The confusion on Arthur's parents' faces was clear, and he for one couldn't blame them. The fact that there was a twenty-something year old man they've never met before in their kitchen was probably pretty vexing, much more so with the fact that he's been here alone with their sixteen year old son.
Surely, it looked bad.
The worst part was, it was exactly what it looked like. Arthur felt his face blanching because he could almost guarantee that they could see right through him. Could they tell that he and this twenty-something year old man had been doing unspeakably obscene things in his bed, in his shower, and on their kitchen table?
"Arthur, who is this man?" Arthur's father asked hesitantly.
Arthur looked at Eames and then back at his father. "Ah..."
"I'm Eames," Eames said standing and offering a hand to shake. "I'm Arthur's French tutor."
Both parents exchanged glances, and Arthur for one was grateful that he'd mentioned to Eames that he'd been failing French.
"You're a bit, ah... a bit old to be tutoring a sixteen year old, aren't you Mr. Eames?" Arthur's mom asked, shaking his hand after Arthur's father had finished doing so.
"Well, I work at the library, not at the school," Eames continued effortlessly. "In exchange for tutoring, he helps me organize the books there."
"Ahh, so that explains where Arthur's been going in the afternoons," Arthur's father said, smiling.
"Arthur, why didn't you tell us?" his mother asked, and for a moment Arthur was so relieved that they were believing this utter bullshit that he couldn't answer.
"I was just ah... well, I thought you would be mad at me because I needed a tutor..."
Arthur could play vulnerable far too well.
"Oh, sweetie," Arthur's mom said, pulling him to her and hugging his shoulders. "We could never be angry with you for trying to do well in school."
"He's a bright boy," Eames continued. "I guarantee you his next report card will be better than the last."
After a bit of small talk, Arthur's parents excused themselves to their room, and then Eames whirled on Arthur.
"I didn't think they'd be home so soon," Arthur said quietly.
"You told me you were eighteen," Eames replied, but he didn't sound terribly dismayed over it.
"Does that mean you don't want to do it anymore?" Arthur asked lightly, smiling because he already knew the answer.
"It means from now on we're doing it somewhere where we won't be interrupted, you twat."
Surely, it looked bad.
The worst part was, it was exactly what it looked like. Arthur felt his face blanching because he could almost guarantee that they could see right through him. Could they tell that he and this twenty-something year old man had been doing unspeakably obscene things in his bed, in his shower, and on their kitchen table?
"Arthur, who is this man?" Arthur's father asked hesitantly.
Arthur looked at Eames and then back at his father. "Ah..."
"I'm Eames," Eames said standing and offering a hand to shake. "I'm Arthur's French tutor."
Both parents exchanged glances, and Arthur for one was grateful that he'd mentioned to Eames that he'd been failing French.
"You're a bit, ah... a bit old to be tutoring a sixteen year old, aren't you Mr. Eames?" Arthur's mom asked, shaking his hand after Arthur's father had finished doing so.
"Well, I work at the library, not at the school," Eames continued effortlessly. "In exchange for tutoring, he helps me organize the books there."
"Ahh, so that explains where Arthur's been going in the afternoons," Arthur's father said, smiling.
"Arthur, why didn't you tell us?" his mother asked, and for a moment Arthur was so relieved that they were believing this utter bullshit that he couldn't answer.
"I was just ah... well, I thought you would be mad at me because I needed a tutor..."
Arthur could play vulnerable far too well.
"Oh, sweetie," Arthur's mom said, pulling him to her and hugging his shoulders. "We could never be angry with you for trying to do well in school."
"He's a bright boy," Eames continued. "I guarantee you his next report card will be better than the last."
After a bit of small talk, Arthur's parents excused themselves to their room, and then Eames whirled on Arthur.
"I didn't think they'd be home so soon," Arthur said quietly.
"You told me you were eighteen," Eames replied, but he didn't sound terribly dismayed over it.
"Does that mean you don't want to do it anymore?" Arthur asked lightly, smiling because he already knew the answer.
"It means from now on we're doing it somewhere where we won't be interrupted, you twat."
"So, your place?"
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I'll take new prompts. I might continue some of these later, but right now I'm just getting my creative juices going. :P
I've got other stories I intend to start on, so I don't need to add more to those lists. XD
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