At sixteen, Eames wasn't supposed to be doing this. Partying, yes, that was kind of expected. But he was more than a bit shocked and angry at his mother having uprooted him and his younger brother from England and taking them to the US of A, settling them down in fuck - nowhere to finish off his schooling and his brother's. She wanted to get them
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But he gave the other teen a wide smile, not caring that it showed off his crooked teeth.
"Couldn't help noticing you there," he said, leaning back (more like melting) against the door frame he was against, putting his loose (and starting to hang low) jeans and light blue shirt (proclaiming a love for rugby) on display better. "Not to sound creepy or anything - I only know like, one or two people here."
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"I bet many couldn't help noticing that accent of yours. What are you doing on this side of the pond?"
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Eames felt his gaze drawn to the cant of those hips, but he only glanced, licking his lips as he looked at the other boy's face.
"Oh, they were all demanding I say 'something, anything' earlier. I gave them a sonnet or two," he winked, and then raised his water bottle to take a drink. "Moved, of course."
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He then shakes his head, "You have my deepest sympathies for having to move here out of all the other places you could have gone."
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At the second part Eames makes a face and shrugs. "Got in one there, innit. Mum has her reasons, she says, but it's still annoying. Guess I should be glad it was summer and not the middle of the school year."
Adding, a glance at Arthur again, "Though the company is getting better."
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He snorts at the latter, making his own face as he looks at the people around them, "Don't count on it getting too much better. This place blows." Okay, maybe Arthur was upset his best friend was leaving him here in this shit-pit all alone.
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"To die, to sleep--
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause."
He cleared his throat after he was done reciting the portion, and took another sip of water. "Well, thanks for the heads up on that anyway," he said dryly. "Considering the amount of just plain shit beer at this party, and how little people are drinking of the stuff that's good; that's a good indicator too. Speaking of which, what do you got there?"
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When he opened his eyes back up, his look was close to besotted. But not quite. If the other boy had recited from Henry V or Richard III Arthur might have moved in to kiss him. If he was anymore drunk he would have.
At the question, though, he blinked a few times, coming back to reality and shrugging as he looked down into his cup, "Spiced rum and cherry coke..." Looking back over where the other drinks were (and someone already passed out on a coffee table), "That brand sucks and vodka is too strong for me to take if I want to make an escape from this piss hole."
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"Sounds kinda nice," he admitted of the drink. "Got to try tequila, s'allright. I was never much for vodka," he said, and then laughed. "Planning on running out so early?"
The thing was, Eames had never slept with someone. A couple of boyfriends and girlfriends, certainly some heavy petting, but no actual sex beyond some brief and hurried touching. And yet, here he was flirting away with this teenager, quite obviously.
He wanted but he didn't really believe he'd get; he didn't know what to do if he did, only in theory.
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"Not if I find a reason to stay."
Arthur had barely kissed anyone let alone go "all the way". It wasn't for a lack of hormones or sexual desire, just not being able to find the right partner to do those "firsts" with.
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That sentence, though... even with the almost-shy tone he could read it for what it was and he straightened up a little, shoulders shifting as he leaned forwards a bit.
"And what exactly might convince you to stay?"
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He had no idea what he was doing but he was definitely finding something of interest at this part now.
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Eames stepped closer, careful not to crowd Arthur but definitely bringing into comparison their different heights and builds. He offered a hand.
"Eames, by the way. And if you do leave, I'll determined to prove a villain, and hate the idle pleasures of these days." His voice deepened into the baritone he'd always imagined Richard had had in his day, mangling the quote from the play slightly to suit his purposes.
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But he was not stopping him from getting closer.
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"It wouldn't have fit my sentence otherwise. Should I say it proper for you?" Eames said, completely serious because he would say it again, and added, "I still don't know whom I'm speaking to."
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