Inception - Pretend That You're Alone (3/11)

[osaki_nana_707]

Title: Pretend That You're Alone (3/11)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 4,056
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Yusuf, Fischer, Ariadne
Rating: R(this part)
Warnings: language, underage, age difference (16/32)
Summary: AU. Eames is a burned out university professor who goes to the park for lunch to get away from the chaos of his life. There he meets 16-year-old Arthur and begins to befriend him for his ability to have an intelligent conversation with him. When he discovers the boy is homeless, he decides to take care of him, but things with Arthur get more complicated than he could ever expect.



Part Three

Eames would have liked to have locked himself in his office, being that he'd made it to school early. He would have liked having a little time to himself to think about what had transpired that morning (because it wasn't as cut and dry as Arthur seemed to think it was), but Yusuf caught him before he could slip away.

"Whore!" Yusuf exclaimed in disdain, and in a momentary panic Eames illogically thought he was talking about Arthur, but then he continued. "Fuck, why did you have to be right about her, Eames? She was so bloody perfect…"

"Oh," Eames caught himself saying but Yusuf was too caught up in his own problems to notice. "Sorry to hear about that, mate."

"She only asked me out because she lost a bet," Yusuf said dejectedly. "How bloody awful is that? You shouldn't treat people that way. It's just wrong."

"I tried to warn you," Eames said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry it didn't work out though, really."

"I am telling you, Eames. I am telling you right now-do not get involved with young people. They will fucking use you up and wring you dry."

Eames felt a pit drop in his stomach and swallowed heavily. He wasn't sure why. He wasn't involved with anyone.

"I swear, Eames, from here on out, I'm only looking for girls my own age. No more shall I be tempted by the buxom young harpies that try to sink their claws into me."

"Not that many 'buxom young harpies' have attempted to," Eames reminded, and Yusuf shushed him.

"Oh, fuck off," Yusuf complained. "I'm trying to be a good person here and not be led into temptation, and you're mocking me."

"No, no, you're right," Eames replied, "young people are dangerous." That was one thing he was sure of. In fact, he had a feeling Yusuf had no idea what he was talking about compared to Eames.

Eames wasn't really sure how he felt about that.

"Very funny," Yusuf grumbled, clearly under the impression that he was still teasing. Eames decided not to correct him for the moment. "Can we talk about something besides my romantic woes?"

"Hey, you started it," Eames said with a shrug. "Don't get all sore at me."

"Yeah, I get it, I get it," Yusuf sighed, following Eames into his office and plopping down at one of the chairs squashed in the corner. "So, how did your evening go last night? I certainly hope it fared better than mine did."

The pit in Eames's stomach grew deeper, but he knew how to act like it didn't exist. He really did deserve some sort of academy award. "Oh, you know," he said coolly, "uneventful. Same old, same old. I just ah… had some tea and then off to bed. Yesterday was a little tiring."

"We need to have another guy's night sometime," Yusuf decided, crossing his arms across his chest. "You've been skipping out on having lunch with me. Maybe this weekend I can drop by and we can watch some movies or something."

"Ah… I'll ah, get back to you about that," Eames said, reminding himself not to show even a flinch or Yusuf would be full of non-stop questions. "I've got a lot of papers to grade still."

"Oh, don't I know it," Yusuf sighed. "It's bloody miserable. Sometimes I think about just quitting and backpacking across the world and not caring about anything but good times and good women."

"Keep dreaming, Yusuf."

Yusuf scoffed. "Don't mock my dreams! They're good dreams!"

Eames just wished he still had dreams.

Eames wasn't too proud to admit that he thought of Arthur throughout the entirety of play auditions.

It started with his horror over what had happened that morning (albeit it had slackened just a little bit; he'd come to accept the fact that he couldn't undo what had been done). After he had dwelled on that for a while, he started to wonder just why he had brought Arthur into his home in the first place…

He was smart.

Well… not exactly. He was very bright for his age, and this was even more impressive with the fact that he'd had no formal schooling, but… well, Eames had been terribly impressed by him over a couple of crackpot theories and fancy words. They weren't all that insightful, he realized, looking back on it. Admittedly, Eames had started to lose faith in the latest generation, being that his students (minus a few exceptions) were absolute morons… Perhaps that was why when Arthur showed a hint of intelligence, Eames had pounced onto him- pounced onto his ideas.

He was all alone.

That, that was true. Arthur had said so himself that he'd been alone since he was twelve… That is, if he hadn't been lying. He was perfectly capable of making things up, and his story was a little bit unbelievable. Eames couldn't necessarily prove he was fibbing at the moment though, so he'd have to do a little investigating. Perhaps a look into that bag he'd brought with him would give him a few clues to the authenticity of his story.

He was beautiful.

…

Well…

Um…

He needed the help.

That… well, technically, he didn't need it. Arthur seemed to be pretty self-sufficient on his own, even though his methods were questionable. He had been living on the streets for quite a few years (if his story was to be believed), and it wasn't like he was weak and diseased. After the boy had showered and changed into a different pair of clothes, he looked nearly like any other teenager. He was a little thin, yes, but most people could chock that up to being scrawny. Hell, he didn't even have dental issues. Physically, he was perfectly fine.

Mentally though… He definitely needed some help there. His perspective was disturbingly warped if the way he viewed sex was any indication. He clearly had some issues about how he was supposed to behave, how people were supposed to behave. He had no idea what the social norms were. People did not just suck other people's cocks for fun, especially when one of said parties was sixteen… Arthur had acted like Eames was the one with the problem after it had happened and very casually threatened him when even the idea that Eames could tell someone presented itself… and Eames had no doubt in his mind that Arthur was telling the truth when he'd said he'd done it before. He had swallowed him down with a sureness and certainty that no clumsy, inexperienced teenager should ever have.

He felt sorry for him.

Well, he did. If his story was to be believed, and even if certain aspects of it weren't to be believed, his life clearly hadn't gone all that well. Considering how intelligent he was for his age, he knew so little about how he was supposed to act. Those dark eyes of his had seen so much, and Eames couldn't even begin to comprehend just what was included in that. It hurt him that someone so young was so damaged.

…and what was with that dislike of having things around his neck, anyway?

Somehow amongst all of that, he still managed to catch a couple of the good auditions, particularly young Robert Fischer's dramatic reading (he'd most definitely be getting the lead). He was a bit surprised by the turnout and the amount of talent that presented itself. Maybe not all of his students were lost causes. Even Ariadne showed some definite promise as an actress (though he was sure she'd come to auditions mostly because he promised extra credit to the students who attended and that model-faced Robert Fischer was very much available as of last week when he previous girlfriend transferred to a new university).

He left in semi-better spirits, but on the bus ride home he got sweaty palms over the idea that Arthur might not even be there. What if he had skipped off to the police and claimed that this man had been holding him hostage in his house and forced him to do sexual favors? He wasn't sure why Arthur would do something like that, but there was most definitely the possibility that he was just a vindictive little brat that got his jollies off of hurting people. There was no way Eames could know for sure, and that was probably why the thought came to mind.

It turned out his fears were ungrounded though because when he opened the door, Arthur was still there, sprawled out on the couch with a book and wearing a different shirt than he had been that morning. If that and the strong scent of Eames's cologne were any indication, Arthur had taken another bath.

"Hey, you're back," Arthur said, shutting the book with a loud clap. He looked surprisingly happy to see him. "Awesome. Can you teach me how to use the stove?"

"Ah… sure, later," Eames said awkwardly.

Arthur pulled a face. "You're not still all freaked out over what happened this morning, are you?"

Eames grunted in response before saying, "You mean what you did?"

Arthur cracked that same boyish grin he always did, and said, "Yeah, that. Didn't I tell you to calm down about it? I just gave you what you wanted."

"I didn't want that. If I had wanted that, I wouldn't be nearly so upset about it."

"All right," Arthur said lightly, "Maybe I just misread you. I've never been wrong before, but I guess there's a first time for everything."

"You're a smartarse," Eames growled in agitation. "I'm not attracted to teenage boys."

Even if they are beautiful.

He was glad that Arthur couldn't read minds. He could control his words, but he couldn't control his thoughts.

"Well, doesn't everyone say that it's what's on the inside that matters?" Arthur asked, crawling off the couch to follow Eames into the kitchen. "What's the big to-do about age anyways? I mean, if I'm old enough to ejacu-"

"Boys your age shouldn't be having sex with-"

"We didn't have sex. I gave you a blow job, but we didn't have sex. No, I don't do the whole 'penetration' thing."

Eames turned to look at Arthur, perched on the counter with his ankles crossed, and the lilac shirt he was wearing had slid down on the left side all the way to his elbow. "Why are you like this?" Eames asked, at a loss. "Why do you feel this way?"

"I'm a revolutionary," Arthur replied simply, as if he was completely serious.

"You're full of shit is what you are," Eames replied. "You're off your nutter. There's nothing revolutionary about giving blow jobs to dirty old men for fun. It's just wrong."

Arthur's smile vanished from his face. "I never just…" he sighed through his nose. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I really thought that you wanted me, and I just made a mistake. Can't we just… move on now? I mean, it's really not as big a deal as you think it is."

"I think you are underestimating the size of the problem rather than me overestimating."

"I didn't film it. I didn't go running to the fuzz-in fact, I hate the cops. You didn't force me to do anything, and I didn't cry and try to run away. I enjoyed myself. I like you, Eames. I'm not going to sell you out or anything, so why don't we just have some fun while we're together-"

Eames couldn't take it anymore, clamping his hands over Arthur's mouth. He only did it until he saw Arthur's eyes grow wide with panic and then released him. "Stop treating this like a game," Eames said tensely. "I took you in because I like you, and I was worried about you, and I clearly have a reason to be."

"You don't-" Arthur tried to interrupt, but Eames interrupted him right back.

"Arthur, why were you even living in the streets? Why didn't you stay in the shelters or go into foster care? Why didn't you go find some other relative to stay with?"

Arthur's lip trembled a little, and he apparently didn't have a response for that question. His way of thinking wasn't quite so revolutionary after all, Eames guessed. His eyes dipped to the floor, and he tugged aimlessly at a sock, worrying his bottom lip under his teeth, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinked slowly.

"Why?" Eames repeated again, gentler this time.

"…I don't know…" Arthur said, and it wasn't an answer, but Eames let it go because he just looked so pitiful.

"Oh…" Eames sighed, pulling him into a hug, "come here. Don't get all bent out of shape over it. You're not obligated to answer, after all. We do live in America, so you're free to keep silent about it."

Arthur rested the side of his cheek against Eames's neck, arms encircling his shoulders, smelling of shampoo and too much cologne and still a twinge of dirt that must have been ingrained in him by now. Eames petted his hair gently, it a little greasy from being washed without getting all of the shampoo out. He felt Arthur's breath puff out of his nose as if in a frustrated sigh onto the skin of his neck, prickling the hairs there.

"Don't you ever get lonely?" Arthur asked vulnerably, his voice so quiet that Eames for a moment wasn't sure if he'd actually said it or if it had been only in his head.

"I do… yes…" Eames responded just as quietly. "Sometimes I feel like I've been lonely my whole life."

Arthur pulled away from Eames's shoulder to look at him then with those same entrancing dark, dark eyes that he'd caught him with before. Eames had apparently not learned to fight the gaze off…

…but Arthur didn't do anything. He just… nodded in response, like he understood exactly what Eames meant, like he too had experience the same loneliness and isolation that Eames hadn't realized had been weighing him down for years.

Arthur didn't do anything.

Eames did.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss, just a small kiss against the boy's lips, thumb brushing against his cheekbone, and Arthur hesitated for only a moment before tilting his head and kissing him back, eyelashes fluttering closed.

Eames inhaled sharply through his nose, taking Arthur's face in both hands, deepening that little kiss until it wasn't so little anymore, both of them taking gasps for air only as they moved, Arthur's fingers gripping into the cuffs of the shirt he was wearing and then into Eames's hair, and they were pressing their chests together, and Arthur was making a small sound, and Eames was gripping him at his waist, pulling him closer to the edge of the counter, and…

…that was when he stopped himself, breaking away but only to stay nose to nose with Arthur, breathing raggedly. Arthur tilted his chin up and pressed one more kiss to his lips before pulling Eames back into their embrace.

Eames swore he could feel Arthur's heart beating against his own.

"I'm sorry," Eames said, only then noticing the way Arthur had wrapped his legs around his waist as if he was holding onto everything that he was. Arthur pressed a kiss to his cheek and then rested the side of his face against his as if to hold that kiss there for as long as possible while also savoring some of the innocence of it.

They stayed that way for far too long, and then Eames released himself from the embrace, and the spell was broken. Mostly.

"So, ah, you wanted to learn how to use the oven, yeah?" he asked, moving as far across the kitchen from the boy as he could bear to.

It took Arthur a couple of long seconds for him to come out of his haze before nodding and stammering, "Y-yeah, um… I didn't want to set the house on fire, so I just ate pudding cups, but uh… I'd prefer to have a real lunch. I could probably figure it out on my own, but… you know… it's not my place, so um…"

He let the sentence drift off and slid off of the counter onto slightly wobbly legs so that he could walk over and stare senselessly into the cupboard.

"What do you want to eat for supper, hm?" Eames asked, gesturing to the food before tugging uncomfortably at his collar. The tension in the air would serve as good topping for their bread, he thought, considering how he could likely cut it with a knife.

Arthur wandered into the cupboard, looking like a lost puppy, tugging his shirt back up onto his shoulder only for it to fall down again, and then he looked back at Eames and said, "Forget it. I can learn how to use the oven tomorrow. How about we just order a pizza or something?"

"Y-yeah, I can do that," Eames said. "That sounds just fine… um… yes, that's fine. Pizza. Yes. Uh… what did you want on your pizza, exactly?"

"Whatever is fine," Arthur said. "Whatever you like, I'm sure it's fine…"

Eames ordered the typical pepperoni and cheese, and the two ate it in silence, staring at the television set. It was one of those crime shows at first, but then the inspector or whoever it was started talking about the molestation of a fourteen-year-old girl, and Eames had to change the channel to some stupid sitcom that neither of them paid all that much attention to.

After the pizza was gone though, they had nothing with which to occupy their mouths.

Arthur was the first to break the silence.

"So… how was work?"

"The same as always," Eames said, suddenly tired when he thought about work. "My students don't make any effort to understand anything I'm trying to teach them, and they don't appreciate any effort I put forth. They don't respect me and don't care that their degrees are meaningless without the knowledge to back them up, and I'm extremely terrified of what that means for our future doctors and lawyers and whatnot… but, well, play tryouts went better than expected, at least. That's something."

"Why didn't you try to be an actor, Eames?" Arthur asked, pressing his chin onto Eames's shoulder in a seemingly innocent manner. Eames didn't know his actual intentions, but he was too exhausted to shrug him off.

"I did try," Eames informed him. "I guess I just wasn't right for the parts I went for, or maybe I was just bloody terrible, I don't know… but I had a degree in psychology from my time at the university, so I decided to become a teacher. I always loved being around people who wanted to learn. I loved watching the excitement on people's faces when they solved a problem or the wonder in their eyes when they came across a new piece of information. I loved the drive to move forward that students used to have, that I had when I was a student… but now…

"Well… now it's like the only thing they care about is money. The school doesn't give out many scholarships, so only the rich arseholes who don't ever want for anything in their lives attend my classes. It's a bloody shame is what it is. I guess because I was so fascinated by it, I can't comprehend why human beings don't want to understand why they do the things that they do. How can someone just go through life not wanting to know anything? To just… breeze by without a single thought?"

"That sucks," Arthur spat, as if he could understand Eames's disdain for them. Maybe he could.

"It really does," Eames said, and he smiled genuinely for what felt like the first time in years. "Do you want to take a look at their papers with me?"

Somehow, that question cut all of the tension out of them. They ended up taking the papers and choosing one at a time to do a dramatic reading of, peppering in accents (which Eames was good at and Arthur wasn't) and a lot of laughter and off the cuff insulting jokes (which they were both ridiculously good at).

It made grading them a lot easier, and he was surprisingly not as harsh on them being that he wasn't in an absolutely miserable mood. It was only as he was putting his last mark on his last paper that he looked down to find that Arthur had fallen asleep with his head on his thigh, gangly legs dangling over the edge of the couch, one hand underneath the shirt to splay across his abdomen, the other up by his face.

Eames brushed his hand through the fringe of Arthur's hair again, combing his fingers through the strands. Arthur mumbled, shifting a little, and then his eyes opened sleepily to look up at him. A lazy, crooked smile worked its way onto his face, and Eames swore his heart stopped for a second.

"All tuckered out, are you?" Eames asked, voice a bit hoarser than he expected.

"Will you buy me some cigarettes tomorrow on your way home?" Arthur asked, eyelids seeming to threaten to shut again. "I ran out."

"I'll see what I can do," Eames said, fingers moving from his hair to touch that same cheekbone he had earlier. "Do you want some clothing too?"

"Uh-huh…" Arthur sighed, head falling limp against his leg again as he drifted off to sleep again.

Eames gently removed himself from the couch and tucked a pillow under Arthur's head in his place. He lowered a blanket over him and moved to his room and leaned heavily against the door once he was safely inside.

"What the fuck am I doing?" he asked the air and then collapsed into his bed fully clothed.

When he woke up at 4:30 in the morning, Arthur wasn't on the couch.

He pretended that he didn't notice he wasn't there.

The shower came on.

He pretended that he didn't hear it and moved into the kitchen to fix a pot of tea. He also pretended that he didn't look at the counter where Arthur had sat the night before, where he had kissed the boy in some bizarre moment of weakness.

The pot had just started to whistle when he turned around and saw Arthur standing there, naked and dripping wet. It startled him to the point that he had to grab hold of the counter. "Arthur?" he said unsurely.

"I couldn't find the towels," Arthur said, shifting from one foot to the other. "I… I would have yelled for you, but I didn't know if you were asleep, and I didn't want you to be mad at me for waking you up, so…"

Eames moved the kettle off of the burner, trying not to look directly at him, though it wasn't easy. "Ah… in the cupboard on the other side of the bath."

"Thanks," Arthur said, turning away, avoiding the puddles he'd left on his way there so that he wouldn't slip.

Eames took in a deep breath and counted to ten before letting it out and did what he could to ignore the way his cock jumped in his trousers. He did it a second time and then a third time, and then Arthur was back, with a towel around his waist, one around his shoulders, and one at his feet where he was mopping up the puddles. "I'm really sorry," he said, voice squeaking a little bit. "I just didn't know, and please don't be mad…"

"It's fine," Eames said, trying not to sound as breathless as he was. "Do you want some tea?"

"Um… I guess so…" He toweled his hair so as to avoid eye contact. "I don't really drink tea, but… I mean, you British guys like it, so I guess you'd know how to make it. I guess I should go get dressed first, or… or something."

"Y… yeah…" Eames said.

Arthur vanished into the bathroom again, and only when he heard the door shut did Eames breathe a sigh of relief.

Well, so much for the tension vanishing.