he wasn’t sure he cared much for her expression of mild panic.

“Arthur, Arthur, hey - are you okay?”

He smiled, surprised by how ridiculously easy it was when he could just push down on the ball of pain inside him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted to talk to you.”

She gave him a searching look that was quickly overpowered by an obvious relief so strong it made his tremors drift closer to the surface. “Well, that's okay, then.” She smiled crookedly. “It’s just you almost sounded tearful on the phone, and I thought we’d decided years back that your crying was one of the signs of the Apocalypse.” She gave him a playful jab, and he smiled wanly as he slowly sat down beside her.

He should ease into it, he thought. He should start out with the play, and Helen, and work his way up, but her eyes were almost unblinking and his resolve was crumbling.

“Arthur?” she asked carefully and squeezed his hand.

He closed his eyes as weariness settled heavily on him.

“You told me before that I could talk to you if I needed,” he said simply and felt her stiffen slightly beside him.

“Of course,” she said, but the, Oh Arthur, what have you done lay thickly on the top.

He took a deep breath.

“Yesterday, I – I was goofing around with Eames after rehearsal and I accidentally asked him out.”

He opened his eyes to see hers like dinner plates. He wished he could find it funny.

“Oh, Arthur,” she breathed, sorrow and support and disapproval somehow laced throughout the three simple syllables and he inclined his head to acknowledge his stupidity. It seemed like forever ago now.

“I know, I – I know. It really was an accident. I was just so happy to be with him I sort of invited him over to use the pool. And watch a movie.”

His voice tailed off as the memory of Eames saying he was flattered rolled through his mind and burned in all new ways.

Ari squeezed his shoulder. “I take it, it didn’t go well?”

He swallowed. “He told me he was very flattered, but it was completely inappropriate.”

She nodded gently and he closed his eyes again.

“And then he didn’t come in to school today, or go to the play. Called in sick.”

Ariadne made a cross, disappointed noise beside him.

“But then, after – Ms. Liebowitz sent me to his house.” Ariadne gasped and Arthur forged on as he felt himself start to tremble. “I tried to get out of it, I really did, but she said it was important, and... and he was really angry that I’d showed up there. He was drunk and really angry actually. Not sick, just embarrassed and drunk and angry.”

He opened his eyes and looked directly into Ariadne’s large, stunned stare.

“He yelled at me for being there. I yelled at him for hiding at home getting drunk just because he-” he lost his breath as the feeling of the moment came back to him, “because he didn’t WANT me...”

He was shaking visibly now and brought his hands up through his hair. He pulled his knees up before him and Ariadne tried to wrap herself round his shoulders.

“...and then he said he never said that.”

Ari blinked against him. “Said what?” she muttered as she ran her hands over his own, currently clenching in his hair.

“He never said he didn’t want me...” Arthur whispered and watched her mouth fall open. “...and then he kissed me.”

She pulled her hands back to cover her mouth in shock.

“He kissed me, and he said my name like it was a prayer, and he held me really tight and then he stopped. And he...” Arthur licked his lips, wishing they still tasted like hot sweet desperate kisses and not sorrow. “...he freaked out and... and he was trying not to cry and, and so I - I let him go.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and choked slightly at the tears running down Ariadne’s face.

“I walked out of there – pretended it didn’t happen. Walked out and told him we all wished he’d feel better, and I came here. I came straight here...” he ground out and Ariadne was staring at him like she didn’t know what to say or do or think, and Arthur found he understood that feeling completely.

“Thing is,” he started, trying for conversational, “He... he held me really tight, Ari.” His eyes burned and burst over into thick tears that trickled down over his fingers as he buried his face in his hands.

He held me really tight.” He sobbed and curled into himself. Ari curled around him and muttered stupid, soothing things (that he knew weren’t true but she hoped might help just the same) into his hair, and some distant part of him reflected calmly that Ariadne was right. When he cried it felt like the end of the world.


... sorry boys :(

ETA: OMG [ profile] calliopeoracle DREW MY BOYSES!!!!
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Date: 2011-10-31 01:38 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
AAAHHH!! holy crap, no- don't leave it there...
My Monday morning fix has left me with tears in my eyes this week. That was so beautifully done- the lead in, the catalyst (of course Eames would have to be at least semi-drunk), Arthur with his *feelings*. gah. I'm so glad he decided to confide in Ariadne- I'm not sure how he's going to get through the rest of the semester alone. When Arthur steadied himself and left, pretending like it was no big deal- that was a completely amazing scene. He is so self-aware for a teenager, and he can see what this is doing, and what this will do, to Eames, the guy that he cares about a lot... I can only hope that Eames is not an idiot and realizes what Arthur's done and why. And the make-out scene- JFC. It was lovely, and you could really feel the desperation that they are dealing with. Beautiful chapter and I cannot wait until next week!

Date: 2011-10-31 03:34 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I'm so glad you enjoyed it :D its the scene that made me want to write the whole fic, I sort of thought of it then built the whole story around it lol so i'm glad its working out ok :D

Thankyou so much for the lovely, LOVELY comment, I'm so pleased you enjoyed it despite the angsty angst of it all lol ;)

Date: 2011-10-31 01:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
OMG! Thank goodness for Mondays! I'm having a truly shitty day, which just got better - off to read now :-D

Date: 2011-10-31 03:43 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*winces* Mondays are SHITTY by nature, I really, REALLY hope this doesn't make it worse.

(no subject)

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From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-10-31 11:00 pm (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-10-31 02:01 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
OMG FINALLY. *faints*

This... I... I don't have any words. You are killing me and I am loving it.

Date: 2011-11-01 12:13 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
ROFL Finally is right tho ;)

I'm so glad you're enjoying your death lol ;D I never thought I'd need to say that to anyone ;P

Thankee! :D

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-11-01 01:13 am (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-11-01 01:18 am (UTC) - Expand

omg shaking and crying

Date: 2011-10-31 02:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
ngl this is now the best part of my week

That was all handled SO beautifully. I can feel for them both in every single line and I don't even care that it was so angsty because it feels so real at the same time and just guh.
You've got me babbling. In summary: Yes, yes, oh god, yes.

Also this is GOLD:
“We were sorry to hear you’re not well Mr. Eames,” he said in a clear voice that told him he could get a fucking Oscar if he wanted one.

Re: omg shaking and crying

Date: 2011-11-01 12:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*huggles* Sorry for the shaking & crying but so, SO happy that you enjoyed it otherwise!

Thankyou for the lovely comment, I'm so pleased you liked it, particularly that bit lol cos it HURT to write lol ;P

I'm saying this to everyone now but MAKE SURE YOU SEE THE PICS! *dies* So good I WEPT lol

Re: omg shaking and crying

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-11-07 12:17 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: omg shaking and crying

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-11-07 07:51 pm (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-10-31 02:47 pm (UTC)
ext_77486: (avatar - hearts)
From: [identity profile]
OMG This is amazing. Absolutely amazing. I'm in tears.

Date: 2011-11-01 12:38 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I'm sorry for the tears but so, SO pleased that you enjoyed it - Thankyou :D

Date: 2011-10-31 03:44 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Noooooo T_______T
I think you've just broken my heart but I love it OMG
can't wait for the next part❤

Date: 2011-11-01 12:44 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Sorry for the busted heart but I'm so, so pleased you're still looking forward to the next part - I hope you enjoy it! :D

Date: 2011-10-31 03:54 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

I can't even...I gotta just...I'll come back later.



Date: 2011-11-01 12:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*points to picture*


*huggles* I'm sorry if it bummed you out dude - go lookit the piccies on my journal, they'll make you feel MUCH betterer! They did me ;P

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Date: 2011-10-31 04:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
A quick comment because I'm running late today but I was totally crying. This, this just hurts so good and I love their banter and I'm shattered by their pain and I love that Arthur has Ariadne and I hope Eames has someone because this is so very heavy to carry alone. *is loving this verse so much*

Date: 2011-11-01 01:29 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

I'm sorry it made you weepy but so, SO glad you're enjoying! :D

Date: 2011-10-31 04:23 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Ah, I saw this had updated before my morning class and I couldn't wait to finish my test to get back and read it. This chapter is so heartbreaking. :(

Date: 2011-11-01 01:31 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
LOL well I hope you didn't rush the test too much! ;P I'm very glad you enjoyed it tho - even with the heartbreak ;)

Date: 2011-10-31 04:43 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
So it began, the angst. Oh how your story has intoxicated me dearly.

Date: 2011-11-01 01:36 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*winces* Yeah, I kind of considered putting [angst] at the beginning to warn folks lol but I think the melodrama speaks for itself ;P

I'm glad you're enjoying it anyways ;D

Date: 2011-10-31 04:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. ASL;KDFASL;DKFJ;ALKSJDFJKLASDLKFA;LKSDFAL;KSDF i read this once with my heart in my throat, and then i read it again, and oh god. it was perfect, eames hyperventilating, arthur finally breaking down and crying. oh my god. the angst the angst is amaaaazing.

Date: 2011-11-01 01:45 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*uberblush* Oh god I'm SO GLAD you're enjoying it, the reread killed me lol I'm SO PLEASED ;D

Thankyou hugely for the amazing review :D

Date: 2011-10-31 04:47 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
oh my HEART!!

Date: 2011-11-01 01:47 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*cringe* Sorry - if it helps at all there be PRETTY PICTURES on my LJ now, just linked them at the end of the fic too!

Date: 2011-10-31 05:01 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This fully makes today the best Halloween ever.
But poor Arthur! I really liked though that he could just straighten up and walk away from Eames' house, knowing that was the right thing to do. It was tragic.
I look forward to seeing what happens next with the boys!

Date: 2011-11-01 08:18 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I'm so glad you enjoyed it!!! :D I was worried that it would seem too much but I figure with canon!Arthur being cool as hell and awesome to boot under stress that it ideally wouldn't be too big a leap!

Thanks for the fab fb! :D

Date: 2011-10-31 05:09 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh my God... I was so, so happy to see an update to this fic and it was so awesomely hot, btw, wow... but now I'm so SAD! *cries*

Date: 2011-11-01 08:25 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*HUGGLES* Sorry for the saaaaaaaaad but I'm so pleased you enjoyed it otherwise :D

Thanks for the great comment - I hope you continue to enjoy! :D

Date: 2011-10-31 05:24 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

Can next week be here yesterday? PLEASE???

Date: 2011-11-01 08:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
ROFL I hope not as its not ready yet ;P

But YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY for screaming holy crap! ;D

Date: 2011-10-31 05:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

Oh...boys. *sighs*

This is so sad but you know it would definitely happen too.

*hugs Arthur tightly and pets Eames*

Date: 2011-11-01 08:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
ROFL yet another FAB icon! ;P

I'm glad you enjoyed and yes, feel free to smush the poor boyses ;)

Date: 2011-10-31 05:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This story is such delicious torment! Both the wonderful angsty flavor of the story itself, and the fact that we have to wait a week for more!

I have never anticipated Mondays so highly before. <3

That kiss! And the fallout! You just captured it all so well. Perfect angst. (Also, how did I not notice that this was inspired by my favorite Police song ever?) Oh man, can't wait for next week SO HARD.

Date: 2011-11-01 09:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Bizarrely I've been waiting YEARS to write a story for that song lol I only discovered the 86' remix when I was about 19 and I was OBSESSED with writing a novel about illicit teacher love but it always seemed SKEEVY somehow lol and then last year I heard the 86' mix and then SafetySuit's 'Find a Way' back to back from my player and my brain was all OMG NEW PLAN lol

Music & Mental Boysex is oddly addictive y'know lol they mounted up rather easily - hence fic :P

lol but anyway ENOUGH BLATHERING, thankyou SO SO much for your comments and OBVIOUSLY for the pics, I'm just so SO glad you're enjoying! :D

Date: 2011-10-31 06:14 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh boys!

why are you sticking with the weekly updates? It is torturing me!

Date: 2011-11-01 01:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

*am tortured*

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-11-01 09:21 pm (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-10-31 06:20 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh God the angst :((((( But it's so beautiful <3

Date: 2011-11-01 09:23 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
OMG your icon!!!! *wants to comfort it* lol

I'm glad you're enjoying it despite the angst :D thanks so much for the lovely comment!!! ♥

Date: 2011-10-31 08:23 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I knew it wasn't going to end well but wow- these boys better make it out ok or you may be held responsible for my death-by-crying. (Not a threat, merely an observation.) Geez, have I mentioned you're incredible?
Monday is now specifically Vader-day (wait and see if she breaks your heart or gives you reason to squeak :P).

Date: 2011-11-01 09:25 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
OMG VADER DAY!!!!!!! Lol that would be amazing if only for the thought they'd have to play the Imperial March wherever I went ;P

Thankyou so much for the lovely comment and, without intent to spoiler owt, let me just sad I FRIKKIN HATE SAD ENDINGS ;)

Just so you knows ;P

Date: 2011-11-01 09:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
........Um, yay?

lol I hope you enjoyed it :D

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-11-01 11:26 pm (UTC) - Expand

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Date: 2011-10-31 08:44 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I… I have words, somewhere, among the sad pouting I'm currently doing. I'm going to pout until next Monday. Sulk and listen to sappy long songs and imagine happy ever afters. (Okay, I do that all the time ANYWAY, but I swear this fic has made it worse.)

Ahhh! How's the rest of the school year going to turn out? (I'm assuming that President's Day in February? Just so I can keep track of the time line.)

Now, enough of that… THEY KISSEDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!! They more than kissed, and that scene was awesome and they were all desperate and needy and FINALLY! I'm giddy happy about that. Because really, are they going to be able to say no to each other? :D Arthur's all sad, and I'm glad Ari's there to take care of him. I wish someone was there to take care of Eames, but he can drink more, I guess. I want to hug them and squish them together for ever.

Also: “We were sorry to hear you’re not well Mr. Eames,” he said in a clear voice that told him he could get a fucking Oscar if he wanted one. Arthur <3

Side note: I really hope Ari gets her boy, because she's way to awesome to not.
I guess I found words...

Date: 2011-11-01 09:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
LOL Not that this'll help you much but I listened to the same three SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD tracks writing this section - actually I lie, I broke into a love song for the kiss but afterwards it was all DEPRESSIVE stuffs lol, in fact I kept the same song up til the angst was DONE lol so I totally get the musical vibe ;)

I'm so SO pleased you enjoyed that scene, its prolly my favourite tho I'd be lying if I said I didn't love writing all of it lol but I'm SO HAPPY you liked this bit :D

Thankyou so much for the great comment!

Date: 2011-10-31 08:54 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
OH MY GOD! *flails*

That was wonderful, beautiful, heartbreaking. You absolutely make my mondays (tuesdays)!

Date: 2011-11-01 10:19 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*BEAMS* I'm so pleased you're enjoying it and that I could help make your Mondays less of... well, MONDAYS ;P

Date: 2011-10-31 09:43 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I did tell you back when I first read this that this scene was one of my faves for the entire fic, right? My copy of this that's on my Nook - I have this section specially bookmarked so I can come back and reread it whenever I want, cause I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!

*snuggles you*

Date: 2011-11-01 10:37 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

Twas my fave bit too but I'm SO GLAD you loved that bit too, and I LOVE that it made it to the Nook


Date: 2011-10-31 10:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Just found this and finished it all yesterday. And now this part! ljalkdjfdj I can't.

This is just SO amazing. My heart hurts. lol

Date: 2011-11-01 10:47 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
LOL hi! :D Glad you joined just in time for the horrid crushing angst ;P

No really, I'm very glad you've been enjoying :D and I very much hope you'll continue to do so!

Thanks hugely for reading :D
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