#346 - [FIC] Thick As Thieves (Yusuf/Eames), 1/?
Title: Thick as Thieves (1/?)
Word Count: 3,500/?
Pairing: Yusuf/Eames
Rating: PG
Summary: It was Yusuf's first brush with Daniel Eames, before the world knew him as anything other than a troublemaker and a prat, but he had the feeling it wouldn’t be the last.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Would that they were!
Author's Note: I intended this to be a sort of prequel to The Taste of Milk and Sugar. Not the complete story of Yusuf and Eames prior to those events, but at least a glimpse at how they first met. There are some parallels and cross-references, but it can be read as a stand-alone. For the record, they're about fifteen here. Because I realize it may have been misunderstood, it should be noted that Eames' "It's been five years, mate" in The Taste of Milk and Sugar doesn't refer to how long they've known each other but how long Yusuf has had the cat that doesn't like Eames. Savvy? :)
Professor Murphy had been lecturing for the better part of an hour and Yusuf’s detailed notes had gradually devolved into lazy spirals, his mind far drifting far from the Pequod in search of saner harbors. He rested his cheek on his hand, struggling to maintain consciousness as Murphy droned on.
“Mr. Melville, though his beginnings were humble, his life marked by poverty-”
“Oh, come on,” a boy scoffed. “You’re not really going to try to make us feel sorry for Herman, are you?”
Yusuf’s head snapped up at the interruption, only one of many to do so. All eyes were on the boy now and, judging by the smug tilt of his chin, he knew it.
“Please,” Professor Murphy said dryly. “Do go on, Mr. Eames. I’d like very much to hear why Mr. Melville is so undeserving of our sympathy.”
Eames cleared his throat theatrically and then launched into an assault that, while clearly prepared, was no less impressive.
“Melville was a drunk and a misogynist who beat his wife and spent his days pissing about in the attic writing love-letters to Hawthorne while his children starved.” He leaned back in his chair with a noise of disgust. “The bloke was a bloody wanker.”
There was a moment of stunned silence and then a deluge of faked coughing as the boys around Yusuf tried to disguise their laughter. He bowed his head to hide his own grin, waiting for Murphy’s retaliation.
“You’ve earned yourself a visit to the headmaster, Eames. Out with you.”
Eames raised his hands in mock surrender and made his way to the front of the room, catching Yusuf’s appreciative eye on his way out. A lazy grin came to his lips and Yusuf couldn’t help but return the smile as Eames winked.
“Out, Daniel!” Murphy barked.
Eames’ smile widened to wolfish proportions and Yusuf shook his head. ‘Go,’ he mouthed, shooing Eames with a wave of his hand. They locked eyes for a moment longer, and then he was out the door.
Professor Murphy tugged viciously at his tie. “As I was saying…”
Yusuf smiled absently to himself. It was his first brush with Daniel Eames, before the world knew him as anything other than a troublemaker and a prat, but he had the feeling it wouldn’t be the last.
- - - - -
As fate would have it, their paths crossed again before the day was even out.
Yusuf was holed up in the library, surrounded by the familiar smells of old books and lemon furniture polish. It was where he came to study and wind down after long days spent in the chemistry lab, light-headed from acetylene and hexane fumes.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and rose suddenly at the feeling of someone approaching. Yusuf kept his eyes on his book, not at all surprised to catch the boy-Eames, he amended-out of the corner of his eye. Eames’ arm curled around the back of Yusuf’s chair as he sat next to him.
“Still reading that shit, mate?”
Yusuf hummed noncommittally and turned the page. He was aware of Eames pressing casually along his side, ostensibly reading over his shoulder. Hot air warmed Yusuf’s cheek as Eames chuckled suddenly and began to read aloud.
“‘Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget…’” He trailed off, evidently searching the page for a later quote. His voice picked up again. “‘Come, let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other,’” Eames murmured, the words given new obscenity as his lips formed around them.
A hot thrill went through him and Yusuf silently berated himself for being so silly. He closed the book before Eames could continue, aware of the flush creeping up the back of his neck.
Eames settled back in his chair with a snort. “Terribly repressed, our Melville.”
“How so?”
“You can’t expect me to honestly believe you didn’t catch that,” Eames said. Yusuf shrugged and he laughed. “It’s a great, bloody circle jerk, yeah?”
A smile came to his lips, unbidden. “Your mind is positively ridden with filth.”
Eames grinned. “Liked that, did you?”
“Perhaps,” Yusuf allowed. “But Murphy will see to it that you are expelled if you act so foolishly again.”
Eames clutched dramatically at his chest. “Darling, I didn’t know you cared.”
“What is it you hoped your little tantrum would achieve?”
Eames shrugged, his hair falling across his forehead. “It got me talking to you, didn’t it?”
It ought to have been criminal, for something as simple as a smile to be so charming. Yusuf found himself momentarily distracted. The boy had the palest, blue eyes.
“Forgive me,” he said abruptly and offered his hand. “My name is Yusuf.”
“Daniel,” he returned, his handshake firm and lingering, “but everyone calls me Eames. Yusuf,” he said thoughtfully, “that’s Arabic, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
Eames lounged back in his chair and crossed his legs, hands finding his pockets. “Your parents-are they of an, ah, Abrahamic persuasion?”
“They practice Islam, if that’s what you mean. Why do you ask?”
“Just trying to figure the odds of losing my bollocks when I take you out tonight,” Eames responded easily.
“Your bollocks are safe,” Yusuf said dryly. “My mother and father are quite liberal. But I will not be going tonight.”
For the first time since he had sat down, Eames’ grin faltered. Yusuf felt a small pang of guilt, but it was overshadowed by amusement.
“You really won’t go with me, then? Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “you do fancy blokes, don’t you?”
“What if I were to say no?”
Eames considered this for a moment. “Then I should have no choice but to snog you senseless in an attempt to change your mind.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Yusuf assured him. But he had to smile at Eames’ audacity.
“I’ll do it anyway, if you like,” Eames said with a grin. “How’s your weekend look?”
Yusuf smiled and shook his head. “Why are you so adamant about this?”
“Because you have beautiful eyes and your composition about Joyce made me laugh until I cried. Come on,” Eames wheedled. “You aren’t going to make me beg, are you?” He huffed. “All right, then. If that’s what it takes…”
Eames pushed away from the table, stood, and then dropped promptly to his knees, seizing Yusuf’s hand in his own.
“You are absurd,” Yusuf laughed. Eames’ hands were almost unbearably warm. “Get off of the floor, you prat.”
“Not until you agree to go with me.”
“Where will we go?”
Eames smiled and squeezed his hand. “Anywhere. Everywhere. Just say ‘yes,’ Yusuf.”
It was hearing his name fall from those incredible lips that did it. That, and the crowd they had attracted in the interim.
“Yes,” Yusuf said finally. “Yes a thousand times. Now, please, get up.”
Eames got smoothly to his feet and brushed off his slacks. The next thing he knew, Eames was kissing him. Only a quick peck on the cheek, but a kiss was a kiss. “Knew you’d come round, love,” he whispered. “Catch you at weekend.”
When Eames had disappeared from view and their audience had scattered, Yusuf returned to Moby Dick. He managed to read only one line before he groaned, his forehead thudding down on his open text.
“Bloody circle jerk,” he muttered.
- - - - -
His Thursday lab ran late. Thin layer chromatography was child’s play, really, but the capillary tubes they had been melting for use as micropipettes kept shattering; someone had done a poor job of tempering the glass. Yusuf left feeling rather disgruntled. He pulled his pea coat tighter around himself as he walked out into the chilly evening. The dining hall would be closed by now. If only he had remembered a scarf.
“Bit nippy, isn’t it?”
Yusuf startled at the voice and whipped around. Eames was standing there grinning, cigarette in hand, smoke curling from his nostrils. He dropped his cigarette and ground it out under his heel.
Yusuf grimaced in distaste. ”You are a smoker.”
“Keeps my idle hands busy,” Eames said with a grin. “You wanna go to supper?”
“We do have a curfew,” Yusuf reminded him.
“Really, Yusuf. How often is it that a dashing, young bloke freezes his arse off for you?” We’ll be back before curfew, on my honor.” He smiled and offered his arm. “Come on, you must be starving.”
On cue, Yusuf’s stomach grumbled loudly. Though he was doubtful of the honor to which Eames referred, there was no declining after that. He linked arms with Eames and smiled.
“All right, then.”
They found themselves a short time later in a brightly lit diner with shiny, red booths and far more color than Yusuf was accustomed to seeing in dreary, grey England. It was warm inside and he felt instantly at ease, peeling off his coat as they sat down.
Their waitress was an elderly, grey-haired woman. “Anything for starters, dears?”
“A cup of coffee, thanks,” Eames said with a smile. “Yusuf?”
“Tea, please. Earl Grey.”
“Honey and lemon, love?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She walked away and Yusuf looked at the boy sitting across from him. “You could not wait for the weekend?”
“Patience isn’t my strong suit.”
“What is?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Yusuf laughed and nodded his thanks as their waitress brought their respective beverages. Eames ordered pancakes and, having not even glanced at what was available, Yusuf asked for the same, without the side of bacon.
“Charm is not a marketable skill,” he said.
Eames shrugged. “I dunno,” he said and proceeded to pour an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee. “It might come in handy as an actor or a politician or something.” He raised his eyes to Yusuf’s and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I could always be a rent boy.”
“I’m not familiar with that term.”
“Male prostitute, mate.”
“Oh, dear,” Yusuf murmured, stirring a spoonful of honey into his tea. “I worry that your aspirations are somewhat lacking, Daniel.”
“Don’t think I’ll let you into my pants just because you remembered my Christian name.”
“Are you a Christian?”
Eames snorted. “Of course not. Honestly, Yusuf, I feel like you don’t know me at all.”
“Then we are agreed. I know nothing but that you dislike Melville, drink your coffee tooth-rottingly sweet, and will not take no for an answer.”
Eames considered this. “Actually, I think we can work with that.”
“You are aware this leaves me with the impression that you are a well-read but impulsive sociopath, yes?”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Yusuf raised an eyebrow and Eames cleared his throat. “All right, so nothing comes to mind.”
Their pancakes arrived then. She left them with the bill, which Eames tucked under his coffee cup. The sight of food reminded Yusuf how hungry he was and he attended to his pancakes, eschewing the syrup in favor of the honey that had been brought with his tea.
“I’m not such a bad bloke,” Eames said after a while, in between sucking syrup from his fingers. His lips, full and sticky, filled Yusuf’s head with thoughts of a most sinful nature. “Dunno what you’d want to know, though. I’m shit at introducing myself.”
Yusuf smiled into his tea.
“Ask me anything you like.”
While a general sense for politeness would have kept him from asking such a personal question so early on, Yusuf considered it fair game for what Eames had already pelted at him.
“What did your parents say?”
“Didn’t exactly ring them to ask their approval,” Eames mumbled thickly, dry even through a mouthful of pancakes.
Yusuf gave him a disapproving look. “That is disgusting. No, I was referring to your, ah,” he hesitated, but there really was no way to phrase it delicately, “sexuality.”
Eames chased his food with a swallow of coffee. “They weren’t pleased. Always expected me to marry well off, see. Carry on the family name and all that. Mum’s getting used to it,” he said, toying with his fork, “but dad thinks I ought to consider a marriage of convenience.” His smile was thin. “Fuck around on the side if I fancy, but be discreet.”
“I am very sorry. Forgive me for asking.”
“’s okay,” Eames said. He shrugged it off and smiled. “Though, I’d rather hoped this would go more smoothly. Maybe get a second go at it. How’re my chances?”
“I have not yet decided.”
“You wound me, love.” Eames sighed. “Fine, the anticipation is killing me, but I can wait like a good boy.”
“I doubt very much that you have ever done anything ‘like a good boy.’”
Eames looked entirely too pleased with himself. “I can be frightfully naughty at times.”
Yusuf just laughed. They finished their pancakes in comfortable silence, paid, and started the walk back, bumping elbows and making idle conversation about classes and the inevitable dread of their end of the year exams. All too soon, they were standing in front of Yusuf’s dormitory. As Eames had promised, they had made it back before curfew.
It was oddly surreal, however mundane, and Yusuf felt lightheaded as he looked at Eames standing there with his hands in his pockets, his breath puffing out in little white clouds in the cold.
“So,” Eames said at last, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Yusuf nodded. “Thank you for the pancakes.”
He turned to go inside, but Eames caught him by the arm. “Hey-don’t I get a goodnight kiss?”
He smiled winningly and Yusuf was helpless to resist. Later, he would swear he had aimed for the boy’s cheek, but in the final moment, it was their lips that touched, Eames’ mouth still sticky and sweet with syrup. Yusuf couldn’t resist darting his tongue out for a taste before pulling back and licking the sugar from his own lips.
“Goodnight,” he said with a smile. “Try not to run afoul of any trouble on your way back.”
Eames grinned. “I’ll do my best, but trouble has a way of finding me.”
It wasn’t long before he found that Eames was right.
- - - - -
As far as fights went, it wasn’t particularly impressive. It happened far too quickly, for one. Yusuf didn’t see how it began or who had thrown the first punch. Before he realized that anything had transpired, he was looking at the aftermath, Eames standing there in front of him with blood dripping from his nose and mouth.
“Come on,” he said thickly. He tugged on Yusuf’s sleeve. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Yusuf hefted his bag over his shoulder and let Eames string him along. He spoke in hushed tones. “Are you aware that everyone is staring at us?”
Eames waggled his fingers at the passersby. “Smile and wave, darling.”
“Why did that boy hit you?”
“Because I hit him, I suspect,” Eames said dryly. He grimaced, mouth twisting like he wanted very much to spit. “Come on, I’ll tell you when every word isn’t making me spray blood, yeah?”
They made their way outside. He wasn’t entirely sure where they were going, but the confusion didn’t last long as (what he assumed was) Eames’ dormitory came into view. Yusuf followed him up and took a seat on the bed as Eames ducked into the bathroom. The room was a single, he was surprised to note. Given the circumstances, this detail piqued his interest less than it might have otherwise.
When Eames reappeared, the blood was gone from his face and Yusuf could see the raw split in his lip where most of it had come from. He was also holding his shirt in his hands. Yusuf swallowed hard, eyes drawn to Eames’ broad chest.
“Bled on it,” Eames said by way of explanation. He tossed the shirt into a hamper in the corner and sat on the bed, their thighs touching. His hand brushed the hair away from Yusuf’s neck and then his lips were caressing the patch of skin just above the collar of his shirt. It was pleasant, but he would not be distracted so easily.
“You promised to tell me what happened.”
Eames huffed. “Aren’t you even going to ask if I’m all right?”
“It would be improper to extend my sympathies without knowing whether or not you deserved it.” He had meant it lightly, but Eames pulled away like a shot.
“Well, I didn’t, all right?” Eames scowled. “Sanders got in my face, calling me a shirtlifter and an arse bandit and I bloody well wasn’t about to take it from a twat like him.”
Yusuf brought a hand to Eames’ cheek where a bruise was already beginning to blossom. With a sigh, Eames turned into the touch. “Are you all right?”
“’m fine,” he said, kissing Yusuf’s palm. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. They’ll back off before too long.” Eames pulled Yusuf’s hand from his cheek, wrapping it in his own and grinning crookedly. “I’ll protect you.”
Yusuf snorted. “I am perfectly capable of fighting my own battles, thank you.” His glasses were slipping down his nose. As he readjusted them, he felt Eames staring. “Yes?”
“You’ve got specs today.”
“I misplaced my contacts.”
Eames stroked his fingers over Yusuf’s cheek and brought their lips together. “They look right sexy on you,” Eames mumbled into the kiss. His mouth was slick and tasted of menthol from whatever salve he had rubbed on his split lip. “You should wear them more often.”
Yusuf turned his head for a better angle and his frames dug into Eames’ cheek, making him jerk back hastily. He reddened.
“Maybe not while we’re kissing, though,” Eames said with a laugh. “Here, love.”
Eames saw his spectacles safely to the nightstand and settled back beside him, one hand warm on the back of his neck as he leaned in. This time, Yusuf met him halfway. Admittedly, his experience was purely theoretical, but Yusuf was not about to object to hands-on learning when it came to such a delightful subject. His lips tingled, not at all unpleasantly, with the salve that rubbed off on his mouth, little darts of warmth pricking at his mouth as Eames kissed him, slow and somewhat sloppily, as evidenced by the menthol flavored stickiness not only on his mouth but around his lips and on his chin where Eames’ kisses had fallen.
Any other time, Yusuf would have objected to being, well, slobbered on, but his sensibility seemed to have flown out the window the moment Eames’ tongue had teased its way past his lips. They fell back on the bed in a tangle of hands and mouths and awkwardly placed limbs, and all of these uncoordinated little details somehow managed to add up to something fantastic as Yusuf ran his hands over Eames’ back, the boy half-sprawled on top of him as they kissed.
Eames flicked open the buttons on his shirt, his lips following the path of skin that his fingers had revealed. Yusuf was torn between letting it continue and insisting that it stop when Eames stilled on his own, giving him one last kiss before he laid his head on Yusuf’s chest, hand stroking idly over his side. Yusuf smoothed back Eames’ hair, catching his breath.
“You should stay,” Eames murmured. “Fall asleep with me.”
“I have a class,” Yusuf reminded him gently. “We’re reading Catullus.”
“We can do Catullus right here.” He cleared his throat. “Nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux, nox est perpetua una dormienda. ”1
“Da mi basia mille, deinde centum...”2
“Dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,”3 Eames finished. “I would continue, but I think I owe you something like two thousand four hundred kisses as it is.”
Yusuf smiled. “I had no idea you read Latin.”
“Even I can appreciate a language that has a word like defututa in its arsenal.”4
“This was far more romantic before you said that. Off,” Yusuf said, pushing at Eames’ shoulders. His arm had fallen asleep and it prickled with pins and needles as Eames rolled off of him. Yusuf buttoned his shirt and straightened his slightly rumpled clothing before slinging his bag over his shoulder. He retrieved his spectacles from the nightstand.
“Does this mean I won’t be getting to give you those kisses, then?” Eames looked positively wretched and Yusuf had to hold back a smile.
“No... Actually, your debt to me is doubled on account of you being such a prat.”
Eames grinned. “That’s an awful lot of snogging, love. Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Yusuf said, punctuating it with a nod of his head. “But I really must go now. I am sorry. Truly.”
“Fine,” Eames sulked. He waved his hand in dismissal. “Go on, then-Latin calls. Come back when you’re ready for those kisses.”
“Obdura, Catulle.”5
“Don’t encourage me.”
Yusuf laughed and shook his head. “Incorrigible. Till later, then.”
Eames gave a mock salute. “Ave atque vale.”6
Part 2
- - - - -
1 When once brief light has set, we must sleep one never-ending night. (Catullus 5)
2 Give me a thousand kisses, then one hundred. (Catullus 5)
3 Then another thousand, then a second hundred. (Catullus 5)
4 Exhausted from f*king (Seriously. I kid you not.) from Catullus 41.
5 “Endure, Catullus.” The joke, though, is that obdura most literally means “be hard” and is used intentionally as a play on words in Catullus 7.
6 Hello and goodbye (Catullus 101)
Word Count: 3,500/?
Pairing: Yusuf/Eames
Rating: PG
Summary: It was Yusuf's first brush with Daniel Eames, before the world knew him as anything other than a troublemaker and a prat, but he had the feeling it wouldn’t be the last.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Would that they were!
Author's Note: I intended this to be a sort of prequel to The Taste of Milk and Sugar. Not the complete story of Yusuf and Eames prior to those events, but at least a glimpse at how they first met. There are some parallels and cross-references, but it can be read as a stand-alone. For the record, they're about fifteen here. Because I realize it may have been misunderstood, it should be noted that Eames' "It's been five years, mate" in The Taste of Milk and Sugar doesn't refer to how long they've known each other but how long Yusuf has had the cat that doesn't like Eames. Savvy? :)
Professor Murphy had been lecturing for the better part of an hour and Yusuf’s detailed notes had gradually devolved into lazy spirals, his mind far drifting far from the Pequod in search of saner harbors. He rested his cheek on his hand, struggling to maintain consciousness as Murphy droned on.
“Mr. Melville, though his beginnings were humble, his life marked by poverty-”
“Oh, come on,” a boy scoffed. “You’re not really going to try to make us feel sorry for Herman, are you?”
Yusuf’s head snapped up at the interruption, only one of many to do so. All eyes were on the boy now and, judging by the smug tilt of his chin, he knew it.
“Please,” Professor Murphy said dryly. “Do go on, Mr. Eames. I’d like very much to hear why Mr. Melville is so undeserving of our sympathy.”
Eames cleared his throat theatrically and then launched into an assault that, while clearly prepared, was no less impressive.
“Melville was a drunk and a misogynist who beat his wife and spent his days pissing about in the attic writing love-letters to Hawthorne while his children starved.” He leaned back in his chair with a noise of disgust. “The bloke was a bloody wanker.”
There was a moment of stunned silence and then a deluge of faked coughing as the boys around Yusuf tried to disguise their laughter. He bowed his head to hide his own grin, waiting for Murphy’s retaliation.
“You’ve earned yourself a visit to the headmaster, Eames. Out with you.”
Eames raised his hands in mock surrender and made his way to the front of the room, catching Yusuf’s appreciative eye on his way out. A lazy grin came to his lips and Yusuf couldn’t help but return the smile as Eames winked.
“Out, Daniel!” Murphy barked.
Eames’ smile widened to wolfish proportions and Yusuf shook his head. ‘Go,’ he mouthed, shooing Eames with a wave of his hand. They locked eyes for a moment longer, and then he was out the door.
Professor Murphy tugged viciously at his tie. “As I was saying…”
Yusuf smiled absently to himself. It was his first brush with Daniel Eames, before the world knew him as anything other than a troublemaker and a prat, but he had the feeling it wouldn’t be the last.
- - - - -
As fate would have it, their paths crossed again before the day was even out.
Yusuf was holed up in the library, surrounded by the familiar smells of old books and lemon furniture polish. It was where he came to study and wind down after long days spent in the chemistry lab, light-headed from acetylene and hexane fumes.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and rose suddenly at the feeling of someone approaching. Yusuf kept his eyes on his book, not at all surprised to catch the boy-Eames, he amended-out of the corner of his eye. Eames’ arm curled around the back of Yusuf’s chair as he sat next to him.
“Still reading that shit, mate?”
Yusuf hummed noncommittally and turned the page. He was aware of Eames pressing casually along his side, ostensibly reading over his shoulder. Hot air warmed Yusuf’s cheek as Eames chuckled suddenly and began to read aloud.
“‘Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget…’” He trailed off, evidently searching the page for a later quote. His voice picked up again. “‘Come, let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other,’” Eames murmured, the words given new obscenity as his lips formed around them.
A hot thrill went through him and Yusuf silently berated himself for being so silly. He closed the book before Eames could continue, aware of the flush creeping up the back of his neck.
Eames settled back in his chair with a snort. “Terribly repressed, our Melville.”
“How so?”
“You can’t expect me to honestly believe you didn’t catch that,” Eames said. Yusuf shrugged and he laughed. “It’s a great, bloody circle jerk, yeah?”
A smile came to his lips, unbidden. “Your mind is positively ridden with filth.”
Eames grinned. “Liked that, did you?”
“Perhaps,” Yusuf allowed. “But Murphy will see to it that you are expelled if you act so foolishly again.”
Eames clutched dramatically at his chest. “Darling, I didn’t know you cared.”
“What is it you hoped your little tantrum would achieve?”
Eames shrugged, his hair falling across his forehead. “It got me talking to you, didn’t it?”
It ought to have been criminal, for something as simple as a smile to be so charming. Yusuf found himself momentarily distracted. The boy had the palest, blue eyes.
“Forgive me,” he said abruptly and offered his hand. “My name is Yusuf.”
“Daniel,” he returned, his handshake firm and lingering, “but everyone calls me Eames. Yusuf,” he said thoughtfully, “that’s Arabic, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
Eames lounged back in his chair and crossed his legs, hands finding his pockets. “Your parents-are they of an, ah, Abrahamic persuasion?”
“They practice Islam, if that’s what you mean. Why do you ask?”
“Just trying to figure the odds of losing my bollocks when I take you out tonight,” Eames responded easily.
“Your bollocks are safe,” Yusuf said dryly. “My mother and father are quite liberal. But I will not be going tonight.”
For the first time since he had sat down, Eames’ grin faltered. Yusuf felt a small pang of guilt, but it was overshadowed by amusement.
“You really won’t go with me, then? Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “you do fancy blokes, don’t you?”
“What if I were to say no?”
Eames considered this for a moment. “Then I should have no choice but to snog you senseless in an attempt to change your mind.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Yusuf assured him. But he had to smile at Eames’ audacity.
“I’ll do it anyway, if you like,” Eames said with a grin. “How’s your weekend look?”
Yusuf smiled and shook his head. “Why are you so adamant about this?”
“Because you have beautiful eyes and your composition about Joyce made me laugh until I cried. Come on,” Eames wheedled. “You aren’t going to make me beg, are you?” He huffed. “All right, then. If that’s what it takes…”
Eames pushed away from the table, stood, and then dropped promptly to his knees, seizing Yusuf’s hand in his own.
“You are absurd,” Yusuf laughed. Eames’ hands were almost unbearably warm. “Get off of the floor, you prat.”
“Not until you agree to go with me.”
“Where will we go?”
Eames smiled and squeezed his hand. “Anywhere. Everywhere. Just say ‘yes,’ Yusuf.”
It was hearing his name fall from those incredible lips that did it. That, and the crowd they had attracted in the interim.
“Yes,” Yusuf said finally. “Yes a thousand times. Now, please, get up.”
Eames got smoothly to his feet and brushed off his slacks. The next thing he knew, Eames was kissing him. Only a quick peck on the cheek, but a kiss was a kiss. “Knew you’d come round, love,” he whispered. “Catch you at weekend.”
When Eames had disappeared from view and their audience had scattered, Yusuf returned to Moby Dick. He managed to read only one line before he groaned, his forehead thudding down on his open text.
“Bloody circle jerk,” he muttered.
- - - - -
His Thursday lab ran late. Thin layer chromatography was child’s play, really, but the capillary tubes they had been melting for use as micropipettes kept shattering; someone had done a poor job of tempering the glass. Yusuf left feeling rather disgruntled. He pulled his pea coat tighter around himself as he walked out into the chilly evening. The dining hall would be closed by now. If only he had remembered a scarf.
“Bit nippy, isn’t it?”
Yusuf startled at the voice and whipped around. Eames was standing there grinning, cigarette in hand, smoke curling from his nostrils. He dropped his cigarette and ground it out under his heel.
Yusuf grimaced in distaste. ”You are a smoker.”
“Keeps my idle hands busy,” Eames said with a grin. “You wanna go to supper?”
“We do have a curfew,” Yusuf reminded him.
“Really, Yusuf. How often is it that a dashing, young bloke freezes his arse off for you?” We’ll be back before curfew, on my honor.” He smiled and offered his arm. “Come on, you must be starving.”
On cue, Yusuf’s stomach grumbled loudly. Though he was doubtful of the honor to which Eames referred, there was no declining after that. He linked arms with Eames and smiled.
“All right, then.”
They found themselves a short time later in a brightly lit diner with shiny, red booths and far more color than Yusuf was accustomed to seeing in dreary, grey England. It was warm inside and he felt instantly at ease, peeling off his coat as they sat down.
Their waitress was an elderly, grey-haired woman. “Anything for starters, dears?”
“A cup of coffee, thanks,” Eames said with a smile. “Yusuf?”
“Tea, please. Earl Grey.”
“Honey and lemon, love?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She walked away and Yusuf looked at the boy sitting across from him. “You could not wait for the weekend?”
“Patience isn’t my strong suit.”
“What is?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Yusuf laughed and nodded his thanks as their waitress brought their respective beverages. Eames ordered pancakes and, having not even glanced at what was available, Yusuf asked for the same, without the side of bacon.
“Charm is not a marketable skill,” he said.
Eames shrugged. “I dunno,” he said and proceeded to pour an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee. “It might come in handy as an actor or a politician or something.” He raised his eyes to Yusuf’s and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I could always be a rent boy.”
“I’m not familiar with that term.”
“Male prostitute, mate.”
“Oh, dear,” Yusuf murmured, stirring a spoonful of honey into his tea. “I worry that your aspirations are somewhat lacking, Daniel.”
“Don’t think I’ll let you into my pants just because you remembered my Christian name.”
“Are you a Christian?”
Eames snorted. “Of course not. Honestly, Yusuf, I feel like you don’t know me at all.”
“Then we are agreed. I know nothing but that you dislike Melville, drink your coffee tooth-rottingly sweet, and will not take no for an answer.”
Eames considered this. “Actually, I think we can work with that.”
“You are aware this leaves me with the impression that you are a well-read but impulsive sociopath, yes?”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Yusuf raised an eyebrow and Eames cleared his throat. “All right, so nothing comes to mind.”
Their pancakes arrived then. She left them with the bill, which Eames tucked under his coffee cup. The sight of food reminded Yusuf how hungry he was and he attended to his pancakes, eschewing the syrup in favor of the honey that had been brought with his tea.
“I’m not such a bad bloke,” Eames said after a while, in between sucking syrup from his fingers. His lips, full and sticky, filled Yusuf’s head with thoughts of a most sinful nature. “Dunno what you’d want to know, though. I’m shit at introducing myself.”
Yusuf smiled into his tea.
“Ask me anything you like.”
While a general sense for politeness would have kept him from asking such a personal question so early on, Yusuf considered it fair game for what Eames had already pelted at him.
“What did your parents say?”
“Didn’t exactly ring them to ask their approval,” Eames mumbled thickly, dry even through a mouthful of pancakes.
Yusuf gave him a disapproving look. “That is disgusting. No, I was referring to your, ah,” he hesitated, but there really was no way to phrase it delicately, “sexuality.”
Eames chased his food with a swallow of coffee. “They weren’t pleased. Always expected me to marry well off, see. Carry on the family name and all that. Mum’s getting used to it,” he said, toying with his fork, “but dad thinks I ought to consider a marriage of convenience.” His smile was thin. “Fuck around on the side if I fancy, but be discreet.”
“I am very sorry. Forgive me for asking.”
“’s okay,” Eames said. He shrugged it off and smiled. “Though, I’d rather hoped this would go more smoothly. Maybe get a second go at it. How’re my chances?”
“I have not yet decided.”
“You wound me, love.” Eames sighed. “Fine, the anticipation is killing me, but I can wait like a good boy.”
“I doubt very much that you have ever done anything ‘like a good boy.’”
Eames looked entirely too pleased with himself. “I can be frightfully naughty at times.”
Yusuf just laughed. They finished their pancakes in comfortable silence, paid, and started the walk back, bumping elbows and making idle conversation about classes and the inevitable dread of their end of the year exams. All too soon, they were standing in front of Yusuf’s dormitory. As Eames had promised, they had made it back before curfew.
It was oddly surreal, however mundane, and Yusuf felt lightheaded as he looked at Eames standing there with his hands in his pockets, his breath puffing out in little white clouds in the cold.
“So,” Eames said at last, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Yusuf nodded. “Thank you for the pancakes.”
He turned to go inside, but Eames caught him by the arm. “Hey-don’t I get a goodnight kiss?”
He smiled winningly and Yusuf was helpless to resist. Later, he would swear he had aimed for the boy’s cheek, but in the final moment, it was their lips that touched, Eames’ mouth still sticky and sweet with syrup. Yusuf couldn’t resist darting his tongue out for a taste before pulling back and licking the sugar from his own lips.
“Goodnight,” he said with a smile. “Try not to run afoul of any trouble on your way back.”
Eames grinned. “I’ll do my best, but trouble has a way of finding me.”
It wasn’t long before he found that Eames was right.
- - - - -
As far as fights went, it wasn’t particularly impressive. It happened far too quickly, for one. Yusuf didn’t see how it began or who had thrown the first punch. Before he realized that anything had transpired, he was looking at the aftermath, Eames standing there in front of him with blood dripping from his nose and mouth.
“Come on,” he said thickly. He tugged on Yusuf’s sleeve. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Yusuf hefted his bag over his shoulder and let Eames string him along. He spoke in hushed tones. “Are you aware that everyone is staring at us?”
Eames waggled his fingers at the passersby. “Smile and wave, darling.”
“Why did that boy hit you?”
“Because I hit him, I suspect,” Eames said dryly. He grimaced, mouth twisting like he wanted very much to spit. “Come on, I’ll tell you when every word isn’t making me spray blood, yeah?”
They made their way outside. He wasn’t entirely sure where they were going, but the confusion didn’t last long as (what he assumed was) Eames’ dormitory came into view. Yusuf followed him up and took a seat on the bed as Eames ducked into the bathroom. The room was a single, he was surprised to note. Given the circumstances, this detail piqued his interest less than it might have otherwise.
When Eames reappeared, the blood was gone from his face and Yusuf could see the raw split in his lip where most of it had come from. He was also holding his shirt in his hands. Yusuf swallowed hard, eyes drawn to Eames’ broad chest.
“Bled on it,” Eames said by way of explanation. He tossed the shirt into a hamper in the corner and sat on the bed, their thighs touching. His hand brushed the hair away from Yusuf’s neck and then his lips were caressing the patch of skin just above the collar of his shirt. It was pleasant, but he would not be distracted so easily.
“You promised to tell me what happened.”
Eames huffed. “Aren’t you even going to ask if I’m all right?”
“It would be improper to extend my sympathies without knowing whether or not you deserved it.” He had meant it lightly, but Eames pulled away like a shot.
“Well, I didn’t, all right?” Eames scowled. “Sanders got in my face, calling me a shirtlifter and an arse bandit and I bloody well wasn’t about to take it from a twat like him.”
Yusuf brought a hand to Eames’ cheek where a bruise was already beginning to blossom. With a sigh, Eames turned into the touch. “Are you all right?”
“’m fine,” he said, kissing Yusuf’s palm. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. They’ll back off before too long.” Eames pulled Yusuf’s hand from his cheek, wrapping it in his own and grinning crookedly. “I’ll protect you.”
Yusuf snorted. “I am perfectly capable of fighting my own battles, thank you.” His glasses were slipping down his nose. As he readjusted them, he felt Eames staring. “Yes?”
“You’ve got specs today.”
“I misplaced my contacts.”
Eames stroked his fingers over Yusuf’s cheek and brought their lips together. “They look right sexy on you,” Eames mumbled into the kiss. His mouth was slick and tasted of menthol from whatever salve he had rubbed on his split lip. “You should wear them more often.”
Yusuf turned his head for a better angle and his frames dug into Eames’ cheek, making him jerk back hastily. He reddened.
“Maybe not while we’re kissing, though,” Eames said with a laugh. “Here, love.”
Eames saw his spectacles safely to the nightstand and settled back beside him, one hand warm on the back of his neck as he leaned in. This time, Yusuf met him halfway. Admittedly, his experience was purely theoretical, but Yusuf was not about to object to hands-on learning when it came to such a delightful subject. His lips tingled, not at all unpleasantly, with the salve that rubbed off on his mouth, little darts of warmth pricking at his mouth as Eames kissed him, slow and somewhat sloppily, as evidenced by the menthol flavored stickiness not only on his mouth but around his lips and on his chin where Eames’ kisses had fallen.
Any other time, Yusuf would have objected to being, well, slobbered on, but his sensibility seemed to have flown out the window the moment Eames’ tongue had teased its way past his lips. They fell back on the bed in a tangle of hands and mouths and awkwardly placed limbs, and all of these uncoordinated little details somehow managed to add up to something fantastic as Yusuf ran his hands over Eames’ back, the boy half-sprawled on top of him as they kissed.
Eames flicked open the buttons on his shirt, his lips following the path of skin that his fingers had revealed. Yusuf was torn between letting it continue and insisting that it stop when Eames stilled on his own, giving him one last kiss before he laid his head on Yusuf’s chest, hand stroking idly over his side. Yusuf smoothed back Eames’ hair, catching his breath.
“You should stay,” Eames murmured. “Fall asleep with me.”
“I have a class,” Yusuf reminded him gently. “We’re reading Catullus.”
“We can do Catullus right here.” He cleared his throat. “Nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux, nox est perpetua una dormienda. ”1
“Da mi basia mille, deinde centum...”2
“Dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,”3 Eames finished. “I would continue, but I think I owe you something like two thousand four hundred kisses as it is.”
Yusuf smiled. “I had no idea you read Latin.”
“Even I can appreciate a language that has a word like defututa in its arsenal.”4
“This was far more romantic before you said that. Off,” Yusuf said, pushing at Eames’ shoulders. His arm had fallen asleep and it prickled with pins and needles as Eames rolled off of him. Yusuf buttoned his shirt and straightened his slightly rumpled clothing before slinging his bag over his shoulder. He retrieved his spectacles from the nightstand.
“Does this mean I won’t be getting to give you those kisses, then?” Eames looked positively wretched and Yusuf had to hold back a smile.
“No... Actually, your debt to me is doubled on account of you being such a prat.”
Eames grinned. “That’s an awful lot of snogging, love. Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Yusuf said, punctuating it with a nod of his head. “But I really must go now. I am sorry. Truly.”
“Fine,” Eames sulked. He waved his hand in dismissal. “Go on, then-Latin calls. Come back when you’re ready for those kisses.”
“Obdura, Catulle.”5
“Don’t encourage me.”
Yusuf laughed and shook his head. “Incorrigible. Till later, then.”
Eames gave a mock salute. “Ave atque vale.”6
Part 2
- - - - -
1 When once brief light has set, we must sleep one never-ending night. (Catullus 5)
2 Give me a thousand kisses, then one hundred. (Catullus 5)
3 Then another thousand, then a second hundred. (Catullus 5)
4 Exhausted from f*king (Seriously. I kid you not.) from Catullus 41.
5 “Endure, Catullus.” The joke, though, is that obdura most literally means “be hard” and is used intentionally as a play on words in Catullus 7.
6 Hello and goodbye (Catullus 101)