fic: stay awake through summer (like we own the heat) 1/1
Title: stay awake through summer (like we own the heat)
Author: Cherry Vanilla
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Notes: underage kissing (Arthur is 14, Eames is 15)
Word Count: 1,984
Summary: "so we can stay like this forever." Summer Camp AU written as commentfic in foxxcub's journal and based on this picture (and another which you'll see later). Also on A03 here
Title and Summary by Brand New.
It’s early in the evening when Arthur approaches his area in the woods. He’s looking down at his feet and it isn’t until he’s getting ready to hop onto one of the fallen trees that he stops dead in his tracks. There’s… some kid sitting in his spot. Arthur’s never seen him before, doesn’t recognize him from camp. He’s wearing a baggy army green shirt that’s rolled up against his forearms and black jeans. Arthur notices some patches sewn onto his shirt as he walks closer. Arthur’s first thought is: this is my log! His second is: he’s so cute but are boys supposed to have lips like Angelina Jolie? It was a good two years ago now when Arthur realized Angelina didn't have the same effect on him as she had on his dad (his dad totally drooled while watching Tomb Raider much to the chagrin of his mother), but lips like hers on a boy made heat spread through his body and his head spin.
He feels annoyance build in his chest and he leaps onto one of the adjacent logs, causing it to shake. The boy looks up, seemingly unbothered while Arthur walks toward him, balancing himself on the log.
“ello!”
Arthur crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing. His backpack is heavy and it causes his balance to shift slightly. “This is my spot.”
The boy holds his hand out, as if Arthur didn’t speak and wasn’t glaring holes into his brain. “Nice to meet you too. I’m Eames.”
Arthur wrinkles his nose and ignores the offer. “That’s not your first name.”
“You would be correct.”
“What’s your accent, anyway? British?”
‘You’d be correct again. Are you some sort of genius, then?’
Arthur knows when he’s being mocked and he doesn’t appreciate it, not at school and certainly not at his spot. “It’s a stupid accent,” he says tightly.
“Gee, thank you. Do I get to learn the name of my insulter?”
“Arthur.”
“Alright, Arthur, how bout you sit, yeah? My neck’s getting tired.”
Arthur eyes him skeptically and Eames holds his palms up. “It’s a big enough log for the both of us, I should think.”
Arthur sighs and sits, only because he fears for his own balance. “This is still my spot. What are you doing here anyway? I’ve never seen you at camp.”
“I go to Greendale, on the other side of the lake. I’m guessing you’re at Riverdale?”
Arthur nods. “How old are you?”
“15,” Eames says, sounding proud. “You?”
“14,” Arthur mumbles, feeling a flare of embarrassment and unsure why. “I’ve never seen you here before..”
Eames shrugs. “I’ve been sneaking away from camp for a bit now... taking in the different areas. I like it; it makes me feel like I’m someone else, an explorer or something. This is the furthest traveled so far.”
“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?” Arthur asks, impressed with the other boy. Arthur sneaking off by himself after dinner is nothing compared to Eames completely venturing to other side of the lake.
Eames just shrugs again and kicks his sneakers against an adjacent tree. “I don’t care. Life’s too short. So 14 year old Arthur, no surname given, from Riverdale, why do you come out here?”
Arthur attempts to glare but the twitch of his lips gives him away. “I like the quiet - and the surroundings. It’s too loud in the cabin at night.”
Eames arches an eyebrow. “And what do you do out here?”
Arthur takes off his backpack and settles it in the space between them. He pulls out a few items: Batman Hush, Fables Volume 4, and Stardust.
Eames picks up Stardust and flips it around in his hand. “I love Gaiman.”
Arthur feels an irrational flood of warmth to his belly. “It’s difficult to read in the cabin. I just bring a light out here and read after dinner.”
When Arthur looks up it’s to find Eames smiling at him softly. Arthur scratches at the back of his neck and swings his legs idly in the air. That one look causes the warmth in his belly to pool lower and Arthur once again thinks that Eames is really, really cute. His hair is short in the back as opposed to Arthur’s floppy locks but rests low on Eames’ forehead; light brownish strands that Arthur imagines would feel soft under his palms. His eyes are clear and kind, with a hint of mischief lurking around the corners and also around his mouth.
“Do you mind if I read with you? I’ll be quiet.” Arthur startles, realizing he’s been staring but Eames doesn’t remark, and instead looks almost shy.
Arthur shakes his head. “Um, which do you want?”
“Can I have the Batman?”
Arthur smiles to himself and hands it to him, reaching for Stardust in response and trying not to feel disappointed when their fingers don’t brush.
They sit in silence, resting their books on the log. Arthur glad he always keeps a second flashlight handy.
It starts to get dark and they both look around them at the same time. If Arthur’s honest, he’s been sneaking glances at Eames more than he’s been paying attention to what’s going on with Snow and Bigby. At one point, their eyes met in a sidelong glance and Arthur felt his mouth go dry.
“I guess we should go.” Arthur says, and his voice sounds far too reluctant for his own liking. Eames nods and stretches.
Eames stands and Arthur attempts to shoulder his pack. “I’ll take it for you,” Eames says, stretching out his hand and looking down at Arthur.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
Eames just reaches over him and settles it over his shoulders, easily. Then he’s pulling Arthur up with a strong grip. When they’re standing together, Eames says, “I insist my lord” in pretentious butler’s accent and Arthur laughs, skin feeling prickly from Eames’ touch.
‘You’re kinda a dork, huh?’ says Arthur, tone a tad wondrous.
Eames tilts his head. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Kinda… guys that uh, are like you aren’t usually dorks.”
Eames’ eyebrows curve downward. “Like me how?”
Arthur can’t exactly say ‘utterly hot’. He clears his throat. “Like…not weird looking. And popular.”
Eames shrugs. “Don’t really care bout popularity.”
Arthur snorts. ‘Then you’re one of the few.’ Arthur wishes he didn’t care, wishes he didn’t look longingly at groups of people in the lunch room envision himself at their table instead of his sole two friends; wishes he had someone he could actually have a conversation with at this camp.
“What can I say? I’m something else.’ Eames responds and proceeds to jump off the log, landing square on his feet.
“Yeah, you really are,” Arthur whispers and follows suit, dropping on his hands and knees. Eames’ fingers are warm on his biceps, steadying him to his feet. It’s suddenly hard to breathe, like the wind has been knocked out of him. Arthur tells himself it was the jump.
Eames lets go but there’s a different look in his eyes now, something Arthur’s only seen in the romance films his mom watches. “Can I walk with you until our paths split?’ Eames’ voice is quiet and tentative; Arthur feels all his blood rush to his face.
“Sure,” he says, less evenly than he’d hoped.
They walk, shoulder to shoulder, and Arthur steals glances at Eames. They talk about summer in England and its differences. Eames asks Arthur if he likes tennis and when he answers in the affirmative he brags about going to Wimbledon last year.
“I might go to the U.S. open this year. New York isn’t all that far from Pennsylvania.”
Arthur finds out Eames goes to a rich private school about 30 minutes from Arthur’s own and money is exactly the reason Eames is at the other camp. “Place wasn’t posh enough for my ‘rents,” Eames says, rolling his eyes.
Eames has a dog named Gus and two goldfish named Alice and Miranda. Arthur thinks Eames couldn’t be more strange or fascinating.
When they arrive at the particular spot of greenery where their paths diverge, Arthur feels his stomach flip like he’s on a carnival ride.
“Um.” Arthur shuffles his feet and looks past Eames to gravel road in front him that leads back to camp. Eames still has his backpack secured across his shoulders.
“Can I have your mobile?”
Arthur looks up at him, eyes wide. “Huh?”
“Your phone number.. can I have it?”
“Uh. Sure, yeah,” Arthur says, nodding his head so quickly he feels it may snap off his neck and digging into his pocket with shaky fingers. Eames has his out too and they trade phones, entering their numbers in swiftly. Eames has an iphone; Arthur just has a Samsung.
While reclaiming their phones their fingers brush lightly. Arthur’s fingers twitch and he jerks away from the touch, dropping his phone back into his pocket. He’s about to rake his hand through his hair when it’s caught at his side, Eames’ fingers sliding against his palm and curving around his own, barely there, grip so loose that Arthur could pull away without the slightest bit of effort. He meets Eames’ eyes and sees what is undoubtedly a mirror of nervous excitement.
Eames straightens and leans his shoulders in closer, eyes locked on Arthur’s. Arthur’s gaze flickers to Eames’ lips and the sight inexplicitly gives him courage. Arthur seizes upward and presses his mouth to Eames’ in an awkward rush. He feels Eames’ startled breath against his lips and the fingers curved around his fit more firmly against his palm, squeezing tightly. The kiss is pressure filled and dry, a mere brush of lips over and over until Eames opens his slightly, catching Arthur’s lower lip between his own, their noses brushing together, kissing head-on and clumsy. Arthur gasps when he feels the wet, warm slide of Eames’ tongue, a sensation as foreign to Arthur as Eames’ accent. Arthur’s own tongue creeps out to brush Eames’, and they stand for long seconds just learning the curves of one another’s lips. When they break apart, Eames is smiling and Arthur can’t help a shy one in return.
Eames reaches up and touches his cheeks. “I like your dimples.”
Arthur flushes and ducks his head. “I’d better go.”
Eames nods casually but Arthur thinks he sees disappoint set in his eyes. It’s gone in a flash and then he’s shuffling off Arthur’s backpack and handing it to him. Their fingers brush again and a shiver travels up Arthur’s spine and into his groin, which was already tingling and aching from his first ever kiss.
Arthur shoulders his pack and glances up at Eames, willing his voice to not shake when he says, “K, see ya, then.”
Eames leans in before Arthur can react and kisses Arthur hard and fast. “G’night, Arthur.” Then he’s jogging down the trail; Arthur watches him until he’s no longer in sight and forces his feet to move. He’s just reaching the cabin when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Arthur’s stomach muscles tense and his heart feels like it’s about to beat its way out of his chest. “Get it together,” he whispers to himself harshly and unlocks his phone. The text reads:
u taste lik cherries. Meet me same time 2moro, our log?
Arthur’s feels his breathing stutter at ‘our log.’ He forces himself not to flail.
Your teeth are crooked. And it’s my log. Also: yes.
Eames returns the text instantly:
;-D your tongue is sharp, too. c u then. ps you’re gorgeous.
Arthur’s immensely glad Eames can’t see the way a blush is undoubtedly coloring his face.
This time he writes what he really wants without masking it, and without protesting Eames’ complement, because he’s not.
Um. So are you. Can’t wait to see you.
Arthur pushes the door open to his cabin and exhales. He thinks of Eames’ hand on his face, touching his dimples, and he can’t stop smiling.
Tomorrow.
[end]
In the sequel (in your head only) this happens:
Author: Cherry Vanilla
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Notes: underage kissing (Arthur is 14, Eames is 15)
Word Count: 1,984
Summary: "so we can stay like this forever." Summer Camp AU written as commentfic in foxxcub's journal and based on this picture (and another which you'll see later). Also on A03 here
Title and Summary by Brand New.
It’s early in the evening when Arthur approaches his area in the woods. He’s looking down at his feet and it isn’t until he’s getting ready to hop onto one of the fallen trees that he stops dead in his tracks. There’s… some kid sitting in his spot. Arthur’s never seen him before, doesn’t recognize him from camp. He’s wearing a baggy army green shirt that’s rolled up against his forearms and black jeans. Arthur notices some patches sewn onto his shirt as he walks closer. Arthur’s first thought is: this is my log! His second is: he’s so cute but are boys supposed to have lips like Angelina Jolie? It was a good two years ago now when Arthur realized Angelina didn't have the same effect on him as she had on his dad (his dad totally drooled while watching Tomb Raider much to the chagrin of his mother), but lips like hers on a boy made heat spread through his body and his head spin.
He feels annoyance build in his chest and he leaps onto one of the adjacent logs, causing it to shake. The boy looks up, seemingly unbothered while Arthur walks toward him, balancing himself on the log.
“ello!”
Arthur crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing. His backpack is heavy and it causes his balance to shift slightly. “This is my spot.”
The boy holds his hand out, as if Arthur didn’t speak and wasn’t glaring holes into his brain. “Nice to meet you too. I’m Eames.”
Arthur wrinkles his nose and ignores the offer. “That’s not your first name.”
“You would be correct.”
“What’s your accent, anyway? British?”
‘You’d be correct again. Are you some sort of genius, then?’
Arthur knows when he’s being mocked and he doesn’t appreciate it, not at school and certainly not at his spot. “It’s a stupid accent,” he says tightly.
“Gee, thank you. Do I get to learn the name of my insulter?”
“Arthur.”
“Alright, Arthur, how bout you sit, yeah? My neck’s getting tired.”
Arthur eyes him skeptically and Eames holds his palms up. “It’s a big enough log for the both of us, I should think.”
Arthur sighs and sits, only because he fears for his own balance. “This is still my spot. What are you doing here anyway? I’ve never seen you at camp.”
“I go to Greendale, on the other side of the lake. I’m guessing you’re at Riverdale?”
Arthur nods. “How old are you?”
“15,” Eames says, sounding proud. “You?”
“14,” Arthur mumbles, feeling a flare of embarrassment and unsure why. “I’ve never seen you here before..”
Eames shrugs. “I’ve been sneaking away from camp for a bit now... taking in the different areas. I like it; it makes me feel like I’m someone else, an explorer or something. This is the furthest traveled so far.”
“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?” Arthur asks, impressed with the other boy. Arthur sneaking off by himself after dinner is nothing compared to Eames completely venturing to other side of the lake.
Eames just shrugs again and kicks his sneakers against an adjacent tree. “I don’t care. Life’s too short. So 14 year old Arthur, no surname given, from Riverdale, why do you come out here?”
Arthur attempts to glare but the twitch of his lips gives him away. “I like the quiet - and the surroundings. It’s too loud in the cabin at night.”
Eames arches an eyebrow. “And what do you do out here?”
Arthur takes off his backpack and settles it in the space between them. He pulls out a few items: Batman Hush, Fables Volume 4, and Stardust.
Eames picks up Stardust and flips it around in his hand. “I love Gaiman.”
Arthur feels an irrational flood of warmth to his belly. “It’s difficult to read in the cabin. I just bring a light out here and read after dinner.”
When Arthur looks up it’s to find Eames smiling at him softly. Arthur scratches at the back of his neck and swings his legs idly in the air. That one look causes the warmth in his belly to pool lower and Arthur once again thinks that Eames is really, really cute. His hair is short in the back as opposed to Arthur’s floppy locks but rests low on Eames’ forehead; light brownish strands that Arthur imagines would feel soft under his palms. His eyes are clear and kind, with a hint of mischief lurking around the corners and also around his mouth.
“Do you mind if I read with you? I’ll be quiet.” Arthur startles, realizing he’s been staring but Eames doesn’t remark, and instead looks almost shy.
Arthur shakes his head. “Um, which do you want?”
“Can I have the Batman?”
Arthur smiles to himself and hands it to him, reaching for Stardust in response and trying not to feel disappointed when their fingers don’t brush.
They sit in silence, resting their books on the log. Arthur glad he always keeps a second flashlight handy.
It starts to get dark and they both look around them at the same time. If Arthur’s honest, he’s been sneaking glances at Eames more than he’s been paying attention to what’s going on with Snow and Bigby. At one point, their eyes met in a sidelong glance and Arthur felt his mouth go dry.
“I guess we should go.” Arthur says, and his voice sounds far too reluctant for his own liking. Eames nods and stretches.
Eames stands and Arthur attempts to shoulder his pack. “I’ll take it for you,” Eames says, stretching out his hand and looking down at Arthur.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
Eames just reaches over him and settles it over his shoulders, easily. Then he’s pulling Arthur up with a strong grip. When they’re standing together, Eames says, “I insist my lord” in pretentious butler’s accent and Arthur laughs, skin feeling prickly from Eames’ touch.
‘You’re kinda a dork, huh?’ says Arthur, tone a tad wondrous.
Eames tilts his head. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Kinda… guys that uh, are like you aren’t usually dorks.”
Eames’ eyebrows curve downward. “Like me how?”
Arthur can’t exactly say ‘utterly hot’. He clears his throat. “Like…not weird looking. And popular.”
Eames shrugs. “Don’t really care bout popularity.”
Arthur snorts. ‘Then you’re one of the few.’ Arthur wishes he didn’t care, wishes he didn’t look longingly at groups of people in the lunch room envision himself at their table instead of his sole two friends; wishes he had someone he could actually have a conversation with at this camp.
“What can I say? I’m something else.’ Eames responds and proceeds to jump off the log, landing square on his feet.
“Yeah, you really are,” Arthur whispers and follows suit, dropping on his hands and knees. Eames’ fingers are warm on his biceps, steadying him to his feet. It’s suddenly hard to breathe, like the wind has been knocked out of him. Arthur tells himself it was the jump.
Eames lets go but there’s a different look in his eyes now, something Arthur’s only seen in the romance films his mom watches. “Can I walk with you until our paths split?’ Eames’ voice is quiet and tentative; Arthur feels all his blood rush to his face.
“Sure,” he says, less evenly than he’d hoped.
They walk, shoulder to shoulder, and Arthur steals glances at Eames. They talk about summer in England and its differences. Eames asks Arthur if he likes tennis and when he answers in the affirmative he brags about going to Wimbledon last year.
“I might go to the U.S. open this year. New York isn’t all that far from Pennsylvania.”
Arthur finds out Eames goes to a rich private school about 30 minutes from Arthur’s own and money is exactly the reason Eames is at the other camp. “Place wasn’t posh enough for my ‘rents,” Eames says, rolling his eyes.
Eames has a dog named Gus and two goldfish named Alice and Miranda. Arthur thinks Eames couldn’t be more strange or fascinating.
When they arrive at the particular spot of greenery where their paths diverge, Arthur feels his stomach flip like he’s on a carnival ride.
“Um.” Arthur shuffles his feet and looks past Eames to gravel road in front him that leads back to camp. Eames still has his backpack secured across his shoulders.
“Can I have your mobile?”
Arthur looks up at him, eyes wide. “Huh?”
“Your phone number.. can I have it?”
“Uh. Sure, yeah,” Arthur says, nodding his head so quickly he feels it may snap off his neck and digging into his pocket with shaky fingers. Eames has his out too and they trade phones, entering their numbers in swiftly. Eames has an iphone; Arthur just has a Samsung.
While reclaiming their phones their fingers brush lightly. Arthur’s fingers twitch and he jerks away from the touch, dropping his phone back into his pocket. He’s about to rake his hand through his hair when it’s caught at his side, Eames’ fingers sliding against his palm and curving around his own, barely there, grip so loose that Arthur could pull away without the slightest bit of effort. He meets Eames’ eyes and sees what is undoubtedly a mirror of nervous excitement.
Eames straightens and leans his shoulders in closer, eyes locked on Arthur’s. Arthur’s gaze flickers to Eames’ lips and the sight inexplicitly gives him courage. Arthur seizes upward and presses his mouth to Eames’ in an awkward rush. He feels Eames’ startled breath against his lips and the fingers curved around his fit more firmly against his palm, squeezing tightly. The kiss is pressure filled and dry, a mere brush of lips over and over until Eames opens his slightly, catching Arthur’s lower lip between his own, their noses brushing together, kissing head-on and clumsy. Arthur gasps when he feels the wet, warm slide of Eames’ tongue, a sensation as foreign to Arthur as Eames’ accent. Arthur’s own tongue creeps out to brush Eames’, and they stand for long seconds just learning the curves of one another’s lips. When they break apart, Eames is smiling and Arthur can’t help a shy one in return.
Eames reaches up and touches his cheeks. “I like your dimples.”
Arthur flushes and ducks his head. “I’d better go.”
Eames nods casually but Arthur thinks he sees disappoint set in his eyes. It’s gone in a flash and then he’s shuffling off Arthur’s backpack and handing it to him. Their fingers brush again and a shiver travels up Arthur’s spine and into his groin, which was already tingling and aching from his first ever kiss.
Arthur shoulders his pack and glances up at Eames, willing his voice to not shake when he says, “K, see ya, then.”
Eames leans in before Arthur can react and kisses Arthur hard and fast. “G’night, Arthur.” Then he’s jogging down the trail; Arthur watches him until he’s no longer in sight and forces his feet to move. He’s just reaching the cabin when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Arthur’s stomach muscles tense and his heart feels like it’s about to beat its way out of his chest. “Get it together,” he whispers to himself harshly and unlocks his phone. The text reads:
u taste lik cherries. Meet me same time 2moro, our log?
Arthur’s feels his breathing stutter at ‘our log.’ He forces himself not to flail.
Your teeth are crooked. And it’s my log. Also: yes.
Eames returns the text instantly:
;-D your tongue is sharp, too. c u then. ps you’re gorgeous.
Arthur’s immensely glad Eames can’t see the way a blush is undoubtedly coloring his face.
This time he writes what he really wants without masking it, and without protesting Eames’ complement, because he’s not.
Um. So are you. Can’t wait to see you.
Arthur pushes the door open to his cabin and exhales. He thinks of Eames’ hand on his face, touching his dimples, and he can’t stop smiling.
Tomorrow.
[end]
In the sequel (in your head only) this happens: