I need an inception icon like, stat
Title: If there is college AU to be had I will write it.
Fandom: Inception
Pairings: Arthur/Eames, Mal/Cobb etc etc. LOTS OF PEOPLE MAKE APPERANCES
Warnings: uhm, I wrote it. It is full of gay and het and awkward and run on sentences and stupid.
Rating: Bizzare (there is sex. Of the gay variety. And mentions of hetsex. And Saito being BAMF)
Notes: Written for both downloadstone and Tangerinedreams cause well. here's to hoping it's not crap! I don’t write fanfiction as a rule because I feel like I can never get the characterizations right and I haven’t written anything in FOREVER so I apologise in advance.
It's probably a little awkward and possibly kinda dumb. If there's any major characterisation issues, tell me?
“Seriously darling, you need to loosen up.”
Cobb is having a hard time keeping a straight face. Every time Eames opens his mouth Arthur, for want of a better word, -bristles-. It’s hilarious to see the straight-laced history major riling up like a pissed off cat, but the librarian wasn’t taking too kindly to the whole business and was scowling at them over the top of her terrifyingly pointy glasses. Cobb clears his throat but Eames ignores him, popping the collar of his horrid drippy purple shirt up (expensive drippy horrible purple shirt) and reaching a hand across to snag Arthur’s pen.
Cobb should’ve warned him. He really should have but it was a lesson the idiot would have to learn on his own. Well, no, not idiot. Eames (nobody knows his other name but that was fine, he is pretty sure the university doesn’t know either) was smart. Smarter than he had any right to be, according to Arthur. Then again, according to Arthur, Eames is only worth throwing out of a train window down a cliff. Or mutilating using old rites belonging to the lost mayan tribes. Or shot. In the butt. It occurs to Cobb that Arthur spends an inordinate amount of time thinking about how much he wants to kill Eames.
Arthur has the man’s fingers bent back as much as he can without breaking them, his pen held firmly in his other hand as Eames arches his back, pressing his chest against the table. He is still smiling, which Cobb is sure is a sign of insanity, and Arthur presses his fingers together a little. The librarian was going to be so pissed when she got over there.
“If you wanted to hold my hand, darling, you should’ve asked.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself.”
---
Robert and Arthur get on like a house on fire, so to speak. Maybe with less screaming and running and burning people, but they’re both well dressed and slick and ignore everyone around them with the kind of disdain reserved for emo kids at a rave party. Robert has some massive daddy issues which Nash teases him about, because Robert is there to make daddy proud and he hates his business degree like nothing else and wants to be doing engineering. He WAS doing engineering until his dad got sick the semester before, and Saito needles and wheedles and pokes Robert until he agrees to pick up an Engineering elective.
Arthur, true to form, is totally ambivalent about the whole thing until Robert and Saito pull him into it.
“What makes you think I care about that?” Arthur asks, ignoring Robert’s puppy eyes as best he can. Robert’s face is too angular for puppy eyes, so it just makes him look like a rather upset whippet. Which is probably nowhere near the effect the guy was looking for.
“Seriously, I just want an opinion. Should I take this unit or not? I can double it up with Economics but I want to be sure it makes sense.”
And oh god, he shouldn’t wheedle with that slight Australian twang in his voice when he gets emotional. Arthur winces, ignoring Saito’s pointed glower and reaches for the paper to look over the course units. What he knew about engineering, civil or otherwise, he could fit into a very, very small thimble but Rob looks…excited. Apprehensive. And strangely intense and it’s freaking him out a little. Saito, however, has a scowl on his face to rival the Mona Lisa on her period, and he can’t figure out why because it was the older man that pushed Rob into it in the first place.
“I don’t see why not. As long as you know what you’re getting into?”
Robert beams and Saito nods and the scowl doesn’t shift from his face. Arthur is reminded belatedly that Saito, for all he encourages and he prods and he pokes, doesn’t like to share, and Rob came to him first.
---
Eames, Arthur has decided, is a shithead. That was the only way to describe the kind of bastard who would leap on your bed at three in the morning air guitaring and whistling loudly in your ear. Arthur kicks him in the kneecap so his whistle is cut short with a pained and surprised shout. Eames, ever elegant, falls sideways, elbowing him hard enough in the stomach to make him see stars and landing half on, half off the bed. Arthur wheezes, trying to get his breath back and the light explosions out of his eyes, defenseless against Eames flopping over him bodily.
“That was just NASTY, darling.” Eames rasps, his voice laced with pain and that leaves the hot, angry feeling in his spine rather satisfied with itself.
“You were whistling -Queen- you unmitigated shitface” and he’s run out of insults, its three in the morning and he can’t protest because Eames is warm and stretched out on his bed like he belongs there. He yawns, rubbing a hand over his eyes and wincing at the bruise he can feel spreading over his stomach, Eames takes the wince as an indication that he’s too heavy and shifts to the side, shoving Arthur into the right half of the bed. He curls up instinctively (he’s got a book on the anthropology of warring tribes on the floor and its big and sharp and hardcover) so he doesn’t fall off, blanket fisted in one hand. He’s tired, he tells himself, so he doesn’t kick his kneecap again when Eames slides a hand into his hair and tugs his head down to his shoulder.
“Could’ve been worse, love. I could’ve been whistling Britney Spears.”
---
Nash gets caught peeing in the headmaster’s car window and gets ejected from the campus. Admittedly he should’ve done it while the headmaster was OUT of the car, but thems the breaks. Eames takes great glee in relaying this information to Cobb, who swears up and down that he has nothing to do with it and would like absolutely nothing to do with it.
This ticks Arthur off, because he knows Nash wouldn’t do something that stupid unless he was really drunk, stoned or put up to it.
“If I find out you have anything to do with this-” He starts, because Eames is looking entirely too smug and he and Saito, of all people, are exchanging devilish grins, and Arthur feels like he should start wearing a Kevlar vest around for protection. Eames affects a hurt look but he’s a sneaky little shit and Arthur isn’t drawn in for a second. Not a SECOND.
“I’m hurt, love. Deeply wounded. Why would you say such things to me? Does what we have mean so little to you?”
Of course he has to say that as loudly as he can in the middle of the cafeteria. And of course, everyone has their break on from twelve to two. Arthur’s ears start to go red first, and Cobb watches, amused. He recognises the signs of an imminent explosion and while he knows the brit hasn’t known them long enough to counter, it doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy it.
Arthur stares. Eames just smiles and waits, the grin sliding off his face bit by bit until he frowns, waving his hand. “Oh come on, it’s not like Nash wasn’t ratting out what you were doing to do for your joint project to a-”
The slick, slimy feeling of a pudding cup working its way down his shirt cuts him short. Arthur smiles beatifically at the woman behind the counter, paying for the cup before picking up his salad, walking past Eames towards Mal’s table.
“I knew that, idiot. But now I have to find a NEW partner.”
“…I have pudding in my underwear.”
---
“You can’t plan for everything.”
Eames thinks that maybe Arthur is a little manic when it comes to studying. Everything is colour coded and sorted into piles, the heavy books balanced precariously on the lighter, bendy ones. Every time he jumps (he’s told himself there’s no stepping on the blue squares in the carpet today) they wobble and Arthur lifts his head to scowl at him, his dark slicked back hair making it look like he’s got an angry bug living on his head. He really, really wants to mess up Arthur’s hair but doesn’t dare attempt it when he’s in study mode. He’d get an arm bitten off. Mandibled off even.
“Unlike you, who doesn’t plan at all.”
“I go to my classes, darling. That’s all I need.” He does his assignments. In fact, he is in the middle of one right now. Not so much an assignment as a mission. Alright, it was a bet but it was COBB and the asshole was teaming up with Saito and he wants to smack the shit out of the both of them because he is NOT going to lose twenty quid to them and their betting. At all. Ever.
“I plan. In fact, I’m planning on going for pizza and you’re going with me.”
Arthur snorts, and Eames puts on an affronted face. It would’ve worked better if Arthur, the little bastard, was looking UP.
Revenge was in order. Arthur shrieks (manfully yells) at the scrape of stubble against his ear, his elbow caught with his forearm (Eames was learning goddamn it). Arthur’s bad habit of tipping back in his chair was to his advantage this time, because he has him at his mercy with his free arm curled around the wood.
“Come for pizza and I won’t tell Yusuf that you scream like a little girl.”
Arthur struggles and spits and snarls and eventually nods. It may or may not be because Eames is holding his book hostage.
Pizza turns into a party and the party turns into a drink and the drink turns into two and three and four. And perhaps he shouldn’t have had that jägerbomb.
---
He wants to like Ariadne, he really does. In fact, he DOES like Ariadne. He likes her more than he probably should and steals a kiss just to prove he can to the others (and distract Saito from Eames although he’s not sure why he feels the need to do that) and it works for three seconds.
He realizes that he doesn’t want to kiss her again, even when she blushes and smiles at him and he smiles back. He can’t kiss her again because it’s like kissing a brick wall and it takes him a moment to realise what he’s thinking. She’s pretty in the way a deer is pretty, all large eyes and brown hair but sans the bestiality aspect and he wants nothing more than to be the kind of guy who can take comfort from that. Who can learn to love that.
She takes another swig of her drink and he watches her swallow, the sick feeling curling in his stomach having nothing to do with the smile on her face and everything to do with the brief, hard look that shoots through Eames’s eyes, his jaw tightening a fraction before he’s all smiles and laughter and “darlings”.
If he’d -really- liked her, he wouldn’t have gotten up and left.
---
If he could figure out where Yusuf got his weed from, he’d buy it by the truckload. It’s the good shit, not the stuff mixed in with herbs and spices that you get on the street some days (he’s never been that stupid. Not yet). It makes the entire world make sense. Mal takes a drag and smiles languidly, leaning against Cobb like he’s the best chair on earth, passing the spliff around to Ariadne, who looks at it as like it’s a snake, or alternately Yusuf’s underwear.
Eames rolls his eyes, nudging her and stretching out, his legs flopping over Arthur’s and his arm tangling with Saito’s. Men. Men everywhere and Mal was all the way over there and Ariadne isn’t nearly stoned enough (or at all) to contemplate sitting on his lap and making things entirely more interesting. Arthur distracts him, however, by moving his leg and beaming at them, the smile so alien on his face it makes him look like a monster.
So Eames tells him so.
“I do not.” Arthur is sulking and it is his fault. Time to fix that. Pulling his arm free of Saito, (who grumbles like a three year old before deciding Robert and Yusuf were the better choices when it came to lounging material) he wriggles down until he is sprawled against Arthur, his chin on his shoulder. The light filtering through the blinds makes him squint, a band of white sprawling across his eyes and Arthur’s shoulders.
“No, you’re the good monster, darling. The sully of monsters. Only you are less blue.” He says with a nod, Arthur’s frown quickly melting into confusion and then comprehension.
“I’m not furry either.” Arthur is saying things carefully, his tongue moving deliberately against his teeth. Yusuf ruins a perfectly good excuse to explore by kicking them in the side with his foot, gentle like a small elephant.
“No. That’s what you need puberty for.”
“You.” Eames says, his arm thrown protectively over Arthur’s shoulders, “are a butt.”
Ariadne passes the weed along, hiding the fact that she didn’t take a drag by smiling behind her hand, stretching her legs out and sinking against Mal’s chest, effectively making use of her boobs as a cushion for her head.
“You’re both butts.” Cobb says with an air of finality, bringing his hand down to pat Ariadne on the head. Mal does him one better by throwing her arms around the smaller woman’s shoulders, squeezing and placing a loud, smacking kiss on the top of her head.
Arthur snorts, sprawling against Eames like its the easiest thing to do on the planet, his arm thrown across his back.
“Quiet, I think the clouds are moving.”
---
Saito and Robert get into a brawl over the engineering project on Thursday. Nobody can understand what either one of them is shouting, Saito with his accent and Robby boy with his twang but by GOD the fight is so epic that Ariadne is forced to film it. Forced by the sheer power of Saito kicking Robert through a hedge. Robert goes down in a tangle of blood and twigs and leaves and scrambles back up as soon as he can, a blurry green tornado as he punches Saito square in the jaw. The entire Quad has stopped to watch, nobody daring to cheer the other on because if there’s one thing they won’t tolerate, it’s someone taking sides.
Eames slides an arm over Ariadne’s shoulders and she jumps, the video shaking a little before she just snorts, unladylike and totally warranted.
“I hope this is going up on youtube.” Eames says, his grin wicked and amused all at once. She nods, answering his grin with a smirk of her own, the both of them looking so alike that Cobb raises an eyebrow. Mal laughs, leaning against his side and hooking her thumb into the beltloop, not at all worried. Saito will make friends with her carpet later and Rob will grumble into one of her pillows while she and Dom mediate and chide and share their beer.
Saito hauls Robert away to punch him again and Arthur, disgusted and trying to get around them to go to his next class, flips his own phone closed as he stalks past Ariadne and Eames.
“For God’s sake, just make out already and get over it.” He says, loud enough for Saito and Robert to hear. That stops them for a second, Robert disgusted and Saito contemplative. He eyes Robert for a moment and the man backs away, hands held up and a twig sticking out of his hair at odd angles.
“Oh no you d-MRPH.”
They look at each other then, the identical smirks spreading as Ariadne zooms in with her camera.
“Gaytube.”
---
Thing is, Ariadne is a pretty cool chick. This makes Eames’s life immeasurably difficult. It would be a lot easier of he could just hate her. She’s smart and pretty and talks to Arthur so casually and awkwardly at the same time that he’s not sure why she doesn’t burst into flames. Arthur, for his part, seems mostly oblivious. Then again, that was his standard operating procedure. If at first you don’t understand the inner workings of a girl’s mind, ignore the fuck out of it in the hopes that she’ll get bored and go away.
Ariadne wasn’t going away. Eames justified it to himself as kissing her in self defense. Her mouth is soft and warm and if he squints and tilts his head a little he could almost see her ears sticking out. It was very nearly enough.
“You and Arthur kiss the same way.” She says, tugging the blanket up to her chin. Completely out of left field, that draws him away from his new hobby of tracing faces on her stomach, instead turning his attention back to her face.
“I certainly hope I don’t kiss like a Cylon, sweetheart.”
She laughs at that, reaching a hand up to pat his cheek, affectionate in a manner he wasn’t expecting.
“No, dumbass. You kiss like you’re trying to forget.”
That shocks him but he covers it by biting at her palm, rolling back on top of her and pinning her down as she laughs and wriggles.
---
Arthur is asleep when he gets back, so he does the only thing he can do.
“THUNDERBOLTS AND LIGHTNING VERY VERY FRIGHTE-Ack!” The book under his heel slips and he comes down heavy and hard, his back on the bed and his legs against the wall. Eames’s shoulders are pressed against his stomach as he laughs, and Arthur is sure at least one of his ribs is broken or on strike or something. Eames just smiles and gets comfortable, hair still wet from his shower and leaving a damp spot on Arthur’s shirt and blankets.
Arthur wants to kick him off very badly but he can’t get enough purchase on the wall to lever him over and onto the floor. He shoves at his shoulders but Eames just sprawls against his legs and manages to take up as much of the bed as he possibly can.
“Ariadne says we kiss the same way.” He says by way of hello, and Arthur doesn’t even have to pretend to be confused.
“What?”
“Ariadne. Says we kiss the same way.” He repeats, slowing the words down as if that will help them suddenly make sense. Arthur’s eyebrows go down and his nose wrinkles up and it takes everything Eames has to resist crawling up his body to bite him between the eyes.
“Okay?” He sounds hesitant, confused and a little annoyed and Eames wonders, briefly, if he’ll be able to do this every night; jump on his bed until he wakes up unguarded, soft hair curling against his ears and dark brown eyes narrowed as he squints. He thinks he sees something there, a brief flash before Arthur ducks his head down and headbutts Eames awkwardly, as hard as he can.
“Get off my ribs.”
“No darling, I don’t think I will.”
Arthur huffs, annoyed and tired and sore and with -Queen- stuck in his head so he just rolls onto his side as much as he can and ignores Eames sliding up the bed behind him and sliding an arm around his waist. He nudges Arthur’s cheek with his nose and as much as he wants to believe that Eames is drunk and therefore unaware he can’t catch any hint of alcohol. Just the clean taste of the shower against the back of his throat as he breathes in.
He kisses him to test it, honestly. Arthur stiffens for a moment, his entire body rigid and just as Eames closes his eyes Arthur -relaxes-, tugging his arms out of the blankets and settling them around his neck, his back arching so he can accommodate more of him on the bed. Eames takes horrible advantage of this, his hand sliding down and along Arthur’s arm as he licks at his tongue, biting and laughing when Arthur grumbles.
It’s almost too good to be true. He can feel the ache in his back where Ariadne pinned him down to the bed with her knees and he hopes that she won’t say anything, although he’s sure that Arthur really doesn’t like her as much as everyone else thinks he does. He thinks she doesn’t know what she was talking about, really.
Arthur kisses like he knows what he’s doing.
His fingers trail up and into his hair and he bites at his tongue in a way that sends a spark of something hot and hard straight down his spine. His pelvis would probably protest but he refuses to listen, because it’s ARTHUR and Arthur is touching him and kissing him of his own volition and wow, when did he end up on his back?
Arthur looks like the best kind of porn; his hair messed up beyond repair and his shirt riding up his back, settling into the blonde man’s lap like he belongs there. His ears stick out a little and his eyes are still slightly gummy with sleep and he smiles like the only thing he wants to do in the world is suck cock until he dozes off and it’s insulting, mind-numbingly hot and strangely affectionate all at the same time.
“You sure you know what you’re getting into, darling?” he asks, mentally kicking himself after the worlds leave his mouth. Arthur stops, tilting his head and pulling back from the kiss just a little, mumbling against his jaw as he slides his hips down and oh. OH. Fuck.
“Better than you do, I think.”
This isn’t going how he imagined it would in his head at all. Then again, he imagined Arthur decking him half a second after kissing him so this is infinitely better. Arthur’s hands slid down his chest, smoothing his shirt down with his palms and Eames tries to keep from coming all over himself because -Jesus Christ- he’s sliding his fingers up and under the hem of his shirt.
“You’re clean?”
Eames doesn’t know whether to be offended or not. “What a question to ask! Of course I’m clean what to you t- Oh fuck!”
He would spend more energy working himself into a really good snit, but somehow Arthur’s got his track pants down and his hand is curled around his cock like he owns it, thumb sliding up and over the slit as he wriggles out of the covers. Eames would help but he can’t get his brain out of his dick, his hands on Arthur’s shoulders like he’s holding on for his life. And as if that wasn’t enough (it was definitely enough considering that he’s been fuckin’ dreaming about this for MONTHS) Arthur wriggles, kicking the blankets off. Eames is suddenly confronted with Arthur’s shirt riding up and his pants slung low over his hips and he feels his breath hitch at the back of his throat.
Arthur, he discovers, is slightly ticklish. He makes an odd noise against his mouth when he slides his fingertips along his side, and Eames wishes there were two of him because he wants to know if Arthur’s ears are going red again. Arthur is gorgeous in the way a painting is gorgeous, pale and smooth and hard, sharp angles taking up every part of his mind as he ducks his head down to bite at his jaw. The fingers tightening around his cock distract him and he groans, pressing his face against Arthur’s neck, huffing out a laugh.
“You’re wearing entirely too many clothes, darling.”
Getting out of their clothes is a mad scramble that he doesn’t remember much of. He’s not that disappointed really, because if this goes well and Arthur lets him undress him again, then he can take his time. All he wants now is Arthur’s hands on his skin and his mouth and his clever, clever fingers and fuck, he’s going to come just thinking about it. They swap positions, Arthur on his back against the bed and Eames, all blonde hair and stupid tattoos and ridiculously hairy arms leans over him. Its Arthur’s turn to laugh when Eames crawls down his body, following his fingers with his mouth and biting at his stomach, grinning against his skin.
“Cannibalism, Eames?”
“It’s not my fault you’re fucking delicious, pet.” He says, biting at the crease of his hip. Arthur arches up and he grins, sliding his hands around to the back of his thighs, tugging his legs a little apart. Arthur wriggles a foot to dislodge his pants properly and Eames can’t help but laugh because he’d never, EVER have pegged Arthur for a wriggler but he’s done it again. He gets a smack on the shoulder for his trouble and apologises by ducking down, sliding his hands over the inside of his thighs and licking a long, wet strip up the underside of his cock.
“Oh, fuck-” He can’t help but feel a little smug, really. Arthur’s got no clothes on which is a huge step in the right direction and the noises he’s making are really rather encouraging. Eames feels a hand slide into his hair and he grins, taking that as wordless instruction and sliding his mouth down his dick.
He’s really going to have to find out if Arthur can really do the whole body blush thing. His skin heats up under his fingers and Eames is easing his thumb into the crease where his thigh meets his groin without even thinking, one hand sliding around to cup his balls as he opens his throat, sucking slow and hard. He’s a little tired and kind of sleepy but that’s more than okay, because he’s not going for the best sex in the world here. He’s far too into it for that. Technique is completely lost in face of the fact that he has Arthur’s cock against his tongue and it’s better than he’d have ever thought it could be.
He’s not really vocal during sex, and Eames isn’t surprised. Arthur’s chest heaves as he pants, his fingers working through his hair, tugging hard at irregular intervals. He counts every groan as a victory and when Arthur starts writhing and tugging harder at his hair, he slides his tongue down, pressing his hips into the bed with his spare arm.
“Eames, I’m gonna f- nrgh!”
He has half a second to feel smug before he starts to swallow, riding out the stuttering of Arthur’s hips with his fingers curled around his side, pressing his thumb against the curve of his thigh. He barely manages to keep control of himself, because his cock is rubbing against the bed and the noise Arthur makes sends a bolt of electricity straight from his ears to his balls. It’s like Arthur is reading his mind though because he tugs him up, not giving him enough time to wipe his mouth before he’s kissing him, licking at his tongue and sliding a hand around his dick, tugging once, twice and then he’s shuddering, back arching as he comes shouting Arthur’s name.
They don’t say anything. Eames doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed and he can still taste him on his tongue. He collapses a little to the side, an arm and leg thrown over Arthur and he doesn’t seem to mind, pressing a kiss to his temple and sliding his arms around his shoulders.
It’s Arthur who speaks first, and Eames can hear the smile in his voice.
“Why Queen?”
Eames laughs, shoving himself up a little on his free arm to look down at him, salt clinging to his mouth and his brain still hovering somewhere between his dick and his heart.
“What, it wasn’t enough of a hint, darling?”
Arthur, in his defense, believes that smothering the idiot with a pillow will benefit humanity.
---
Eames is climbing a tree when Arthur finds him between classes. He’s got his jacket and bag on the ground, one arm wrapped around a branch and his legs stretched out as he hauls himself up another foot.
“What’re you doing?” Arthur settles himself at the base of the tree, just to the left of where Eames would fall, if he was so inclined. He can feel him watching and Arthur forces himself not to acknowledge that, instead listening to Eames as he climbs up another foot.
“I’m climbing a tree, pet.” Sometimes, Eames can be incredibly infuriating. Arthur sighs and shakes his head, digging around in his bag for his copy of the Histories, the cover worn and creased and the pages dog eared. It’s nice to sit outside for once, even if it’s just him making sure his…well, his boyfriend (and god it’s just the day after can he even think like that) doesn’t do anything ridiculously stupid.
“I can see that. Why?”
“Why not?” Eames asks, and he’s got him there. Arthur can’t think of a single reason that doesn’t sound like an excuse so he just sits, reading his book and batting the leaves Eames tries to toss down his shirt away when he catches them.
Fandom: Inception
Pairings: Arthur/Eames, Mal/Cobb etc etc. LOTS OF PEOPLE MAKE APPERANCES
Warnings: uhm, I wrote it. It is full of gay and het and awkward and run on sentences and stupid.
Rating: Bizzare (there is sex. Of the gay variety. And mentions of hetsex. And Saito being BAMF)
Notes: Written for both downloadstone and Tangerinedreams cause well. here's to hoping it's not crap! I don’t write fanfiction as a rule because I feel like I can never get the characterizations right and I haven’t written anything in FOREVER so I apologise in advance.
It's probably a little awkward and possibly kinda dumb. If there's any major characterisation issues, tell me?
“Seriously darling, you need to loosen up.”
Cobb is having a hard time keeping a straight face. Every time Eames opens his mouth Arthur, for want of a better word, -bristles-. It’s hilarious to see the straight-laced history major riling up like a pissed off cat, but the librarian wasn’t taking too kindly to the whole business and was scowling at them over the top of her terrifyingly pointy glasses. Cobb clears his throat but Eames ignores him, popping the collar of his horrid drippy purple shirt up (expensive drippy horrible purple shirt) and reaching a hand across to snag Arthur’s pen.
Cobb should’ve warned him. He really should have but it was a lesson the idiot would have to learn on his own. Well, no, not idiot. Eames (nobody knows his other name but that was fine, he is pretty sure the university doesn’t know either) was smart. Smarter than he had any right to be, according to Arthur. Then again, according to Arthur, Eames is only worth throwing out of a train window down a cliff. Or mutilating using old rites belonging to the lost mayan tribes. Or shot. In the butt. It occurs to Cobb that Arthur spends an inordinate amount of time thinking about how much he wants to kill Eames.
Arthur has the man’s fingers bent back as much as he can without breaking them, his pen held firmly in his other hand as Eames arches his back, pressing his chest against the table. He is still smiling, which Cobb is sure is a sign of insanity, and Arthur presses his fingers together a little. The librarian was going to be so pissed when she got over there.
“If you wanted to hold my hand, darling, you should’ve asked.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself.”
---
Robert and Arthur get on like a house on fire, so to speak. Maybe with less screaming and running and burning people, but they’re both well dressed and slick and ignore everyone around them with the kind of disdain reserved for emo kids at a rave party. Robert has some massive daddy issues which Nash teases him about, because Robert is there to make daddy proud and he hates his business degree like nothing else and wants to be doing engineering. He WAS doing engineering until his dad got sick the semester before, and Saito needles and wheedles and pokes Robert until he agrees to pick up an Engineering elective.
Arthur, true to form, is totally ambivalent about the whole thing until Robert and Saito pull him into it.
“What makes you think I care about that?” Arthur asks, ignoring Robert’s puppy eyes as best he can. Robert’s face is too angular for puppy eyes, so it just makes him look like a rather upset whippet. Which is probably nowhere near the effect the guy was looking for.
“Seriously, I just want an opinion. Should I take this unit or not? I can double it up with Economics but I want to be sure it makes sense.”
And oh god, he shouldn’t wheedle with that slight Australian twang in his voice when he gets emotional. Arthur winces, ignoring Saito’s pointed glower and reaches for the paper to look over the course units. What he knew about engineering, civil or otherwise, he could fit into a very, very small thimble but Rob looks…excited. Apprehensive. And strangely intense and it’s freaking him out a little. Saito, however, has a scowl on his face to rival the Mona Lisa on her period, and he can’t figure out why because it was the older man that pushed Rob into it in the first place.
“I don’t see why not. As long as you know what you’re getting into?”
Robert beams and Saito nods and the scowl doesn’t shift from his face. Arthur is reminded belatedly that Saito, for all he encourages and he prods and he pokes, doesn’t like to share, and Rob came to him first.
---
Eames, Arthur has decided, is a shithead. That was the only way to describe the kind of bastard who would leap on your bed at three in the morning air guitaring and whistling loudly in your ear. Arthur kicks him in the kneecap so his whistle is cut short with a pained and surprised shout. Eames, ever elegant, falls sideways, elbowing him hard enough in the stomach to make him see stars and landing half on, half off the bed. Arthur wheezes, trying to get his breath back and the light explosions out of his eyes, defenseless against Eames flopping over him bodily.
“That was just NASTY, darling.” Eames rasps, his voice laced with pain and that leaves the hot, angry feeling in his spine rather satisfied with itself.
“You were whistling -Queen- you unmitigated shitface” and he’s run out of insults, its three in the morning and he can’t protest because Eames is warm and stretched out on his bed like he belongs there. He yawns, rubbing a hand over his eyes and wincing at the bruise he can feel spreading over his stomach, Eames takes the wince as an indication that he’s too heavy and shifts to the side, shoving Arthur into the right half of the bed. He curls up instinctively (he’s got a book on the anthropology of warring tribes on the floor and its big and sharp and hardcover) so he doesn’t fall off, blanket fisted in one hand. He’s tired, he tells himself, so he doesn’t kick his kneecap again when Eames slides a hand into his hair and tugs his head down to his shoulder.
“Could’ve been worse, love. I could’ve been whistling Britney Spears.”
---
Nash gets caught peeing in the headmaster’s car window and gets ejected from the campus. Admittedly he should’ve done it while the headmaster was OUT of the car, but thems the breaks. Eames takes great glee in relaying this information to Cobb, who swears up and down that he has nothing to do with it and would like absolutely nothing to do with it.
This ticks Arthur off, because he knows Nash wouldn’t do something that stupid unless he was really drunk, stoned or put up to it.
“If I find out you have anything to do with this-” He starts, because Eames is looking entirely too smug and he and Saito, of all people, are exchanging devilish grins, and Arthur feels like he should start wearing a Kevlar vest around for protection. Eames affects a hurt look but he’s a sneaky little shit and Arthur isn’t drawn in for a second. Not a SECOND.
“I’m hurt, love. Deeply wounded. Why would you say such things to me? Does what we have mean so little to you?”
Of course he has to say that as loudly as he can in the middle of the cafeteria. And of course, everyone has their break on from twelve to two. Arthur’s ears start to go red first, and Cobb watches, amused. He recognises the signs of an imminent explosion and while he knows the brit hasn’t known them long enough to counter, it doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy it.
Arthur stares. Eames just smiles and waits, the grin sliding off his face bit by bit until he frowns, waving his hand. “Oh come on, it’s not like Nash wasn’t ratting out what you were doing to do for your joint project to a-”
The slick, slimy feeling of a pudding cup working its way down his shirt cuts him short. Arthur smiles beatifically at the woman behind the counter, paying for the cup before picking up his salad, walking past Eames towards Mal’s table.
“I knew that, idiot. But now I have to find a NEW partner.”
“…I have pudding in my underwear.”
---
“You can’t plan for everything.”
Eames thinks that maybe Arthur is a little manic when it comes to studying. Everything is colour coded and sorted into piles, the heavy books balanced precariously on the lighter, bendy ones. Every time he jumps (he’s told himself there’s no stepping on the blue squares in the carpet today) they wobble and Arthur lifts his head to scowl at him, his dark slicked back hair making it look like he’s got an angry bug living on his head. He really, really wants to mess up Arthur’s hair but doesn’t dare attempt it when he’s in study mode. He’d get an arm bitten off. Mandibled off even.
“Unlike you, who doesn’t plan at all.”
“I go to my classes, darling. That’s all I need.” He does his assignments. In fact, he is in the middle of one right now. Not so much an assignment as a mission. Alright, it was a bet but it was COBB and the asshole was teaming up with Saito and he wants to smack the shit out of the both of them because he is NOT going to lose twenty quid to them and their betting. At all. Ever.
“I plan. In fact, I’m planning on going for pizza and you’re going with me.”
Arthur snorts, and Eames puts on an affronted face. It would’ve worked better if Arthur, the little bastard, was looking UP.
Revenge was in order. Arthur shrieks (manfully yells) at the scrape of stubble against his ear, his elbow caught with his forearm (Eames was learning goddamn it). Arthur’s bad habit of tipping back in his chair was to his advantage this time, because he has him at his mercy with his free arm curled around the wood.
“Come for pizza and I won’t tell Yusuf that you scream like a little girl.”
Arthur struggles and spits and snarls and eventually nods. It may or may not be because Eames is holding his book hostage.
Pizza turns into a party and the party turns into a drink and the drink turns into two and three and four. And perhaps he shouldn’t have had that jägerbomb.
---
He wants to like Ariadne, he really does. In fact, he DOES like Ariadne. He likes her more than he probably should and steals a kiss just to prove he can to the others (and distract Saito from Eames although he’s not sure why he feels the need to do that) and it works for three seconds.
He realizes that he doesn’t want to kiss her again, even when she blushes and smiles at him and he smiles back. He can’t kiss her again because it’s like kissing a brick wall and it takes him a moment to realise what he’s thinking. She’s pretty in the way a deer is pretty, all large eyes and brown hair but sans the bestiality aspect and he wants nothing more than to be the kind of guy who can take comfort from that. Who can learn to love that.
She takes another swig of her drink and he watches her swallow, the sick feeling curling in his stomach having nothing to do with the smile on her face and everything to do with the brief, hard look that shoots through Eames’s eyes, his jaw tightening a fraction before he’s all smiles and laughter and “darlings”.
If he’d -really- liked her, he wouldn’t have gotten up and left.
---
If he could figure out where Yusuf got his weed from, he’d buy it by the truckload. It’s the good shit, not the stuff mixed in with herbs and spices that you get on the street some days (he’s never been that stupid. Not yet). It makes the entire world make sense. Mal takes a drag and smiles languidly, leaning against Cobb like he’s the best chair on earth, passing the spliff around to Ariadne, who looks at it as like it’s a snake, or alternately Yusuf’s underwear.
Eames rolls his eyes, nudging her and stretching out, his legs flopping over Arthur’s and his arm tangling with Saito’s. Men. Men everywhere and Mal was all the way over there and Ariadne isn’t nearly stoned enough (or at all) to contemplate sitting on his lap and making things entirely more interesting. Arthur distracts him, however, by moving his leg and beaming at them, the smile so alien on his face it makes him look like a monster.
So Eames tells him so.
“I do not.” Arthur is sulking and it is his fault. Time to fix that. Pulling his arm free of Saito, (who grumbles like a three year old before deciding Robert and Yusuf were the better choices when it came to lounging material) he wriggles down until he is sprawled against Arthur, his chin on his shoulder. The light filtering through the blinds makes him squint, a band of white sprawling across his eyes and Arthur’s shoulders.
“No, you’re the good monster, darling. The sully of monsters. Only you are less blue.” He says with a nod, Arthur’s frown quickly melting into confusion and then comprehension.
“I’m not furry either.” Arthur is saying things carefully, his tongue moving deliberately against his teeth. Yusuf ruins a perfectly good excuse to explore by kicking them in the side with his foot, gentle like a small elephant.
“No. That’s what you need puberty for.”
“You.” Eames says, his arm thrown protectively over Arthur’s shoulders, “are a butt.”
Ariadne passes the weed along, hiding the fact that she didn’t take a drag by smiling behind her hand, stretching her legs out and sinking against Mal’s chest, effectively making use of her boobs as a cushion for her head.
“You’re both butts.” Cobb says with an air of finality, bringing his hand down to pat Ariadne on the head. Mal does him one better by throwing her arms around the smaller woman’s shoulders, squeezing and placing a loud, smacking kiss on the top of her head.
Arthur snorts, sprawling against Eames like its the easiest thing to do on the planet, his arm thrown across his back.
“Quiet, I think the clouds are moving.”
---
Saito and Robert get into a brawl over the engineering project on Thursday. Nobody can understand what either one of them is shouting, Saito with his accent and Robby boy with his twang but by GOD the fight is so epic that Ariadne is forced to film it. Forced by the sheer power of Saito kicking Robert through a hedge. Robert goes down in a tangle of blood and twigs and leaves and scrambles back up as soon as he can, a blurry green tornado as he punches Saito square in the jaw. The entire Quad has stopped to watch, nobody daring to cheer the other on because if there’s one thing they won’t tolerate, it’s someone taking sides.
Eames slides an arm over Ariadne’s shoulders and she jumps, the video shaking a little before she just snorts, unladylike and totally warranted.
“I hope this is going up on youtube.” Eames says, his grin wicked and amused all at once. She nods, answering his grin with a smirk of her own, the both of them looking so alike that Cobb raises an eyebrow. Mal laughs, leaning against his side and hooking her thumb into the beltloop, not at all worried. Saito will make friends with her carpet later and Rob will grumble into one of her pillows while she and Dom mediate and chide and share their beer.
Saito hauls Robert away to punch him again and Arthur, disgusted and trying to get around them to go to his next class, flips his own phone closed as he stalks past Ariadne and Eames.
“For God’s sake, just make out already and get over it.” He says, loud enough for Saito and Robert to hear. That stops them for a second, Robert disgusted and Saito contemplative. He eyes Robert for a moment and the man backs away, hands held up and a twig sticking out of his hair at odd angles.
“Oh no you d-MRPH.”
They look at each other then, the identical smirks spreading as Ariadne zooms in with her camera.
“Gaytube.”
---
Thing is, Ariadne is a pretty cool chick. This makes Eames’s life immeasurably difficult. It would be a lot easier of he could just hate her. She’s smart and pretty and talks to Arthur so casually and awkwardly at the same time that he’s not sure why she doesn’t burst into flames. Arthur, for his part, seems mostly oblivious. Then again, that was his standard operating procedure. If at first you don’t understand the inner workings of a girl’s mind, ignore the fuck out of it in the hopes that she’ll get bored and go away.
Ariadne wasn’t going away. Eames justified it to himself as kissing her in self defense. Her mouth is soft and warm and if he squints and tilts his head a little he could almost see her ears sticking out. It was very nearly enough.
“You and Arthur kiss the same way.” She says, tugging the blanket up to her chin. Completely out of left field, that draws him away from his new hobby of tracing faces on her stomach, instead turning his attention back to her face.
“I certainly hope I don’t kiss like a Cylon, sweetheart.”
She laughs at that, reaching a hand up to pat his cheek, affectionate in a manner he wasn’t expecting.
“No, dumbass. You kiss like you’re trying to forget.”
That shocks him but he covers it by biting at her palm, rolling back on top of her and pinning her down as she laughs and wriggles.
---
Arthur is asleep when he gets back, so he does the only thing he can do.
“THUNDERBOLTS AND LIGHTNING VERY VERY FRIGHTE-Ack!” The book under his heel slips and he comes down heavy and hard, his back on the bed and his legs against the wall. Eames’s shoulders are pressed against his stomach as he laughs, and Arthur is sure at least one of his ribs is broken or on strike or something. Eames just smiles and gets comfortable, hair still wet from his shower and leaving a damp spot on Arthur’s shirt and blankets.
Arthur wants to kick him off very badly but he can’t get enough purchase on the wall to lever him over and onto the floor. He shoves at his shoulders but Eames just sprawls against his legs and manages to take up as much of the bed as he possibly can.
“Ariadne says we kiss the same way.” He says by way of hello, and Arthur doesn’t even have to pretend to be confused.
“What?”
“Ariadne. Says we kiss the same way.” He repeats, slowing the words down as if that will help them suddenly make sense. Arthur’s eyebrows go down and his nose wrinkles up and it takes everything Eames has to resist crawling up his body to bite him between the eyes.
“Okay?” He sounds hesitant, confused and a little annoyed and Eames wonders, briefly, if he’ll be able to do this every night; jump on his bed until he wakes up unguarded, soft hair curling against his ears and dark brown eyes narrowed as he squints. He thinks he sees something there, a brief flash before Arthur ducks his head down and headbutts Eames awkwardly, as hard as he can.
“Get off my ribs.”
“No darling, I don’t think I will.”
Arthur huffs, annoyed and tired and sore and with -Queen- stuck in his head so he just rolls onto his side as much as he can and ignores Eames sliding up the bed behind him and sliding an arm around his waist. He nudges Arthur’s cheek with his nose and as much as he wants to believe that Eames is drunk and therefore unaware he can’t catch any hint of alcohol. Just the clean taste of the shower against the back of his throat as he breathes in.
He kisses him to test it, honestly. Arthur stiffens for a moment, his entire body rigid and just as Eames closes his eyes Arthur -relaxes-, tugging his arms out of the blankets and settling them around his neck, his back arching so he can accommodate more of him on the bed. Eames takes horrible advantage of this, his hand sliding down and along Arthur’s arm as he licks at his tongue, biting and laughing when Arthur grumbles.
It’s almost too good to be true. He can feel the ache in his back where Ariadne pinned him down to the bed with her knees and he hopes that she won’t say anything, although he’s sure that Arthur really doesn’t like her as much as everyone else thinks he does. He thinks she doesn’t know what she was talking about, really.
Arthur kisses like he knows what he’s doing.
His fingers trail up and into his hair and he bites at his tongue in a way that sends a spark of something hot and hard straight down his spine. His pelvis would probably protest but he refuses to listen, because it’s ARTHUR and Arthur is touching him and kissing him of his own volition and wow, when did he end up on his back?
Arthur looks like the best kind of porn; his hair messed up beyond repair and his shirt riding up his back, settling into the blonde man’s lap like he belongs there. His ears stick out a little and his eyes are still slightly gummy with sleep and he smiles like the only thing he wants to do in the world is suck cock until he dozes off and it’s insulting, mind-numbingly hot and strangely affectionate all at the same time.
“You sure you know what you’re getting into, darling?” he asks, mentally kicking himself after the worlds leave his mouth. Arthur stops, tilting his head and pulling back from the kiss just a little, mumbling against his jaw as he slides his hips down and oh. OH. Fuck.
“Better than you do, I think.”
This isn’t going how he imagined it would in his head at all. Then again, he imagined Arthur decking him half a second after kissing him so this is infinitely better. Arthur’s hands slid down his chest, smoothing his shirt down with his palms and Eames tries to keep from coming all over himself because -Jesus Christ- he’s sliding his fingers up and under the hem of his shirt.
“You’re clean?”
Eames doesn’t know whether to be offended or not. “What a question to ask! Of course I’m clean what to you t- Oh fuck!”
He would spend more energy working himself into a really good snit, but somehow Arthur’s got his track pants down and his hand is curled around his cock like he owns it, thumb sliding up and over the slit as he wriggles out of the covers. Eames would help but he can’t get his brain out of his dick, his hands on Arthur’s shoulders like he’s holding on for his life. And as if that wasn’t enough (it was definitely enough considering that he’s been fuckin’ dreaming about this for MONTHS) Arthur wriggles, kicking the blankets off. Eames is suddenly confronted with Arthur’s shirt riding up and his pants slung low over his hips and he feels his breath hitch at the back of his throat.
Arthur, he discovers, is slightly ticklish. He makes an odd noise against his mouth when he slides his fingertips along his side, and Eames wishes there were two of him because he wants to know if Arthur’s ears are going red again. Arthur is gorgeous in the way a painting is gorgeous, pale and smooth and hard, sharp angles taking up every part of his mind as he ducks his head down to bite at his jaw. The fingers tightening around his cock distract him and he groans, pressing his face against Arthur’s neck, huffing out a laugh.
“You’re wearing entirely too many clothes, darling.”
Getting out of their clothes is a mad scramble that he doesn’t remember much of. He’s not that disappointed really, because if this goes well and Arthur lets him undress him again, then he can take his time. All he wants now is Arthur’s hands on his skin and his mouth and his clever, clever fingers and fuck, he’s going to come just thinking about it. They swap positions, Arthur on his back against the bed and Eames, all blonde hair and stupid tattoos and ridiculously hairy arms leans over him. Its Arthur’s turn to laugh when Eames crawls down his body, following his fingers with his mouth and biting at his stomach, grinning against his skin.
“Cannibalism, Eames?”
“It’s not my fault you’re fucking delicious, pet.” He says, biting at the crease of his hip. Arthur arches up and he grins, sliding his hands around to the back of his thighs, tugging his legs a little apart. Arthur wriggles a foot to dislodge his pants properly and Eames can’t help but laugh because he’d never, EVER have pegged Arthur for a wriggler but he’s done it again. He gets a smack on the shoulder for his trouble and apologises by ducking down, sliding his hands over the inside of his thighs and licking a long, wet strip up the underside of his cock.
“Oh, fuck-” He can’t help but feel a little smug, really. Arthur’s got no clothes on which is a huge step in the right direction and the noises he’s making are really rather encouraging. Eames feels a hand slide into his hair and he grins, taking that as wordless instruction and sliding his mouth down his dick.
He’s really going to have to find out if Arthur can really do the whole body blush thing. His skin heats up under his fingers and Eames is easing his thumb into the crease where his thigh meets his groin without even thinking, one hand sliding around to cup his balls as he opens his throat, sucking slow and hard. He’s a little tired and kind of sleepy but that’s more than okay, because he’s not going for the best sex in the world here. He’s far too into it for that. Technique is completely lost in face of the fact that he has Arthur’s cock against his tongue and it’s better than he’d have ever thought it could be.
He’s not really vocal during sex, and Eames isn’t surprised. Arthur’s chest heaves as he pants, his fingers working through his hair, tugging hard at irregular intervals. He counts every groan as a victory and when Arthur starts writhing and tugging harder at his hair, he slides his tongue down, pressing his hips into the bed with his spare arm.
“Eames, I’m gonna f- nrgh!”
He has half a second to feel smug before he starts to swallow, riding out the stuttering of Arthur’s hips with his fingers curled around his side, pressing his thumb against the curve of his thigh. He barely manages to keep control of himself, because his cock is rubbing against the bed and the noise Arthur makes sends a bolt of electricity straight from his ears to his balls. It’s like Arthur is reading his mind though because he tugs him up, not giving him enough time to wipe his mouth before he’s kissing him, licking at his tongue and sliding a hand around his dick, tugging once, twice and then he’s shuddering, back arching as he comes shouting Arthur’s name.
They don’t say anything. Eames doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed and he can still taste him on his tongue. He collapses a little to the side, an arm and leg thrown over Arthur and he doesn’t seem to mind, pressing a kiss to his temple and sliding his arms around his shoulders.
It’s Arthur who speaks first, and Eames can hear the smile in his voice.
“Why Queen?”
Eames laughs, shoving himself up a little on his free arm to look down at him, salt clinging to his mouth and his brain still hovering somewhere between his dick and his heart.
“What, it wasn’t enough of a hint, darling?”
Arthur, in his defense, believes that smothering the idiot with a pillow will benefit humanity.
---
Eames is climbing a tree when Arthur finds him between classes. He’s got his jacket and bag on the ground, one arm wrapped around a branch and his legs stretched out as he hauls himself up another foot.
“What’re you doing?” Arthur settles himself at the base of the tree, just to the left of where Eames would fall, if he was so inclined. He can feel him watching and Arthur forces himself not to acknowledge that, instead listening to Eames as he climbs up another foot.
“I’m climbing a tree, pet.” Sometimes, Eames can be incredibly infuriating. Arthur sighs and shakes his head, digging around in his bag for his copy of the Histories, the cover worn and creased and the pages dog eared. It’s nice to sit outside for once, even if it’s just him making sure his…well, his boyfriend (and god it’s just the day after can he even think like that) doesn’t do anything ridiculously stupid.
“I can see that. Why?”
“Why not?” Eames asks, and he’s got him there. Arthur can’t think of a single reason that doesn’t sound like an excuse so he just sits, reading his book and batting the leaves Eames tries to toss down his shirt away when he catches them.