Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/679058.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Inception_(2010)
  Relationship:
      Arthur/Eames_(Inception), Dom_Cobb/Mal_(Inception)
  Additional Tags:
      Recreational_Drug_Use, Underage_Drinking
  Collections:
      Inception_Big_Bang
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-10 Words: 59736
****** Five Seconds ******
by lone
Summary
     Detroit - Summer of 1989
     Arthur’s fast lifestyle starts a war at home with his parents,
     finally reaching its breaking point, and his friendship with Mal and
     Dom is severely compromised. Eames emerges as Arthur's one and only
     friend. It's all fine until Arthur begins to have real feelings for
     him.
     A story of growing up and learning to roll with the punches.
Notes
     Written for the Inception Big Bang 2012-2013.
     I recommend listening to the fanmix: Download | Streaming
     Check out the fanmix artwork: Here
     Characters, many of whom are underaged, engage in heavy drug use as
     well as heavy drinking and risky sex. I do not encourage, nor do I
     actively oppose this type of behavior.
See the end of the work for more notes
 
                                Summer -- 1989
Arthur could just die on the dance-floor tonight. Music had a way of flaying
him, leaving him wide open and destroyed. The hard thumping house beats
reverberated throughout the warehouse-turned-club. This was Arthur’s first time
at an illegal warehouse party, but he wasn’t as worried about it as he knew he
ought to be.
The building was damp, dimly lit and smelled of mold, sweat and beer. There
were several black drum containers filled with a liquid Arthur hadn’t
investigated yet. Often times people would walk up to the drums and sniff the
fumes through a small hole and then return back to dancing. A girl or two
danced atop them, the laser lights striking their bodies, swirling into fast
moving circles and zig-zagged lines.
The walls were lined with people, kissing, or fucking, Arthur couldn’t tell in
the darkness, but it all looked the same. Behind them stood enormous speakers
that lashed the sounds out at them with a deafening ferocity.  
Arthur’s skin was too warm and soaking wet against his black leather punk
jacket, but he refused to take it off. Instead, Arthur slithered his body
against the beat, singing along with Paris Grey to ‘Good Life’, which easily
bled into Hithouse’s ‘Move Your Feet’.
He pushed against the solid form of his best friend Mallorie who ground against
him in synchro to the repetitive drum pattern. Both of them were drunk or high,
or some combination of both, he couldn’t remember. Arthur’s fingers traversed
her delicate figure, running his hands over her thin, silky floral print dress,
which looked absolutely gorgeous on her tonight. He wondered where she’d thrown
her leather jacket. Mal’s face was in Arthur’s sweaty neck, her hands on his
shoulders, squeezing every once in a while to remind him that she was there and
alive.
The beat pulsated in a way they had never felt before, so they both let go and
moved their bodies naturally to the electronic drums, throwing away the
frantic, random fist throwing and head bobbing they learned from punk concerts.
Arthur could feel his tastes changing and he could feel the 70s slipping even
further away; the 80s were finally drawing to a close.
It was 1989. The 90s were upon them.
Arthur’s hand traveled down to Mallorie’s rear, large expanding hands clenching
the soft, plump flesh there. He was strangely aroused, blaming the liquor or
maybe the weed. She stared at him; even in that dark building, large colorful
lights blinking, and green laser beams scribbling over all their faces, he
could see the blatant yearning in her brown eyes; this moment meant everything.
He kissed her and they both melded, losing themselves completely.
--
Being a teenager in the 80s was a lot more complex than it was in the 50s, 60s
and 70s. This was something he struggled to make his parents understand. James
Dean’s red jacket, his jeans and brooding pout were replaced with black leather
jackets and skinny, acid washed denim (although the brooding remained). There
was the Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink instead of Rebel Without a Cause to
teach teenagers how to exist and how to feel.
And as those films made so awfully apparent, the social circles in school were
more important than ever. Your label defined how people viewed you and
ultimately how you viewed yourself.
Arthur planted himself comfortably in between nerd and punk, though only mildly
because even that label didn’t seem 100% spot on. Unsurprisingly enough, he
didn’t have many friends.
But, there was Mallorie and Dom. There had always been Mallorie and Dom.
Mallorie was so beautiful that Arthur hated looking at her sometimes. She was
gorgeous in that classic way, like he’d seen her before in an old 1930s film
with her wide expressive eyes staring back at him through the screen. Arthur
had been obsessed with her, though he never wanted more than to be friends. He
was obsessed with her beauty and the show she put on in front of him when they
walked about the suburbs of Detroit. She was effortlessly chic and always,
always fashionable. Arthur would always remember the time she walked into his
room wearing the same outfit Madonna wore in her “Papa Don’t Preach” video. The
thing was, the video had just aired the day before.
Mallorie had bouncy brown hair that Arthur liked to stroke when she cried in
his lap whenever her and Dom fought. He didn’t like to admit it, but he enjoyed
when she needed him in those moments of weakness; it reminded him that he was
necessary.
How she managed to be so effortlessly elegant seemed unfair. Arthur would have
felt sorry for the other girls in school that tried much harder with less
quality results, but they made sure to tease and torment Mallorie every chance
they got.
They started with her French accent -- an accent Arthur quite admired actually.
They teased until ‘Detroit’ stopped sounding like “Dey-Twah.” Slowly, the
downriver dialect masked her own. Arthur would never ask her why she let this
happen because he understood completely.
Being a teenager in the 80s was a lot more complex. Arthur didn’t even want to
imagine what being an adult in the 90s would entail.
--
Arthur awoke the next morning in Mallorie’s arms, still exhausted. It wasn’t
the first time he’d awoken this way, but it always felt a little odd. He
sluggishly squirmed out of her embrace, watching her stir awake and then fall
back to sleep.
Rotten sickness brewed in his stomach as he laid there, recalling the night
before. He remembered quite a lot, but could feel the important details
slipping.
Arthur remembered her touch, and the warmth of her body; the drinks and the
drugs. Nausea seized him and he spent the next thirty minutes with his head in
the toilet. Fearing the unfortunate death of drowning in the shitter, Arthur
pulled his head out of the toilet and returned back to Mal’s bed.
She was awake finally. She pulled him back down into the mattress, her lips on
his neck, humming quietly.
“Merde! Last night was a little too crazy,” she murmured.
Arthur swallowed and sunk into her touch, grunting in agreement before he
closed his eyes.
It was more annoying than anything really to explain to Mallorie’s mother why
they were sleeping together, cuddled up against one another well into the late
afternoon. Her mom was all new age and on that free love bullshit. Her dad was
more of the strict sort, but he was away on business for the rest of the month.
 
Mal’s mother brought in some healing stones, placing them around the bed before
placing a clear purple stone in Arthur’s hand. Arthur tried his best not to
roll his eyes.
Mallorie’s mom was probably borderline insane (or bonafide crazy, depending on
your standards of sanity), but Arthur often found her adorable.
It was more irritating however, to explain everything to Mallorie’s boyfriend
that evening.
Dominic Cobb had been dating Mallorie Miles only for the past year, although
the two of them had known eachother since 8th grade. They started dating last
summer, the summer after their sophomore year of high school. Arthur had known
Dom since 3rd grade, been close friends since 5th. These days though, he felt
loads closer to Mal.
Dom was blond and handsome with bright blue bedroom eyes. He always wore this
burgundy and white varsity jacket, even in the summer. It was a fashion choice,
so he claimed. He was the quarterback for Cass Tech High School, and although
his other jocky friends often made fun of Arthur and Mallorie at school, he
always stood up for them and never joined in on the bullying. Arthur would
always respect him for that.
Right now as Dom stood over Mallorie’s bed, eyeing them both, Arthur was ready
to burst out laughing at the suspicion on his face.
“Nothing happened, Dom. I promise,” Arthur said, giggling. He teased by
wrapping an arm possessively around Mal, shimmying closer to her on the
mattress. Arthur was awkwardly lanky, barely filling out the Dead Kennedy’s t-
shirt that still smelled of booze and sweat from last night. He probably needed
a shower too; he could smell last night on his hair that was not quite long
enough to touch his shoulders. He laid out on Mallorie’s bed, still feeling
hollowed from the rave last night.
“Oh please, I know nothing happened between you two. Arthur, you’re queerer
than a 3 dollar bill. I’m just worried that you guys could have been drugged
last night.”
A jolt of nasty guilt pained Arthur, but he pushed it away, figuratively, then
physically pushed Mal away.
“We weren’t!” Mallorie said almost too fast. She didn’t dare flicker a gaze
towards Arthur. She was a good liar. “I swear babe. It was the best time we’ve
ever had.” She leapt into Dom’s arms, enjoying the temporary coolness of the
leathered arms of his varsity jacket against her cheek.
Dom held her for a moment, his nose in her hair and then they were kissing.
Arthur knew it was time to leave.
--
Arthur walked on wobbly legs to his bus stop, wishing he’d brought his Sony
Walkman. He nearly fell asleep on the transit home, but a few bone shattering
Michigan potholes jostled him awake. His house was a stone’s throw from the end
of his bus route, so he didn’t mind the walk so much, even though his head was
killing him.
The day was ending and so had the heat. It had been a hot summer that year; he
longed for shorts, but hated how scrawny his legs were, so he opted for skinny
jeans.  
Plus, he thought they made him look cooler.
When he arrived home, he immediately noticed the cherry red Shelby Mustang
parked behind his mother’s truck in their driveway.
David was home.  
--
Arthur’s life was average. Working class and white, though his mother Leah was
jewish. He had an older brother named Anthony, but the family rarely spoke of
him, especially in public or at family gatherings; he was the ‘bad seed’, best
left forgotten.
Anthony was Arthur’s hero when he was little. He would take him to local punk
concerts and he bought the leather jacket Arthur always wore. Anthony gave him
his first puff of a cigarette, his first sip of beer and his first peek at
porn. All the bad things Arthur was so curious about, Anthony shared a little
of it. That all ended eventually, however.
Arthur wished he could see him again, maybe learn a thing or two about life or
something.
His father David worked as a C.O. in Jackson at the state penitentiary, so he
was rarely home, but when he was, he took every opportunity to berate Arthur
and tell him all the things he was doing wrong. At first Arthur let these
insults and reminders of his inadequacies bother him, but he developed a thick
skin that usually got him through the worst of it.
Arthur’s mother Leah worked down at the River Rouge plant where they assembled
the current Ford Mustangs. She was also not around often these days, though
Arthur wished she was. She worked so many hours that whenever she came home she
was much too tired to do much of anything, but she always made sure to squeeze
in some time with Arthur.
--
He turned the key slowly, cautiously opening the side door. He noticed Johnny,
their two year old pitbull, hadn’t started barking when he entered, which only
meant that his father had locked the dog away in his cage in the basement. His
father hated that dog, but his mom insisted on having him after their Siberian
Husky passed away a few years back.
Much to Arthur’s dismay, both his parents were sitting in the kitchen, watching
the evening news on a small black and white television with mildly curious
expressions.
Arthur eased in, wiping his eyes and mouth, making sure he didn’t have any
dried saliva on the corners of his lips.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Arthur’s father David said, his voice low and
grave.
“We don’t even have a cat,” Arthur mumbled under his breath, just loud enough
for himself to hear.
His father was a large man, more fat than muscle. He had a long face like
Arthur, and they shared the same slanted eyes, though Arthur took the brown
color from his mom as well as her thin figure and naturally pouty lips. David
was still in his uniform, though Arthur couldn’t tell if he was leaving or just
arriving.
“Sit darling,” his mother offered, her voice light, but oddly stiff. Her eyes
were too apologetic already for Arthur to look at her for more than a split
second.
Arthur swallowed. He was in for a scolding alright.
On the dining table laid a casserole dish full of curry on one side and rice on
the other, his father’s favorite, which meant that he’d been home long enough
to request it. Arthur pulled out his chair and sat down, staring at the brown,
golden dish, studying the way the orange carrots, and the pale potato chunks
poked through the thick sauce. He dared not look at either of his parents.
“So,” his father began to speak, “your mother says that you never came home
last night.”
Arthur involuntarily glanced at his mother who stared down at her plate,
silent.
“And here you come waltzing in at--” Arthur’s father checked his watch briefly,
“Seven p.m. the next day.”
Arthur just stayed silent, staring at the curry in front of him, his empty
white plate, feeling sick suddenly.
“So?” David clapped his hands together, setting his elbows on top of the table.
“Where have you been?”
Arthur sighed, finally looking at his father, right into his eyes. “I was with
Mallorie.”
“Mallorie?”
“His little girlfriend,” his mother explained.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Arthur said, sighing because his mother made the
same mistake over and over. “She’s dating Dominic, remember?”
“What were you two up to that required you to stay out all night?” his father
asked.
“Nothing. We just went downtown to a rock concert. Got home so late I decided
to crash at her place.”
“Without our permission? And you didn’t think to phone home?”
Arthur shrugged, “I assumed you would be at work and Ma would be getting some
much needed rest. I didn’t want to bother her.” Even though he was lying, it
felt like the truth. He’d made this excuse before. He only hoped it would work
again.
When Arthur’s father sighed, it sounded as if a steam factory of air pipes
struggled to push the air through the large man’s body. He was getting so fat
that sometimes Arthur wondered if he used most of his time at work watching
over donut boxes instead of criminals. “You know I don’t like you seeing those
rock shows. Nothing but junkies and low-lifes.”
“We’ve already been over this Dad. I don’t do drugs. You know you don’t have to
worry about me,” Arthur replied stiffly, lowering his eyes. He even began to
believe his lies.
“Leah, you remember who used to say that all the time? Anthony,” David looked
over to his wife who seemed suddenly fascinated by the rice on her plate. “He’d
say, ‘Don’t worry Dad. Don’t worry Mom, I won’t do anything. You’ll never have
to worry about me doing drugs’. And we believed him. You know where he is now,
Arthur?”
Arthur could feel his throat tighten and his blood pressure rise. “I know the
story, Dad,” he replied with a shade of vexation.
“Apparently not well enough. He’s up at Jackson. Serving 15 years for drug
possession. That was after he managed to overdose twice. Twice! Is that where
you want to be Arthur? You want to see me at work every day for 15 years behind
bars?”
Arthur usually had time to school himself for his father’s scolding, but today
his old man had caught him off guard. He was hungover, nauseous, and angry with
himself for losing control last night. He couldn’t take the lashing, so he
bolted up his from his chair, his chest heaving.
“I’m not Anthony, alright?” Arthur bellowed, his face hot and flushed red. He
swiftly sped out of the kitchen and bounded up the stairs, ignoring David’s
demands for him to return.
He shut his door, flopped on his bed, and yanked his pillow over his head. The
back of Arthur’s throat burned, and the edges of his eyelids stung with the
surge of tears. His fists curled into the pillow and he squeezed as hard as he
could until everything grew dark and quiet.
--
Once he thought his parents had fallen asleep, he tip-toed down to the
basement, not surprised at all to see Johnny curled in a ball, whimpering
pitifully in the small metal cage. He opened the gate and let the excited dog
lick his face happily. He stroked the pitbull’s rust colored fur, splaying a
hand over its white chest to scratch, that being Johnny’s favorite itching
spot.
“You can sleep with me, but only if you promise to be quiet,” Arthur said to
the pitbull, searching the dog’s eyes for understanding. Johnny licked his
nose, proving good enough an answer.
He walked the dog up to his bedroom and let Johnny hop up in his bed, although
his father forbade it.
Arthur slept soundly, surprisingly not waking up randomly throughout the night.
He felt loads better the next day, despite his back feeling stiff and his mouth
being dry. He stared at the back of his closed door, dreading the task of
leaving the safety of his room even for a glass of water. He pushed back the
curtains of the window beside his bed and noticed that his dad’s Mustang was
still there. Unwilling to risk going to the bathroom, he reached for the porn
under his mattress instead.
--
Arthur breathed slowly, stroking himself with smooth motions, bringing himself
closer to climax. The springs of his mattress cried out as he shifted to use
his left hand to turn the pages of the magazine that lay beside him. He flipped
to his favorite page, lust sledgehammering him.
There he was, the firefighter with his lopsided helmet, his uniform zipped down
to where his manhood protruded and weeped. The man was like a blond Burt
Reynolds, the hairy, rugged, older type that Arthur sometimes went for in porn.
Cool sweat clung to Arthur’s forehead as he straightened his toes and worked
himself more quickly. He held the edge of the magazine, his sweaty fingertips
sliding across the glossy finish, scanning the page to devour the sight of the
man’s furry chest. Hair peppered the model’s abs, eventually thickening into a
trail that led to the man’s pubic bush below. Only a portion of the model’s
muscled thighs were visible, the rest of the view dropping down into the
bottoms of the unzipped yellow firefighter uniform.
The model had a cocky, slanted grin. Arthur liked to assume that if he was
there with the firefighter, the man would say something like, “How about you
come down here and suck this cock for me?” It wasn’t the most clever line ever,
but it was porn and Arthur was working on it.
Arthur could feel the familiar pressure building at the bottom of his stomach.
It wouldn’t be long now.
“Artie!” came his mother’s voice, and faster than having a bucket of ice cold
water thrown over his head, the vibe had been completely ruined.
“What?” Arthur shouted in irritation, slamming the magazine closed before
stuffing it under his mattress.
“Mallorie is here! She’s coming up!”
‘Fuck!’ Arthur said to himself. His father must have gone to work because he
highly doubted that Mal would have been let in if he was home. He quickly
tucked his cock inside his briefs, leaving the elastic waistband to snap over
it. He snatched on his jeans and was barely able to sit back down in time for
Mal to open the door.
She only knocked once before barreling in. Typical.
“Arthur! You won’t believe it. You’ll die. I swear you will!” Arthur smiled at
her delicate French accent, never quite getting used to it. She was unusually
dressed today, her hair done up in a ponytail, which was new. She had on a
denim jacket with the arms cut off and some bright pink leggings, a pink rose
floral printed bikini top and a pair of lime green flats. Arthur’s mouth
frowned at the shoes, not sure if he hated them because they were lime green,
or because they were flats.
“You remember how Abby had those Madonna tickets?”
“Yeah?” Arthur responded slowly, cautious.
“Well,” Mallorie skipped over to his bed and sat down. His stomach flipped,
feeling strange that he’d just been jerking off in the very spot she sat in.
“Her dad found out about it, and being the good Roman Catholic he is, he won’t
let her go!”
“That’s too bad for Abby,” Arthur said, honestly feeling bad for the girl.
“Yeah, but get this! She can’t return the tickets so she’s sold them to me! I’m
going to see Madonna!”
Arthur eye’s brightened up at this. “Wow, that’s rad, Mal. I’m glad!”
“Whatever freak, you’re coming with me too!”
“The show is sold out though, and you know I’m not a--”
“Abby had three tickets! One for you, one for me and one for Dom! By the way,
you owe me 30 dollars.”
“Thirty dollars? You’ve gone insane? You bought all three tickets? Where did
you get that kind of money?”
Mal grinned like she’d done something bad. It was a grin of mischief that he’d
seen so many times before she’d gotten them both in trouble.
“Okay, so here’s the thing. Dom can’t go because his parents are dragging him
to Florida to visit his granny. He won’t be here that entire week. So, I had to
think of a way to get us there, right? Because Dom is the only one with a car!
So, I got desperate.”
“Desperate?” Arthur repeated, wanting to shield his ears from whatever plan she
had concocted.
Mallorie rolled her eyes, “Jesus, Arthur! You act as if you’re expecting me to
tell you I robbed a bank!”
“You almost persuaded me to rob a bank once before so we could see Michael
Jackson.”
“It was Janet Jackson, and that was like three years ago -- I wasn’t even
serious!”
Arthur gave her a skeptical raise of an eyebrow before they both laughed.
“I got my cousin Eames to take us... and lend us the money. He’s on summer
vacation and can’t find a job so he’s up for anything right now.”
“Eames?” The name sounded familiar, but wasn’t ringing a bell.
Mal shrugged. “He’s pretty cool. He’s related to my dad, you know, the British
side of the family. I’ve only ever seen him once and that was at the family
reunion last year. He gave me his number then, but I’ve only just contacted
him. You have no idea how hard it was asking him. I hate to make people think
that I only call when I need something from them.”
Arthur grinned, “It’s the only time you call me!”
“Oh, please!” Mallorie scoffed, playfully pushing at his shoulder. “You’re
coming or not?”
He’d said yes before Mal had even stepped into his room.
The girl shifted her feet and crinkled a college brochure that Arthur had
neglected to pick up from the ground. His heart stopped when he saw the college
it was for.
Mal bent over and picked the booklet up, turning it over in her hands.
“Michigan Tech? Since when did you get brochures from Michigan Tech?”
Arthur played it cool; he shrugged his shoulders. “My dad gave it to me. You
know how it is.”
The french beauty nodded and tossed the book into the trash, smiling at him
cheerfully.
“Good thing you’ve decided on Eastern!”
Arthur laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head as he nodded. “Yeah...,
good thing I have....”
--
Arthur’s parents hadn’t really seen eye to eye since Anthony was sent to
prison. David had blamed their mother for being too soft on him, allowing him
to get away with staying out really late at night and even hiding his drugs for
him on one occasion.
Arthur’s father made sure to remind him of the increased responsibly of being
an adult. He complained to Arthur about the electricity bill being too high
because Arthur watched the television too much, but then would scold him on
staying out all the time. When he stayed inside and read, his father would
complain that he’s too scrawny and that he should go play football or something
to bulk up.
The teenager became all too well aware of the fact that there simply was no
pleasing David.
It was a lesson his mother discovered on her own as well.
It was apparent that Leah took the blame for the downfall of Arthur’s brother,
which was quite regrettable. Anthony would have wound up in prison anyway, with
or without her influence.
But there was no convincing his father that the situation was too dodgy to
place fault or blame on one individual. Hell, even Arthur could be to blame,
the way he used to idolize Anthony. Maybe he was to blame, enabling his older
brother’s behavior by actually thinking he was cool.
By the time Anthony had been thrown in the slammer, World War III had been
declared at home. David and Leah constantly argued and at one point Arthur
feared they would get a divorce, but eventually they learned to tolerate one
another, barely.
The fights were mild after Arthur’s dad took another shift at the prison and
his mother took on more hours at the plant, but it also meant that the only
real topic of discussion was work and Arthur’s future.
Arthur’s dad gave him shit for his late night outing with Mal for a week or so,
but soon enough his parents began bickering with one another again. The two of
them had cut down their hours so that they could be home more often.
Thankfully, they began to ease up on the topic of Arthur’s late nights and how
he was ruining his future. Nonetheless, family dinner time became a morbid
affair.
Soon, Arthur began to dream of the end of summer. He wished school could start
back up so he’d have very little reason to be home. Perhaps he’d run cross-
country, or play soccer or tennis, anything to prolong having to return home.  
He mostly stayed out of his parents’ way, although Leah often times would reach
out and make him watch television with her. Arthur didn’t mind too much. She
never scolded him, or condescend like his father did. He quite loved his mother
actually, but he knew she would never stick up for him like she did for
Anthony, because they all saw how wonderfully that turned out.
Arthur could tell that she was reluctantly giving his father his turn to
“raise” Arthur now, because she failed Anthony. He would never say it outright
to her, but he had a feeling that she knew he knew.  
--
The concert hadn’t been on Arthur’s mind too much since Mal invited him. He
wasn’t a huge fan of Madonna to be completely honest. He liked -- hell, even
loved a few songs, but he didn’t live for the pop singer the way Mal did.
The day of the concert snuck up on Arthur and before he knew it, he was hearing
the horn of a black and gold 1973 Firebird Trans Am outside his house.
Arthur would always remember the distinct rumble of the engine and the large
golden outline of a flaming bird with its wings outstretched on the hood of the
car.
--
Arthur fell in love with Eames the first time he saw him.
Or rather, he fell in love with the idea of being in love with him. It wasn’t
until some time later he realized the depth of it all.
When Arthur climbed into the backseat of the muscle car, Eames looked over his
shoulder, dark aviator sunglasses shining back at Arthur.  Gorgeously plump
lips pressed over a toothpick as the man observed the teenager. Arthur almost
let his jaw drop in awe of how ridiculously cool the man was.
“Arthur, this is Eames; Eames, Arthur,” Mal introduced them, grinning from ear
to ear in potent excitement for the night’s event.
Eames’ leather fingerless gloved hand reached up to pull the toothpick away,
and then his glasses, revealing green eyes that narrowed curiously. “Hello
there, love,” he said, smooth like butter and shamelessly British.
Arthur nodded coolly, giving a small, “Hi,” that made him feel stupid and
insignificant.
“He’s not as shy as he’s letting on,” Mallorie quipped, grinning mischievously
at Arthur whose face went beet red.
When Eames smiled his eyes seemed to shine in the dim late afternoon. His teeth
were hopelessly crooked, but they made Arthur’s face ache with silly
prepubescent desire.
“Cool jacket,” Eames offered, nodding his head towards the aging black jacket
Arthur wore. It was too small for him, barely catching the edge of his waist
when he stood up.
“I had one just like Artie’s. Lost it at that warehouse party I told you about
last month,” Mallorie chimed in.
“Your jacket’s pretty cool too,” Arthur said, swallowing down his nervousness.
Eames had on the same red leather jacket Michael Jackson wore in ‘Thriller’.
Arthur didn’t have the heart to tell him that ‘Thriller’ was desperately 82’.
But, he had to admit that the jacket looked better filled out by Eames’
muscular figure than it did on Michael Jackson.
That was both sacrilegious and debatable, though at the time you couldn’t have
convinced Arthur of either.
Eames thanked him with an even broader smile and replaced his toothpick with a
Marlboro cigarette, and returned the sunglasses to his face. Arthur watched him
strike a match, mesmerized by the dancing flame being sucked into the end of
the cigarette. Eames shook it out and released a soft cloud of smoke from his
lips.
The effortless bad-assery would have pissed Arthur off if he wasn’t so turned
on.
Soon enough they were on the road to the Silverdome.
--
The ride to Pontiac was a loud and rambunctious one. Eames was a wild driver.
It didn’t help that he had a beast of an engine. Down Telegraph Road, Eames
snaked through traffic swiftly, many times coming awfully close to hitting
another car. He proved dexterous in his driving ability however.
Only Eames and Mal talked to each other during the ride, at first. Arthur
didn’t mind, he was mostly focused on fearing for his life.
Arthur had been so caught up in holding on for dear life to the leather seat
under him that he hadn’t immediately noticed Eames speaking to him.
“What was that?” Arthur asked, his face going slightly red from embarrassment.
“I said, is it too rough a ride?” Eames repeated, his eyes grinning in the
rearview mirror. He’d removed his sunglasses, Arthur noticed.
“No, it’s fine.”
“You sure? Because I can tame it.”
The sincerity in Eames’ voice almost pushed Arthur to tell the truth, but he
wouldn’t give in. He probably learned this stubbornness from his father.
Moments later Eames changed his driving completely anyway. He waited patiently
at red lights and didn’t pass anyone for miles. Arthur was completely
embarrassed and disappointed in himself. He wondered if Eames thought him weak
and anti-fun-like.
“The Clash? You seem more of a Depeche Mode kind of guy,” Eames asked after a
few moments of music discussion with Mal dead-ended. Eames was eying him
through the rearview mirror, his green eyes traveling down the shirt on Arthur;
The Clash’s London Calling record cover splayed across the chest.
“Depeche Mode? Oh, yeah... I love them.” Arthur lied and he didn’t even know
why. He hated it when people pretended to know bands.
“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite song? Mine is probably ‘Stripped’ from ‘Black
Celebration’.”
“How does that one go again?”
“‘Come with me. Into the trees. We’ll lay on the grass and let the hours pass.
Let me see you stripped down to the bone.’ God, I really love that one.”
Arthur was stunned, to be honest; stunned shitless that Eames had such an
amazing voice. But he pretended to remember the song and pretended to not seem
entirely impressed.
If Eames was skeptical, he didn’t show it.
--
The concert was actually quite amazing; color Arthur impressed. Mallorie died
and resurrected in the course of the show, which was expected. She was already
high on something she said she got from their drug dealer friend, Yusuf.
Arthur knew Yusuf and knew that he wouldn’t sell her anything dangerous, so he
wasn’t too worried.
“There’s this party...,” Eames began as they waited in the bumper to bumper
traffic exiting the Silverdome.
“Let’s go!” Mal screamed before he could finish and Arthur knew that it didn’t
matter if he wanted to go or not, they were going.
--
The party happened to be in Bloomfield Hills which was only a short drive from
Pontiac, so the wait wasn’t so bad.
When they pulled up the half mile long driveway to the house, Arthur could feel
envy, disgust and apprehension seize him all at once. Rich white kid parties
were not his thing.
“What a beautiful home!” Mal gasped, sticking her head out of the window for a
clearer look.
The house was four stories tall, almost completely made out of glass. Arthur
could see people dancing and drinking through the windows. It looked like fun,
but he knew how crazy house parties like these could be.
“It’s my mate Rob’s place. Well, it’s his parents’. They’re filthy rich, as you
can see,” Eames explained, his delivery jokingly tour guide-like. He pulled up
near a silver Mercedes-Benz and shut the engine off. “It’s pretty much ace.
There’s a pool in the back. And apparently there’s a private golf course.”
“Whatever. As long as there’s booze, I’m happy,” Mal said, hurrying out of the
car.
“A girl of simple pleasures,” Arthur mused when he began to climb out to join
her; before he could, Eames grabbed him by the shoulder, “We’ve got to watch
out for her, yeah? I know Rob, but the rest of those tossers I haven’t a clue
about.”
“Sure,” Arthur said, offering a shy smile before climbing out.
He could feel the lingering sensation of Eames’ touch on his shoulder all the
way up to the ridiculous double door entrance.
--
Raunchy music blasted through the house, accompanied by raunchy real life
visuals. The party was well underway. There were people everywhere, making out,
fondling, and grinding against one another.
Eames scanned the room for his friend, but wasn’t able to find him. “Let’s find
the kitchen,” Eames said, grabbing Mal’s hand to lead her.
The kitchen was huge and detailed. The countertops were granite, the cabinets a
dark cherry oak while the floor was nicely tiled with white linoleum. There was
a large white refrigerator that was most likely stuffed with food. Arthur
couldn’t help but check it out for himself.
‘Fucking rich bastards,’ Arthur thought to himself as he leaned into the
fridge’s cool light.
The refrigerator was stuffed to the brim with all the expensive foods his
parents refused to buy. There was an unopened 24-pack of Dos Equis xx. Arthur
ripped it open and handed Eames and Mal each a bottle of their own.
The room thankfully was empty, save for the jock-like boy who had passed out on
the floor near the stove. There laid an island in the middle of the kitchen,
the surface completely covered with liquor bottles. There was a bottle of Remy
Martin that caught Arthur’s eye. He grabbed the dark glass neck, lifting it up.
“This cost at least thirty bucks.”
Eames shrugged, setting his Dos Equis down, reaching for the bottle in Arthur’s
hand. He twisted the cap off and drank from it. He winced, pushing it back
towards Arthur, “Tastes like it should be free, more like.”
Arthur drank from the bottle and winced as well, coughing as the liquid seared
down his throat. “Fuck!” Arthur croaked.
“Let’s go with our trusty friend, Grey Goose,” Eames fished the tall glass
bottle of vodka out from the mob of liquor and spotted a tower of shot glasses
in the process. They seemed clean, so Eames poured three shots and handed
Arthur and Mallorie both their glasses. “Right. Let’s get completely and
utterly pissed!”
Arthur and Mal began to lift their glasses to their mouths when suddenly Eames
stopped them both.
“Wait! How old are you two?”
“Twenty-one, you asshole,” Mal lied swiftly as she downed her drink.
“I’m... I’m sixteen,” Arthur admitted, beginning to set the shot glass down.
“Sixteen? Blimey, you’re just a babe. I’m just taking the piss, love. Go on!”
Eames was giggling, turning his Dos Equis up for a thick swallow.
Arthur grinned, reluctantly downing his shot at the same time as Eames. Heat
cut through his chest and he felt a wave of dizziness suddenly that subsided as
quickly as it came. They both slammed their glasses down on the granite.
“More!” Mal bellowed, leaning into Eames.
He laughed, “Alright, alright, alright!” He poured her a half-shot this time,
not that she noticed. “More?” Eames asked Arthur, his eyebrows raised.
Arthur shrugged, “Sure. Why not?”
“That’s the right attitude mate!” Eames was smiling broadly, pursing his lips
in concentration as he poured Arthur’s shot.
Arthur didn’t know he was gawking until Mal yelled at him to stop. Eames was
visibly confused by her sudden outburst, but Mallorie thankfully didn’t
explain.
After three more shots of Goose, they made their way out to join the rest of
the partiers in the living room. Mallorie pulled him close, pressing her lips
directly to his ear.
“He’s not a fag, Artie. Don’t set yourself up for heartbreak again.”
“I know!” Arthur pushed her away roughly. She stumbled into Eames, wrapping her
arm around. Arthur wasn’t sure if he was mad at himself for even having a mild
interest in a straight boy (once again) or if he was upset that Mal had
confirmed the one thing he’d been wondering since he first saw that toothpick
in Eames’ mouth.
--
The dirty music before turned into sleek pop tunes by the time they joined.
Arthur didn’t mind it too much, though his tastes were honestly more tuned to
punk and house music at the moment. But then again, the Eurythmics were always
good. He drank down his Dos Equis and danced against Mal who was already loose
and pliant. Behind her, Eames came up, rolling his hips lewdly, singing along
to Annie Lennox’s deep vocals.
“... And I want you, and I want you, so it’s an obsession,” Eames sang,
cartoonishly wrapping his arms around Mal’s waist, nosing against the girl’s
hair before looking over to Arthur. “And I want, and I want you, and I want
you, so it’s an obsession.”
Arthur’s throat suddenly felt as tight as his jeans. Sinister heat attacked his
face; Eames’ eyes on him, smiling and being unknowingly seductive.  Arthur
attempted to just dance without paying any attention to Eames, but that proved
pretty much impossible. Perhaps he wasn’t drunk enough. He chugged the last bit
of his beer and hurried away to place the bottle somewhere safe from tripping
someone. He settled on returning back to the kitchen.
When he entered the quiet room he noticed the white light of the refrigerator
shining onto the floor.
“Who the fuck opened my Dos Equis?” came a voice from behind the refrigerator
door.
The empty bottle in his hand felt like fire. He made to tiptoe away, but the
door swung shut before he could. A young man with round blue eyes and mid-
length black hair stared at him, his lips slightly parted.
He was thin like Arthur, but had on an expensive looking silver blazer with a
hot pink t-shirt under it and a gold chain over that. He held a glass bottle of
Budweiser in his hand while his eyes traveled down to the empty bottle in
Arthur’s hand. He grinned.
“So, you’re the fucker that opened it?” the young man inquired, his tone
seeming more curious than angry.
Arthur shrugged, “Thought it would be okay.”
He grinned even harder. He nodded towards the Dos Equis Arthur clenched.
“Empty?”
Arthur nodded, feeling slightly nervous. The man opened the fridge again and
pulled out another Budweiser. He popped the top off with a bottle opener and
handed the beer to Arthur. He pulled away the empty Dos Equis and set it on the
kitchen island. “It’s fine. I’m just a bit OCD about opening several different
beers. Let’s finish up the Bud and then we can start on the Dos Equis.” The man
winked, lifting his bottle. “Cheers?”
Arthur forced a grin and clinked their bottles together. “Cheers.”
“Robert?”
Arthur swiveled around on his heels and watched as the man ran towards Eames
and jumped into his arms.
“You made it man! Awesome! Help yourself to anything! Except for the Dos...,”
Robert noted the bottle in Eames’ hand. He turned to Arthur and gave him a
playfully scolding look.
“I’ve already started mate. Here, I want to introduce you to my cousin Mal and
her friend,” Eames glanced over at Arthur before turning around to fetch Mal.
“Wait... she was just here! She was right behind me!”
“I’m sure she hasn’t gone far,” Robert said, clapping a hand over Eames’ broad
shoulders. Rob gawked at Eames’ red Michael Jackson jacket. “Where in tacky
hell did you get that jacket?”
“Your mum’s closet,” Eames retorted.
“I believe it. She has terrible taste. Please, for the sake of my party take
that shit off.” Robert had already begun to unzip the other man’s jacket.
“Okay, okay! Fine! You arsehole!” Eames laughed, stripping himself of the
jacket. Underneath he wore a simple black shirt that clung deliciously to his
muscled chest. His chest was quite developed, pressing against the dark cotton.
His arms seemed to barely fit through the short sleeves, his biceps stretching
the stitching there. Arthur’s eyes caught the sharp end of a dark swirling
tattoo on his shoulder slipping out of the shirt.
“Who told you you could look so god damn ace in a tight shirt! You make the
rest of us look like fat slobs!” Robert joked, slapping a hand against Eames’
abs.
Eames laughed, swinging air punches at Robert a few times before pulling him
into a tight embrace again. Eames nodded over towards Arthur. “There’s Mal’s
friend, Arthur.”
Robert spun around, surprised, almost as if he had forgotten Arthur was
standing there the entire time. “Arthur, eh? Nice to meet you. I’m Robert,
Eames’ friend from university.” He strode forward and shook Arthur’s hand,
smiling broadly. He was quite handsome actually.
“Nice to meet you too.”
“Yeah. We were flatmates last year at U of M. That’s how we met,” Eames
elaborated, oddly sheepish.
Arthur nodded, not knowing what else to do other than smile. When he tilted his
head he felt the room tilt along with it and suddenly he realized just how
bloody drunk he was becoming. The Grey Goose had caught up to him.
“You okay?” Robert asked, chuckling.
“Yup. I’m great.”
“Good.” Robert smiled, and his eyes narrowed with a shade of lust behind them.
Arthur was a bit too drunk at the time to notice or care.
In the background, Prince’s ‘Let’s Go Crazy’ began to play and very quickly
Arthur was back with the masses, dancing and raising his hands to the ceiling.
He was in a swirl of bodily sensation, touching anything and anyone. Arthur
felt in control, however. He’d been more wasted than this before, so he wasn’t
worried.
Robert danced against him from behind and he was oddly okay with this. Eames
danced in front of him from a distance that irritated Arthur. He wanted him
closer.
He just looked so damn good in that shirt.
Eames was smiling and moving effortlessly to the beat. Arthur watched,
mesmerized; he eyed Eames with shameless lust, knowing he probably shouldn’t be
doing it, especially since Eames was straight. The man only grinned back at
him, dancing and rolling his shoulders to Prince’s hit song.
At first Rob and Arthur weren’t touching, not lewdly anyways, but soon the
other man was firmly against him from behind, pressing into Arthur as the last
moments of ‘Let’s Go Crazy’ shimmered away and the dirty sounds of ‘Me So
Horny’ pulsated through the room.
Arthur yelled out, dancing harder. The song was a guilty pleasure; he even knew
the words by heart. He lended himself to the dance gods, working himself into a
sweat as each new song rolled in. After two or three songs, Rob was flush
against him, his mouth on Arthur’s neck, right behind his ear. “God, you’re so
fucking hot.”
In front of them, Eames seemed to stiffen a bit, his wide smile fading into a
soft, polite grin.
“He’s sixteen, Rob.”
“Seventeen in July,” Arthur quipped, feeling the need to defend his ‘maturity’.
“Close enough to eighteen for me,” Robert breathed into his ear.
Arthur closed his eyes and bobbed to the beat before reaching behind to comb
his fingers through Robert’s dark hair, leaning into the older boy’s touch. He
just wanted a short moment of feeling the music and another human being’s
touch.
He opened his eyes and suddenly Eames was gone.
Before the disappointment could sink in, Robert’s arms wrapped around Arthur’s
waist, holding on tight as the distance between them became non-existent.
Arthur instinctively rolled his hips against the other man until he felt a
tell-tale stiffness between Rob’s legs. He pried the arms off and continued to
dance by himself, secretly loving the near desperate need in Robert’s eyes as
he watched Arthur move.
The rich boy eased forward, both hands on Arthur’s hips. He leaned close and
said, “I really love the way you move.” Robert’s hands snaked down the front of
Arthur’s pants, cupping his manhood. Arthur swatted the hand away, though he
didn’t move away just yet.
“Keep your hands off,” Arthur warned, his buzz slightly waning.
Robert ignored him, pressing his hardness against Arthur and moaning in the
boy’s ear.
“You’re used to getting everything you want, aren’t you?” Arthur asked with as
little venom as possible, letting Rob rub against him briefly.
“Something like that.”
“Well, for once you’ve found something you can’t have,” Arthur snatched away
from him finally.
Arthur didn’t bother to look back and savor the slightly shocked expression on
Robert’s face. He scanned the party, looking for Mal or Eames. When he didn’t
find them, he made his way up the carpeted spiral staircase just outside the
living room. Climbing the stairs proved to be quite the task; he’d grown dizzy
from the alcohol bleeding through his system. He managed it however, holding
onto the railing the entire way.
Upstairs the hallways were populated sparsely, most of the doors closed. He
checked each room, unsurprised to find people having sex in a few of them.
He found Mal in the library making out with some random college boy. He
snatched her away, even as the boy called him a bastard and threatened to kick
his ass. Arthur didn’t care. He yanked Mallorie through the house and then
outside to the patio where a few people were chilling out near the pool.
“What’s your damage, Arthur?” Mallorie yelled at him, pushing his hands away
from her.
“Why are you making out with some random dude? Were you gonna fuck him?”
“It’s nothing Artie, you know that.”
“What if you found out Dom was screwing some random girl? You’d feel like shit
and you know it.”
Mallorie frowned, “Whatever. You’re such a fucking wet blanket, you know that?”
She lifted the red cup in her hand to her lips, but before she could drink,
Arthur plucked it from her hands.
“How much have you had so far?”
Mallorie rolled her eyes and stormed away. Arthur let her go, realizing he was
probably being a little too protective, plus he didn’t trust his legs at the
moment to chase after her. He walked over to the pool area and flopped onto an
empty chaise lounge chair.
Arthur watched a few girls dive into the water in their bra and panties. A
couple of guys went in after them, drunk, stupid and red faced. He chuckled,
amused with their horseplay.
He lifted the red cup to his lips and drank until it was empty. He tossed the
cup on the floor and laid there, staring up into the sky, feeling floaty and a
bit melancholy.
Sometimes Mal really bummed him out with how hard she liked to party. As much
as he loved her, she was just too out of control at parties. The hardest times
were when she talked to older guys and sometimes had slept with them. It wasn’t
fair to Dom. Sometimes Arthur wondered if he was just as guilty for letting her
do it, but there was no way he could tell Dom now, it’d ruin everything.
Ugly remorse seized him when he thought about the night they’d gone to the
warehouse party in Detroit. He’d made out with her. It wasn’t a big deal, it
was whole lot less than what she’d done with other guys, but he knew Dominic
wouldn’t have appreciated it. Arthur knew he’d have to tell him eventually.
Even though Mal and Arthur had become close friends, Dom would always be his
oldest buddy.
--
Arthur wasn’t sure when it began, but he suddenly felt too drunk. It seemed
like something even beyond that though. His limbs felt as if they weighed
hundreds of pounds. He made to lift himself from the lounge chair, but his arms
and legs wouldn’t listen. Arthur’s head swam, an invisible force pushing his
brain from side to side, sloshing it about in his skull. He closed his eyes and
begged the world to stop moving.
He had no idea how long he’d been laying there, fighting the spinning ride.
“Well, hello there,” came a deep male voice.
Arthur cracked his eyes open. A tall, muscular man with a tiny tank top stood
above him. His face was scrunched like he was angry, but his lips were curled
in a self-satisfied smirk. He was sunburnt, and had gross, spiky bleach blond
hair and beady blue eyes that drank Arthur’s body in hungrily.  
“What...what the helldoyouwan’?” Arthur slurred, seizing his eyes closed when
the world spun even faster.
He couldn’t hear what the man was saying, but felt hands on him and then the
ground dropped from underneath. Arthur was draped over the bulky shoulder of
this brute that he’d never seen before.
The man took him back into the house and carried him up the stairs into an
empty guest room. He laid Arthur down on the bed gently and said something
Arthur couldn’t make out; Arthur was just glad to be on a soft bed.
Arthur felt himself relaxing when his intoxication seemed to wane ever so
slightly, but then he felt hands on his jeans, pulling them down to his ankles.
Cool air kissed his hairy legs, waking him a bit.
The bigger man was leaning over him, whispering something before dipping down
to plant kisses along Arthur’s jaw line.
It felt nice, to be honest, but it also felt wrong. Arthur weakly pushed the
man away, even as the world kept dripping into spinning chaos. He turned on his
side, hoping he’d be left alone.
Still, the hands were on him, groping him, fondling his ass and then there were
lips on his neck.
It wasn’t until a hand was on his cock that he made to yell for the man to
stop, but his mouth seemed to fail him.
It wasn’t until the man pressed harder that Arthur knew he was in trouble.
--
Arthur wasn’t conscious enough to know what was happening, but all he could
hear were screams and the sounds of a scuffle. All he knew then was that the
man was suddenly gone.
--
“Easy, easy...,” Eames said as he placed Arthur in the front seat of the car.
“I’m so sorry man. I really am,” Robert apologized, looking absolutely
distraught.
“It’s not your fault mate. He must have been roofied,” Eames lifted his shaky
hand, the knuckles bright red with fresh wounds.
“Are you alright? How’s your hand?”
“It’s quite fine. It’ll heal.”
“It’s all thanks to you Robert that Eames caught him,” Mallorie said from the
back seat of the car, stroking Arthur’s soaking wet forehead.
“Yeah. If you’d not seen that brute carrying him upstairs... who knows what
would have happened.” Eames closed the passenger door and clapped his unhurt
hand on Robert’s shoulder.
“Yeah, I suppose,” Robert muttered.
Arthur began to moan, the world still very much spinning like a top.
“Shhh,” Mallorie combed her fingers through Arthur’s short black hair. She
whispered sweet French sentences in his ear because she knew that usually
calmed him and it seemed to work.
“‘Right. We’re off then. Cheers mate,” Eames hopped back into the car and
without a word, started up the engine and sped off.
They drove most of the way just listening to the radio, attempting to make
Arthur as comfortable as possible. Mal thought it was cute that Eames kept
looking off the road to check up on Arthur.
“What are we to do with Arthur?” He asked her after driving so long in silence.
Mal sighed, “I feel awful about it, but he can’t stay at my house, my father is
back this week.”
“Blimey! Then what are we gonna do?”
“Just take him home I suppose...”
Arthur groaned, his head moving from side to side.
“Oh, christ! Is he going to chuck it?” Eames gasped, desperately trying to
watch the road and watch Arthur at the same time.
“Artie, chérie, it’s going to be alright, we’re almost home,” Mal cooed, wiping
the sweat from his brow with her bare hand. She pulled his hair back so that
his face could feel the breeze wafting in from the window. He was bright red
and sickly. They had another thirty minutes before they would arrive home. Mal
began to worry.
“Maybe we should take him to the hospital,” Eames finally said, concern written
all over him.
“No! My father would kill me if he found out what happened and I’m sure his
parents would too!”
Eames sighed heavily, realizing it would be left up to him to make the
decision.
--
He took Mal home first, but dropped her off a block away because his engine was
too loud. He attempted to do the same for Arthur, but the boy was still barely
functioning. Instead, he made sure to shut his headlights off at least when he
pulled up into Arthur’s driveway, which was completely empty.
Eames dug the keys from Arthur’s pockets and unlocked the front door. The house
was eerily dark and empty.  He turned back and helped Arthur from the car, the
boy’s arm flung over his shoulder.
Arthur began to stir, becoming a bit more aware of where he was.
“Arthur. Where is your bedroom?” Eames asked in the darkness of what seemed
like the living room. He kept his voice low just in case someone was home.
“Upstairs,” Arthur mumbled, barely audible.
Eames hauled him up the flight of stairs as quietly as he could, but he knew it
probably sounded like an elephant had broken out of the zoo, and stampeded
through the house the way Arthur suddenly insisted on being left to walk on his
own.
Through a bit of a stubborn battle in the dark, Eames got Arthur into bed
finally. He let out a sigh of relief, but this was short-lived. Arthur had
immediately vomited on himself once his head hit the pillow. He began to cry
once he realized what he’d done.
Eames quickly retrieved the garbage can near the boy’s desk and pulled Arthur
to the edge of the bed so that he could lean over it and puke in the trash bin.
He rubbed Arthur’s back slowly, lightly scratching at the thin cotton shirt.
Eames couldn’t help but tut-tut to himself. The boy was helpless; there was no
way he could leave him all by himself. Besides, he felt completely responsible
for him.
He left Arthur alone, briefly. He walked silently through the pitch black
second floor of the house, feeling the walls and testing a few doors until he
found the bathroom. He grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet, got it wet and
soapy with the bar of Dove hand soap on the sink’s counter and returned to wash
Arthur’s face and hands clean.
“Mal?” Arthur called out, his eyes wet, the eyelashes clumping together.
“Nope. It’s Eames. I’ll be your nurse tonight,” Eames joked, smiling when
Arthur’s narrowed eyes searched him and then a weak grin curled on the boy’s
lips.
“Eames,” Arthur whimpered pitifully, “I’m so sick.”
“Oh, I know darling, I know.” Eames turned on the desk lamp, allowing just a
bit of light into the room, but not enough to bother Arthur’s sensitive eyes.
He cleaned the younger boy's face, feeling oddly zen-like.“I’m going to rinse
this towel off, I’ll be right back.”
“Please dun’go, don’t leave me,” Arthur sobbed, looking ten kinds of pitiful.
“I’m not going anywhere, pet. I’m only down the hall for a quick rinse and a
piss. I’ll be right back.” Eames’ voice was high and motherlike. He wanted to
scoop Arthur up in his arms and hug the illness away.
He returned with more wet towels, cleaning Arthur properly. He made Arthur
change his clothes, stripping him down to his underwear. Eames found a shirt on
the floor that smelled clean enough and forced it over the boy’s head.
The bed was disgusting, a big puddle of Arthur’s vomit right in the middle of
it. Eames stripped the bed, letting Arthur sit in the desk chair, his head hung
low, probably because it was too heavy to hold up.
“Where is the washing machine?” Eames asked, the soiled bed sheets balled up in
his hands.
“Don’t call me that.” Arthur’s voice was sleepy and distant.
“Don’t call you what?”
“Darling. I don’t like it. My mom calls me that.”
Eames pursed his lips, slightly annoyed. “Right. Well, I don’t think you’re in
the position to tell me what to call you at the moment. Where’s the washing
machine?”
Arthur didn’t reply right away, but just as Eames decided to give up and search
for the machine himself, Arthur directed him towards the basement.
--
Eames climbed down the stairs, switching on the light before continuing.
Basements always gave him the creeps, but he couldn’t be bothered tonight. He
suddenly heard scurrying and then loud barks. He leapt back, crashing against
the dryer.
There was a dog in a cramped cage; a gorgeous pitbull with its tail wagging
happily. Eames let out a sigh of relief, tossing the puke stained bedsheets
into the washer.
He squatted in front of the cage, making kissy faces at the poor animal. “Aww,
they’ve got you all locked up. But you don’t like being all cooped up in there,
do you? Noooo, I don’t think you like it.” Eames felt a little silly talking to
the animal as if it were an infant, but the way the dog barked and shifted its
paws excitedly, Eames couldn’t help but feel his heart swell with love. He
wanted to open the cage and let the dog run free, but that was a line he wasn’t
willing to cross right now.
He’d ask Arthur about it later.
Eames walked away, feeling awfully sorry for the puppy as it started whimpering
and barking after him. He climbed the stairs, morose and downtrodden about
leaving the dog. He decided not to shut the lights off at least. When he
reached the landing, he suddenly noticed the sound of the side door’s handle
wiggling open with a key. He hurriedly moved out of the way, nervously rubbing
the back of his head as the door swung open and a short woman, uniformed in a
blue plant worker jumpsuit, stepped through the door. She tiredly shut the door
behind her, not noticing Eames until she turned towards him.
Her eyes went wide and she screamed bloody murder, reaching for something in
her purse.
Eames made to say something, but suddenly he was staring down the barrell of a
pistol. He was left speechless, never having seen a gun up this close before.
He’d forgotten how easily obtainable guns were for Americans.
“Who are you and how the hell did you get into my house?” yelled the woman. Her
hands were shaky, but her aim was spot on enough to hit Eames for sure,
especially at this distance.
Eames raised his hands slowly, “I’m just a friend of Arthur’s. He had a bit too
much fun tonight, so I’m here to help him.”
“I’ve never seen you before! Where’s Artie?” She was still frazzled, but he
could hear the panic peeling away.
“We’ve only just met tonight. I’m Eames, Mallorie’s cousin. I drove them up to
the Silverdome to see Madonna.” Eames’ voice shook, his eyes never leaving the
barrel that pointed at his chest.
“Heavens!” the woman sighed, her arms coming down in relief. “You can’t just
walk up on a woman like that, especially in her own home!”
“I’m terribly sorry ma’am. It will never happen again.” Eames was certain of
that.
She paused, staring at him with this endearingly soft apologetic look about her
face. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to pull out the pistol so
fast, but you never know these days.” She dropped the gun into her purse and
walked forward, flipping a switch to light up the kitchen Eames only now
realized he stood in. “So, what’s this about Artie having too much fun? Is he
sick?”
Eames nodded, almost too relieved to speak. “Yes. I’m afraid... I’m afraid he
may have been roofied, but I’m not certain.”
“Oh God, where is he?”
“He’s in his bedroom. We had a bit of an accident, but I’ve tended to it.
That’s why I came down here.”
She pursed her lips and immediately he could tell that her maternal instincts
had kicked in.
--
Arthur’s mother Leah was surprisingly cool about everything, even thanked Eames
for taking care of him for her. It was no problem, really, but he was glad for
her gratitude.
After they’d put fresh bed sheets on the mattress and Arthur had successfully
fallen asleep, they both could finally give a sigh of relief.
“Oh dear, your hand! What happened?” Leah asked, swiftly grabbing Eames by the
wrist, examining the torn flesh over his knuckles.
He gently pulled away. “Oh, it’s fine really. Just a bit of an accident.”
“Doesn’t look like an accident,” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Come,
I’ll clean it up. There’s a first-aid kit in the bathroom.”
--
Eames sat on the toilet seat and gave her the abridged version of the night as
she tended to his wounds. He left out the bit about Arthur almost being
assaulted, which had been the real reason behind the bloody knuckles. He
thought it best to leave that to Arthur to share with her if the need ever
arose.
“All done.” She smiled at him and tucked the first-aid kit away in the medicine
cabinet.
“Thank you,” Eames said sheepishly, feeling like a kid that had fallen off his
bicycle.
“You made sure my boy got home safe and sound, it’s the least I can do.”
Eames frowned, guilt seizing him at an alarming rate. “I know you must be
furious -- what, with me being the responsible one and all. I shouldn’t have
taken two high school students to a college age house party. I should have paid
closer attention. For that, I apologize.”
Leah sighed, smiling at him with a flicker of sadness behind her eyes. “It was
a mistake, honey. This is no one’s fault but the person who put the roofie
there in the first place.” She paused, eying Eames, the gears turning in her
head. “When I was a teenager, I did all of this. Drinking, partying, fooling
around... drugs. It wasn’t until I had my first son Anthony that I wanted to
clean up my act. But, I remember how fun it was back then. I want Arthur to
have his time to party and to be young. Have fun while you can. You’ve got the
rest of your life to be boring.”
Eames was surprised, but nodded thankfully nonetheless.
“Of course fun has its limits; its time and place,” Leah continued. “But, I’m
sure my Artie knows when to cool it down. He was always more level-headed than
his brother.”
“Anthony?”  
Leah nodded, crossing her arms before leaning against the sink.
“Where is he these days?”
“In prison.”
Eames stammered, feeling absolutely awful. He’d only meant to be
conversational.
“It’s fine, how would you have known?”
After a slice of awkward pie was shared between the two of them, she offered
him a cup of tea downstairs. Conversation after that seemed effortless. It was
primarily small talk. He told her about England and his parents and how he was
related to Mal.
Before he knew it, the sun began to peek through the kitchen curtains. It was
nearly six in the morning. It was definitely time for him to go, so he left,
thanking her for everything, even though she insisted that she was the one who
should be thankful.
Eames drove away, feeling tired, and glad to have the night over with. He
turned on his radio and smiled when ‘London Calling’ thumped through the
speakers and he thought of Arthur and his mother.
He wondered if Arthur would be too embarrassed to ever face him again.  
--
Arthur slept the entire day. When he finally woke up he felt so much like shit
that he simply went back to sleep. His mother dragged him out of the bed the
second day and made him take a shower.
He slumped against the white tile of the shower stall with that ugly ‘never
again’ feeling. His mind was all muddled up, like a box of soggy, broken jigsaw
pieces. He used the time in the hot shower to whiten his mind, erase it for a
moment while his body enjoyed the steaming hot water and the pressure.
After cleaning himself, Arthur felt almost renewed, but his mind and body were
both still sluggish. He made it down to breakfast, all too glad that his father
was still asleep.
His mother had eggs, toast and bacon ready for him with the jar of strawberry
jam out on the dining table already.
“Look who finally came back to life!” Leah called over her shoulders from the
stove, a grin on her lips. “Breakfast’s on the table. Dig in.”
Arthur mumbled a thanks and quickly gobbled up his scrambled eggs, steadying
himself as he began with the bacon. He didn’t want to eat himself sick.
Leah turned, returning to the table with a freshly fried pancake. She plopped
it on another plate and scooted it close to her son. “Hungry?”
“God, yes!” Arthur said, surprising even himself. He hadn’t realized how hungry
he’d been.
--
Leah didn’t speak much while she made pancakes, but Arthur could tell something
was on her mind. He didn’t poke around too much, though. He wasn’t much ready
for a tongue lashing just yet.
Soon enough however, she opened her mouth.
“So,” she began slowly, sitting down at the table to join Arthur in the feast.
“I met your lovely friend the other night.”
“My friend?”
“James? ...No, it was Eames. Yes, Eames. Really nice boy,” Leah leaned over the
table for the maple syrup and drizzled the thick liquid over her pancakes.
Arthur’s mind raced. ‘How the hell does she know about Eames?’
His mother smirked at him, watching as he tried to remember that missing block
of time between the party and arriving home. She let the torture go on a bit
before explaining the entire night to him. She didn’t spare a single detail.
“Oh,” was all Arthur had to say to that. He stabbed the last portion of his
pancakes and stuffed his mouth, gazing out of the window in thought.
There really was no way he’d be able to face Eames. Not after knowing that
Eames had to drag him up to his room, clean up his vomit, and had a gun drawn
on him. Arthur’s face grew red from the obvious embarrassment and he promptly
excused himself from the table once he realized he wasn’t going to be in
trouble.
Leah just giggled to herself, finishing up her meal.
--
“Oh my god, you didn’t!” Mal said, her face bright and amused when Arthur told
her the part of the story where Arthur had vomited in his own bed. She always
loved a good scandal.
They were sitting on her big, poofy bed, both their legs crossed Indian-style.
Mal was the only person he could confide in with these sort of things. Dom was
always so judgmental and father-like.
“So what did your mom think about the whole thing?”
Arthur shrugged, “She didn’t really say anything. She was even giggling about
it!”
Mal worried her brows, “Giggled? She giggled about you almost getting... you
know?”
“Almost getting what?”
Mal swallowed, crossing her arms, suddenly serious. Mal was rarely serious, so
this scared him.
“Some big, ugly meat head had carried you up to a bedroom and almost... had his
way with you.”
Arthur’s mouth cracked open, but he didn’t know what to say or exactly how to
feel.
Relief? Regret? He couldn’t decide.
“Eames came right as the fucker was starting to take your clothes off. I guess
he forgot to tell her that part.”
“And I’m glad he did!” Arthur said loudly, almost shouting. “And YOU should
forget to tell Dom or anyone else. I don’t want to look like some sad victim!
Christ!”
Mal pursed her lips and looked away. She quickly changed the subject.
--
Dom was returning by the end of the week so Mal wanted to throw some small
welcome back party at the beach. Arthur was excited (and willing to push the
previous thoughts aside) until he heard that Eames was coming too.
“What? Why did you invite him?”
Mal raised her eyebrows, “He’s my cousin. I want to get to know him?”
Arthur clapped a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes before responding, “I
just don’t think I can face him after that crazy night. I can’t even remember
what happened. He’s probably disgusted by me.”
“I doubt it, babe. Besides, I called Eames yesterday to invite him to the beach
party and he asked if you were going.”
“And?”
Mal sighed, “I didn’t want to say it, for obvious reasons, but... he was glad
to hear that you would be attending.”
Arthur cautiously smiled. “He actually said that?”
“Arthur...,” the girl warned.
He shrugged, “What?”
Mallorie rolled her eyes and lifted herself up from the bed. “Come on, we’re
going to Daly’s. I’m dying for a strawberry milkshake.”
--
The week passed by slowly. Arthur often thought of Eames, but would scold
himself because he knew that it wasn’t in his best interest to nurse a crush
like this.
Could it even constitute as a crush?
He didn’t know Eames really. He was hot, cool and awfully nice, from what his
mother had said anyways.  And sure, perhaps he had this attraction to the
“hero” type and in many ways, Eames had been his hero. If it weren’t for Eames,
Arthur may have been raped or worse. That whole concept of almost being
assaulted was still difficult to grasp.
Arthur’s had a hard time with past crushes; mainly because they were all
heterosexual and had no plans of ever switching teams. Mallorie had been there
for him during the last one and he’d swore he would never fall for another
straight guy after that, and made her promise that she’d do everything in her
power to stop him from falling for another.
Dominic Cobb had actually been his first real crush, though that was a distant
memory now. He dared not tell Mal, she’d make fun of him for ages. Thankfully
Dom had just as much incentive to keep their past behind them, lest everyone
discover that they made out inside the tube slide back in the 6th grade.
--
Saturday rolled around sluggishly. He woke up and decided to crack open his old
trig book just to brush up on a few things, but after thirty minutes of review
he was bored to tears.
Thankfully Arthur’s mother eventually dragged him out of his lair to buy a few
groceries for the beach party because she never would allow him to show up to
anything empty handed.
The cart at first only held a few bags of tortilla chips and a medium tub of
spinach dip, but before Arthur could rip his mother away from the aisles, the
cart was full of ingredients for a Jewish style pot roast that she insisted he
take with him.
It was obvious that this was non-negotiable.
These days, his mother seemed more communicative -- more interested in what
Arthur was up to in his private life. It was a little strange, seeing how
mildly distant she was before. Since she’d cut her hours at the plant she was
home quite often now. Arthur guessed that she wanted to be more involved now
that she had the energy and time. Even though on the surface he pretended to be
annoyed by the increased interaction, it privately made him happier than he’d
been in a while.
That was until she started bringing Eames up every time they spoke.
--
They’d finally bagged up the groceries and hauled them to the truck.
“Here,” Leah said, tossing him the keys to the car once the groceries were
packed away in the truck bed. “You drive.”
“But, I don’t have my license. Dad said--”
“Is Dad here right now? Get in the car before I change my mind!”
Arthur grinned at her and scrambled to get into the driver’s seat.
 
He was a bit shaky at first. Arthur mainly wanted to make sure he didn’t run
over a small child or elderly person in the parking lot. Once he was out on the
main road it was all smooth sailing from there.
“You’re a good driver, Artie,” his mother said, a twinge of pride in her voice.
He smirked to himself, wanting so badly to tell her that Dom lets him practice
sometimes. But, driving a small Japanese car was quite different from driving
his mother’s hulking F-150 truck.
She directed him to go a different route home, a more scenic route and one with
less potholes and bumps.
They enjoyed each other’s comfortable silence, with only the radio on to fill
the space between them.
Arthur had really missed this.
“So,” Leah began, crossing her arms and eying Arthur with a bit of mischief,
“have you spoken to Eames yet?”
Arthur sighed, “No, Ma! I told you that I just met him. Besides... I doubt he’d
want to talk to me anyway.”
Leah hummed curiously, rocking side to side to the Beatles’ ‘Eight Days a Week’
record on the radio. “He’s awfully cute. You should try asking him out on a
date!”
Arthur’s heart tripped over a crack in the sidewalk a few times before it
finally fell over and laid on the pavement, pounding like mad. His fingers
gripped the steering wheel nervously and gave a strange combination of laughter
and panting. “Wa--what?”
“He’s cute. You think he’s your type?”  
“Mom!” Arthur turned to look at her for a second, tearing his eyes back to the
road.
“Artie, come on, you know I know.”
“Know what?” he wanted to slap himself for sounding so stupid just now.
“Do we really have to say it out right?”
Arthur turned back to her, shaking his head, “What the hell are you on Ma? I’m
not gay!”
She pursed her lips and twisted in her seat, “Yeah, alright. I guess the Ruff
Necks Monthly under your mattress belongs to Mallorie then?”
That seemed to shut him up.
Leah let the situation simmer for a block or two. She sighed and reached over
to lay a hand on Arthur’s knee, “Listen... honey, it really doesn’t matter to
me. I’ll love you just the way you are, even when you don’t. Just know that.”
Arthur didn’t know how to feel really. It was like a wrecking ball of emotion
had swung and smacked him square in the stomach, leaving him speechless. It
wasn’t until they pulled up into their driveway and they noticed the red Shelby
Mustang waiting there, that Arthur said something.
“Don’t tell Dad.”
Leah twisted her face like she’d just smelled something rancid. “Do I look like
an idiot? Of course I’m not telling your father.”
Arthur smiled at her weakly, pulling the keys from the ignition.
She smiled back, reaching over to gently pinch his chin. “God, you’re getting
more handsome every day. You look like me.”
“So, you’re saying you’re handsome then?”
Leah narrowed her eyes and swatted him playfully on the arm. “Go get the
groceries so we can start the roast.”
--
Of all the things for his father to get upset about, Arthur never would have
guessed that he’d get upset about Leah making a roast for the beach party.
“This is coming out of our pockets to feed a bunch of junkies!”
“Dad, they’re not junkies, they’re my friends!” Arthur said, laying down the
serving spoon he was getting ready to pack away.
“Yeah right.” David walked away into the living room where he sat and turned on
the television.
“Must of had a bad day at work,” his mother rationalized, unpacking the package
of carrots and placing them in the sink to rinse.
He laid a hand on her back and helped her continue the party preparation in
silence, pausing every once in awhile when his father would shout a question
from the next room, usually a complaint.
Arthur hated his father today. Everything had started off smoothly, aside from
his mother outing him, but that was increasingly becoming a relief. Everything
was turning to shit, thanks to David.
He couldn’t get out of the house fast enough once he’d heard the tiny car horn
of Dom’s aging Nissan.
Mal and Dom could tell right away that something had happened by the sullen
look on Arthur’s face.
“What’s the matter Artie?” Dom asked as soon as he entered the backseat.
“Nevermind. Let’s just go.”
--
Dom and Mal were amazing friends because they knew not to probe Arthur too hard
when it came to family business. This helped the drive to Metro Park go by very
quickly. The radio was on full blast and all the windows were rolled down as
Dom went nearly 20 miles over the speed limit on i94.
Arthur and Mallorie shamelessly sang (or rather, shouted) along to “Tell it to
my Heart”, eliciting a few chuckles from Dom who eventually joined them once
the chorus swept in.
Mallorie’s chocolate brown locks were a complete mess, but she was still
beautiful, looking back at Arthur, beaming with admiration. She dug inside her
purse and handed Arthur a purple pill.
“Take this. It’ll make you feel better,” she yelled over the loud speakers of
Dom’s car.
“What is it?” Arthur eyed the capsule suspiciously.
“Don’t worry, it won’t make you too high. Look, I’ll do one too.” Mal reached
into her purse again and retrieved the zip-lock bag full of a medicine
cocktail.
“What the hell are those?” Dom asked, his head whipping back and forth between
the road and the bag, almost comically.
“Drugs. Want some? Yeah, I thought so,” Mal playfully sneered at her boyfriend
and then fished out another purple pill.
Arthur popped the pill the same time as her. She tossed him her strawberry
Faygo soda pop to wash it down. “I better not get too high!” Arthur warned her,
trying to keep a straight face, but only crumbled into laughter.
Ten minutes passed and he felt nothing. Twenty minutes passed and she gve him
two more capsules, one clear-ish brown and the other red with two black
stripes. He popped them and swallowed down more Faygo.
He could feel his mad mood lift in the air like a curtain of raw cotton,
floating on down highway i94. Arthur was suddenly transported to lower spanish
speaking Texas when Madonna’s ‘La Isla Bonita’ bounced on the radio and Mal
sang badly along. His head swam and his eyelids felt heavy, though he did not
feel tired. He just raised his arms and moved his hips to the song in his seat.
Drugs always took the pain of dealing with his family away.
--
Eames and a short, brown haired girl were already setting up at a picnic table
not too far from the water. Eames fiddled with the grille while the girl drank
from a brown paper bag. From where Arthur was standing, it looked like a 40
ounce bottle of beer. Charming.
“We’re here,” Mal announced, settling a few bags of groceries down on the
table.
Eames turned and waved, “Grille’s just about ready!” His gaze fell on Arthur
and the older boy smiled, cocking his chin up at him. “‘Ey Arthur!”
Arthur’s stomach went sour, but he managed a lazy smile that probably looked
more like a grimace. The lump in his throat seemed nearly ready to explode,
seizing his body in terrible panic. He couldn’t recall another time he’d been
so embarrassed to see another human being. How the fuck did the drugs not
manage choking this down?
Eames’ smile faded into smug-ish grin before he turned to nurse the burning
coals.
Arthur’s bottom lip stiffened as he watched beads of sweat roll down the
golden, sun kissed skin of Eames’ back. The man’s dingy white tank top was
soaking wet under the pits and nearly transparent with perspiration. The sweat
dripped down, wetting his lower back and into his tight fitting army green
shorts that were cut roughly at the calves. Strings of loose denim material
frayed at the ends, clinging to Eames’ hairy legs there.
Arthur licked his lips, feeling his high run away from him. His eyes scanned
the dark ink lines that swirled on the man’s naked shoulders, a hint of a
dragon’s tail peeking around a bicep. Eames’ back muscles tensed and relaxed as
he worked the coals around in the grille with a long metal fork. He squirted a
healthy dose of lighter fluid onto the coals and jumped back when large flames
burst open before him. Eames turned around, his mouth in a surprised ‘O’ shape,
looking way too fucking adorable for his own good.
“Be careful Eames! You’ll burn the hair off the top of your head like Michael!”
Mallorie teased, grinning at him.  
“Well, he does have the ‘Thriller’ jacket to match,” Arthur blurted out.
Everyone laughed except for Dom who hadn’t caught the context of the joke.
Eames chuckled, “Oh Arthur, I would have never guessed you’d be against me
too!”
Even though there was a hint of laughter in the man’s voice, Arthur couldn’t
help but feel like a shithead. He kept picturing Eames cleaning up his vomit
and having to endure his mother and how all of that meant he owed Eames quite a
bit.
Arthur snatched his gaze away and decidedly busied himself with setting the
table up, wishing Mal’s pills had been stronger and had lasted longer. He
arranged for a spot to place the ridiculous pot roast his mother made.
The girl with the 40 ounce beer stared at them, not saying anything at first.
Mal gave her best winning smile, holding her hand out to shake the other
woman’s hand once she’d set the groceries down on the table. “Hi, I’m Mal,
Eames’ cousin.”
The girl nodded, reaching forward, “Yeah, Eames talks about you often. I’m
Ariadne.”
The two girls shook hands and then Dom and Arthur introduced themselves as
well.
Arthur was a bit surprised at how firm the girl’s handshake was. She paused at
Arthur for a second before smirking.
“What?” Arthur asked.
“Nothing,” Ariadne said, hiding a smile behind her hand as she stepped back to
retrieve her beer.
She was shorter than any of them, but she seemed sturdy and well worth the
space she took up. Arthur got a whiff of a lesbian vibe from her, but he wasn’t
sure, nor was he willing to ask. But the signs were all there. She wore a blue
flannel shirt, though she eventually opted to remove it, revealing a navy blue
men’s tank top underneath and a sports bra under that, and a pair of loose
fitting jeans. There was a large oval belt buckle with the old English fonted
‘D’ in the middle.
She was a beer slinging, Detroit Tigers loving lesbian alright. Arthur couldn’t
help but smile.
Her shoulders were a tad masculine, but she was actually quite pretty. Her hair
was a smidgen lighter in tone than Mal’s, a bit shorter as well. She had it
tied up in a ponytail with a black rubber band.
“So, whose big day is it today?” Ariadne asked, already a bit tipsy.
“Dom’s... technically,” Arthur offered, his eyes shifting nervously over
towards Eames every now and then.
Dom shook his head dismissively, shrugging his shoulders, “Just got back in
from Florida. It’s just an excuse to do something.”
Ariadne nodded jerkily. Her gaze flickered towards Arthur once more before she
turned on her heel and joined Eames by the grille.
“Awkward much?” Dom murmured, preparing the burgers and hotdogs.
“You think that’s his girlfriend?” Mal whispered.
Before Dominic could answer, Arthur hurriedly replied for him, “She’s obviously
a lesbian.” He placed the pot roast down on the table and helped himself to a
bag of Lay’s potato chips that laid open on the table.
“You think?” Dominic narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Ariadne who chatted
privately with Eames, unaware of Dom’s spying. He watched intently, as if the
girl would do something lesbianesque at any moment.
Perhaps she’d burst into a monster like The Thing.
Mal rolled her eyes, “Arthur’s just saying that because he has a crush on
Eames.”
“No, I don’t!” Arthur lied. He knew they didn’t believe him, but he wouldn’t
have Mal embarrass him this way, not without a fight anyway.
Dom grinned devilishly, “Look at ‘im, red faced already. You definitely have a
thing for him.”
“I’ve only just met him! Lay off!” Arthur whispered harshly.
“Eames is totally straight, I’m sure,” Mal add, laying the raw hamburger
patties on a plate and sprinkling seasoned salt on them. “My dad told me all
about how he was a ladies man back in England and how his parents can never
keep up with who he’s dating next. I bet that’s his girlfriend for the week and
he’ll have another soon.” With that, Mallorie raised her eyebrows in a ‘take
that’ fashion and strode over to the grille.
Arthur bit his bottom lip considering the new information. He didn’t care, not
all that much anyways. He wasn’t going to let this mild crush develop into
anything. Arthur watched Mal join Ariadne and Eames at the grille. Eames smiled
at the two women, all smiles and charm.
It was obvious, wasn’t it? Eames was charming and was bound to be popular with
the ladies, and he was straight! It was that bit that Arthur knew he would have
to wrestle down until it was absolutely clear.
Arthur already knew the path of unrequited love. It was a long, unpaved road
that jostled, and snaked in every which way to emotional ruin.
Arthur knew that road and didn’t want to traverse it ever again.
Still, he couldn’t bite down the twinge of jealousy he felt as he watched Eames
interact with Mal and Ariadne so effortlessly. Straight people had it too easy.
Whenever he was reminded of how seemingly unchallenging it was for them, it
made him bitter, but mostly just sad.
Emotions were something Arthur didn’t quite enjoy showing, mostly because he
rarely knew how to make sense of them and things he couldn’t easily explain or
organize were things best avoided. He didn’t like the unpredictably of feelings
and how others invoked unpredictable responses from him. Arthur didn’t like not
being in control of such things.
Before he could let the current disdain for the situation fester any longer, he
tossed his thoughts away into his secret box and left it there for later
consideration.
He turned to Dom who currently fumbled with a box of Budweiser, looking around
shifty eyed to spot any cops that may be in the area. Alcohol wasn’t allowed on
park premises, but no one followed this rule, nor did the police enforce it,
but it never hurt to be vigilant.
“Dom. Let’s go play some volleyball,” Arthur said, reaching forward and yanking
free a few cans of beer from the box. He tossed one to Dom and cracked one open
for himself.
They fetched the ball from the trunk of Dom’s car and ran out to the beach,
leaving Eames and the girls to the cooking.
The lone volleyball net on the beach was currently being used by a group of
guys and a few girls who were complete novices. They didn’t mind Arthur and Dom
joining in, so the two boys did.
Arthur wasn’t one for tooting his own horn (though, to be truthful, he kind of
was), but he was pretty damn good at volleyball. He was tall so he particularly
loved the net-game. His favorite moments were when he was able to leap into the
air and successfully block the opponents spike just in the nick of time. It was
the look of anguish on his opponent’s face that he lapped up happily.
He and Dom were both athletic and competitive so they worked well together.
The game was hideously one-sided so Dom switched to the other team and Arthur’s
team got a short, uncoordinated red head who was like an airhead version of
Molly Ringwald.
Unsurprisingly, she was absolutely terrible and Dom made sure to blast the ball
her way every chance he got. Arthur couldn’t be at all places at all times, of
course and his team members were visibly irritated with his ball hogging, but
not as irritated as he was with their piss poor volleying skills.
This boring one-sided match proved to be the last nail in the coffin for the
others. They left Dom and Arthur to themselves on the beach with no one else to
play volleyball with. The two boys knocked the ball back and forth to pass the
time, hoping others would show up.
Arthur felt relaxed finally, loving the burn of a good workout and the nice
breeze the nearby lake afforded. The sand felt great against his feet. He
curled his toes in it as he softly bopped the volleyball over to Dom who
dramatically dove for it, even though he didn’t have to. The boy laid there in
the sand on his belly, deciding to take a rest. Arthur sat down next to him,
opting to do the same.
They enjoyed each other’s silence. Only the cawing of seagulls above and the
lapping waves surrounded them. Arthur closed his eyes and breathed in the sun
and the smell of water and sand. A faint, but brilliant mist swept from the
lake and he seized the peaceful pause, wanting to linger there forever.
“Hey Artie, can I tell you something? Y’know, man to man?” Dom asked. Arthur
opened his eyes, suddenly worried. Dominic rarely had these sort of
conversations with him.
“It’s about my visit to Florida,” Dom continued, tucking the volleyball
underneath his chin.
Arthur shrugged. “What about it?”
Dom glanced over to the grille where Mal and Ariadne seemed to be enjoying
something funny Eames had said or done. “Look, you have to promise that you
won’t tell Mal.”
“Tell her what? Just spit it out man!”
“Promise me!”
“Okay fine, whatever, I promise not to tell.”
Dom eyed him, unconvinced, but unwilling to keep all to himself. He finally
began to speak.
As it turned out, Dominic hadn’t gone to Florida to see his grandparents, he’d
actually done a college visit to the University of Florida where he’d been
scouted. According to Dom, the school was definitely interested, more than
interested actually. They wanted him to come down again before early admissions
to meet the team.
Arthur knew all too well why he had lied. It was the same reason why he lied
about being 100% sure on going to EMU.
Mal had this ‘dream’ that they’d all stick together during the college years.
Arthur would go to Eastern Michigan University, and Dom and Mal would attend
University of Michigan which was only a fifteen minute bus ride from Ypsilanti
where Arthur would be if he got in (which he was confident was a shoe in).
She had been married to this idea ever since she first decided to officially
date Dominic. It had been one of the caveats for dating her, and Dom (naively)
agreed to it. Arthur even found himself agreeing because Mal was just damn good
at persuasion. Plus, he loved her, he wanted to do anything to make her happy.
Dom had joined in honestly wanting the same things as Mal, but that was before
he knew how bloody difficult it was to get into U of M on a football
scholarship.
“What are you going to do?” Arthur asked, idly digging a small pebble from the
beach.
Dom shrugged his shoulders, squinting his eyes. The sun beamed down on them
hotly.
“I know I promised Mal I’d get into U of M, but now it’s just looking unlikely,
man.”
“I thought you said U of M was interested?”
“Not interested enough to give me a full ride! Plus, my grades aren’t high
enough. I’m not smart like you guys.”
“Oh come on, you’re plenty smart! You’ve just had to dedicate time to football.
Mal and I have nothing else to do, so we study.”
“And party,” Dom muttered grumpily, shifting his position a bit in the sand.
Arthur ignored the snide remark. “Mal’s going to be furious if she finds out,
you know.”
“No shit Sherlock--”
“Fuck you Watson,” Arthur cut in cheekily.
The other boy rolled his eyes and cupped a handful of sand, tossing it into
Arthur’s crotch. Arthur scooped a handful of sand himself, but before he could
throw it Dom had run off. Arthur chased after him, holding the fistful of beach
as he did so.
Arthur was fast, but Dom was faster and more athletic. He’d been going through
football training with Cass Tech at Wayne State University’s football stadium
all summer long while Arthur partied, smoked and boozed himself into an
unhealthy lifestyle. This ticked him off, knowing he could catch Dom easily if
he were in his prime.
--
A few of Dom’s football buddies that weren’t total asswipes showed up with some
stupid, but well-meaning cheerleader arm candy. Even the footballers that
didn’t tease Arthur managed to piss him off. It was the lingo or maybe the
intonation in their speech that irritated him. If he heard them describe
something as ‘clutch’ or refer to on another as ‘bro’ one more time, he was
going to have an aneurysm.
Jock culture was intolerable.
Nonetheless, he’d rather stick with the ‘bros’ and play volleyball than face
Eames.
--
Keeping mostly to himself, Arthur only barked orders to one of the buff teenage
boys when the ball hurled towards them. They were surprisingly good sports and
even seemed to respect his level of skill, but Arthur still didn’t like or
trust them.
After playing themselves into a nice sweat, dinner was finally finished. Arthur
contemplated staying behind to fumble with the ball in his lonesome, but Arthur
knew that his friends would only worry about him, so he tagged along. He
couldn’t hide from Eames forever, after all.
Another picnic table had been acquired and pushed against the one they had
originally, creating one long table that everyone could sit at together. Arthur
hovered nearby, waiting as everyone took their seats.
“Have a seat, love,” Eames said, smiling broadly. He pointed with a metal
spatula to the empty seat at the edge of the table near Ariadne. She smiled
drunkenly at him, waving him forward. She seemed a lot more drunk than the last
time Arthur had seen her.
Arthur’s eyes dropped down to the widening wet spot at the dip in Eames’ tank-
top where his hairy, tattoo covered chest dripped with sweat, soaking the thin
fabric.
Eames’ eyes followed his gaze, noting the sweat patch.
“Oh dear, I’m bloody disgusting, aren’t I? Right.” Eames handed Arthur the
steel spatula and swiftly pulled the tank top off, his silver herringbone
necklace barely moving, not that Arthur noticed or anything. He twirled the
cloth until it whirled into a tight knot. Eames then tossed the shirt on the
ground and reached forward to grab the spatula away from Arthur’s frozen hand,
not at all noticing the odd look on Arthur’s face.
Eames’ was large -- muscular; Arthur knew this, and it wasn’t as if the tank
top left much to the imagination, but seeing him nearly in the nude like this
was... it was something else.  The older man’s skin was wet and glistening with
beads of sweat that rolled down his washboard stomach, right over a word tattoo
that Arthur dared not stare at long enough to decipher.
Arthur hurried to the table and swallowed dryly. Ariadne giggled next to him,
bumping her shoulder against his.
“You okay buddy?” she asked. Her eyes were glazed over and lazy.
“Yeah, fine -- I’m fine,” Arthur glanced over to Mal and Dom who hadn’t even
been paying attention to him at all. He was relieved. The last thing he needed
was Mal’s stern “I’m warning you” look.
Everyone took their seats finally and Eames wouldn’t allow anyone to eat until
each person had a burger or hotdog on their plate.
Eames stood next to Arthur at the end of the table, smiling at everyone as he
held up Leah’s pot roast. “Arthur’s mother was so kind as to cook this lovely
pot roast for us! It’s wonderful so I suggest you try some.” Eames leaned down
and whispered into Arthur’s ear, “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself earlier -- it
was much too tempting to wait for a taste.” His voice rumbled, his lips curling
into a grin. Arthur flashed his eyes away, shrugging his shoulders, murmuring,
‘whatever’ cooly, though inside he was twisting and floundering.   
The flash of a defeated look on Eames’ face almost seemed legit. Arthur didn’t
believe it for a second though as it went as quickly as it came.  
And no, he wasn’t staring at Eames’ tattooed bare chest as the man reached over
him and served everyone individually. And no he didn’t study the curve of the
man’s developed pecs or the wisp of dark brown pit hair, nor did he notice how
Eames’ nipples were hard and erect.
Arthur tore his eyes away and pursed his lips when he saw Mal’s disapproving
stare. He mouthed a ‘sorry’ in her direction and busied himself with garnishing
his burger with tomato, lettuce and onion.
“Budge up,” Eames said, pushing against Arthur with his elbow. Eames’ sweaty
forearm touched Arthur’s and the younger man’s body tensed. He slid closer to
Ariadne to make room.
He couldn’t shift away any further, lest he end up in Ariadne’s lap, which he
wasn’t keen on doing. Eames took up so much space, whereas Arthur took up very
little. He felt squeezed and sandwiched in between the two of them, though he
was less uncomfortable with feeling Ariadne’s body against his own.
The heat of Eames’ thigh against Arthur was nearly unbearable. Arthur could
already feel himself growing hard against the denim of his shorts. He fought
tooth and nail to ignore the blatant lust that surged within him.
He tried picturing his grandmother naked in order to rid himself of the sex he
fantasized about. That failed miserably when he started picturing Eames in his
grandmother’s nightgown.
“Are you alright?” Eames asked lowly so that no one else could hear. “You don’t
seem too chuffed to see me.”
Arthur didn’t have to ask what “chuffed” meant in order to know what Eames was
going on about.
He simply shrugged his shoulders, offering a polite smile. “I’m fine.”
Eames narrowed his eyes and curled his lips. “There’s no way that’s the truth,
now is it?” He shifted his muscular shoulder into Arthur, rocking the boy
playfully.
Arthur could only look at Eames for a flicker of a second, being way too close
for any sort of gaze longer than that. Eames’ thigh was nearly twice the size
of Arthur’s, something the younger man hadn’t noticed until it was pressed
solidly against him.
“No, really. I’m fine. Just... family stuff.” It wasn’t quite a lie, but it
neither was it the whole truth.
“Oh,” Eames nodded, understanding. “Well, you’re not home right now, so...
let’s just enjoy ourselves, right?”
Arthur couldn’t help but smile, feeling the tension alleviate itself somewhat.
So maybe Eames didn’t quite hate him after all.
--
Eames was a good cook. He’d grilled a slab of baby-backs and made a barbeque
sauce to die for. The meat was so tender and sweet that Arthur had to stop
himself from grunting as he ate with his bare hands. Eames made fun of the
barbeque sauce on his nose, but Eames had a splotch of the sauce on his own
face, right at the corner of his lips. Arthur wanted to point this out, but
found himself doing a whole lot more staring than talking.
The food was delicious and many raved about the pot roast; there weren’t any
leftovers to bring back. Arthur made a mental note to brag to his mother
because she’d love to hear about it.
--
Ariadne turned out to be a blast. She was sharp and snarky; her humor was a bit
on the dry side, but Arthur dug that. Even while intoxicated she went toe to
toe with Dominic on the recent events surrounding Tiananmen Square. Dominic was
put off by her ‘blind’ support for the Chinese protesters and she pretty much
felt that he was being a typical, white, middle-class jerkwad, although she
didn’t say it outright.  It turned out to be a healthy debate however, and by
the end of the conversation they realized they both at least didn’t want people
to be killed, so there was that.
The sky had begun to turn rust colored by the time they all finished up their
meals, opting to be lazy and chat while their food digested. Dom and his
football buddies decided to go for another round of volleyball while there was
still light. Mal joined in this time as well as Ariadne, but Eames dropped out.
“I’m going to stay back and pack up the food. You kiddies run along and play.”
Arthur was always up for a bit of sport, plus he needed to get away from Eames
as soon as possible. He drank his last can of beer and jumped up from his seat
to run after the others.
But, Eames had something else in mind for him it would seem.
“Arthur, I’m terribly sorry, but could you stay back for a few? I just need a
hand with putting the food away, lest the bugs ravish it all.”
Arthur hesitated, watching the rest of the group waddle towards the beach with
full bellies, even Ariadne who was probably too drunk to play.
Eames watched the conflict going on in Arthur’s head and quickly frowned puppy
dog-like.
“Please?”
Arthur sighed, nodding before offering a small shrug of his shoulders. “Yeah,
alright.”
Eames had barely allowed an ounce of small talk between them before he went
straight for the jugular.
“Look, Arthur. I know you’re probably all bent out of shape due to the party
last week. All I want to say is that you have no reason to be embarrassed. It
wasn’t your fault.”
Arthur didn’t respond because he didn’t know what to say. He just sorted the
food and asked Eames for directions on where to put things and how best to
store it.
What was there to say really? Well, perhaps there were many things Arthur knew
he should say, but how to go about it was the really tricky part, at least for
him.
After awhile though, Arthur finally decided on what would be the best response
and like with most things, he had an appreciation for the simple, direct
answer.
“Thank you,” he said, pausing over the plate of ribs he was wrapping aluminum
foil over. “Thanks for taking care of me and not judging me.”
Eames smiled brightly, shaking his head, “Like I said, no worries. I’m sure
you’d have done the same.”
Arthur could feel the tension blowing away in the evening wind. “I probably
wouldn’t have, but yeah, thanks.”
They shared a quiet laugh and then it all seemed to smooth over.
--
One of the first things Arthur learned about Eames was that he would never shut
up. This worked for Arthur though who found difficulty in keeping conversations
going sometimes.
They sat at the picnic table together, Arthur on one side and Eames on the
other. The cleaning duties were all done and the food was neatly arranged on
the table, foiled and ready for travel.
Eames blabbed on and on about how he missed English tea, English shops and
English voices, but then would vindicate it all by gushing about Detroit’s
nightlife and the artistic, bohemian appeal of Ann Arbor.
Even though he talked a lot about himself, it was never annoyingly self-
indulgent and was mostly about the things he’d experienced since coming to
America. It helped that Eames was actually interesting. Arthur wanted to know
all about his adventures at the University of Michigan. Arthur liked the
stories of Eames hiding Robert’s weed inside his mattress when the RAs did
surprise room checks, or the time Eames told a philosophy professor he was a
“sodding idiot!”
“Everyone applauded and that’s when I decided I wanted to study philosophy,”
Eames said, handing Arthur another beer.
Arthur laughed, shaking his head, “That’s so cool. I couldn’t imagine telling a
U of M professor off.” He winced internally, fearing his schoolboy-like
interest in Eames was showing.
Eames hid his grin behind the can of beer he brought to his lips. “Yeah, well
university is different from secondary school. At university you’re an adult
with freedom of speech and what-have-you.”
“You still study philosophy?”
“Christ no! I quit after the few two semesters of all that post-modern wankery.
Just a bunch of bored rich kids thinking they know the meaning of life or
something. It’s all rubbish.”
Arthur chuckled, “What’s the meaning of life, you think?”
The other man shrugged, “Hell if I know. It’s probably different for everyone.”
Arthur nodded, agreeing. “So, if you don’t study that ‘post-modern wankery’
(Arthur mocked him in a lame attempt at a British accent) anymore, what do you
study now then?”
Eames’ face seemed to drop and then he took a long drink from his can of
Budweiser until it was empty. “Psychology,” he breathed out, tossing the can
inside the brown paper bag they’d reserved for empty cans. “Though when I
graduate, I want to study law.”
Arthur laughed, but then covered his mouth when he realized Eames was being
serious. “Wait, you’re for real?”
Eames rolled his eyes, and shook his head, seemingly upset.
“Everyone always looks so surprised when I say that. It’s the same bloody look
my parents gave me.”
Arthur suddenly felt panicked, realizing he had offended Eames. “Dude, I didn’t
mean it like that. It’s just....”
“I don’t look the type?” Eames said, slightly bitter humor in his voice. “A
lawyer with tattoos all over my body in hoodlum fashion? Yeah. I’d probably
think the same thing about myself.”
Arthur shrugged his shoulders, “I like your tattoos.” He took the moment to
stare at the Union Jack tat on Eames’ left breast, wondering what it’d feel
like on his tongue.
A smile slowly crept up on Eames’ face.
“How about my hoodlum fashion?”
Arthur laughed, lifting his beer to his mouth. “I’m sure you clean up well.”
Eames narrowed his eyes at Arthur, grinning when he cracked open another beer
and clunked their cans together.
“Cheers.”
“To what?” Arthur asked.
Eames paused, his eyes fond and shiny in the darkening park. “To new friends.”
--
The conversation surprisingly went easy after, even when Eames started asking
Arthur questions. The younger boy told him of his plans after high school to go
to EMU, though now he was considering U of M and how it all depended on whether
his family could afford it. He wanted to study physics or maybe mathematics -
- he couldn’t decide.
Eames made a face at Arthur’s choices of study. “Maths was never my strongest
subject.”
“Neither is it mine. I just like the challenge I guess. It feels good to
struggle at something and then figure it out. You know? It’s like when you were
a kid and you started taking all of your toys apart because you wanted to know
how the insides worked.”
Eames nodded his head to this. “I can dig that.”
A warm light shined from within Arthur’s chest. It was the first time someone
seemingly accepted him. Even Mal and Dom made fun of him when he talked about
what he wanted to study.
He continued on, gushing about astrophysics, infinite series, and various other
math related interests he had.
Eames was either really interested, or he was really good at pretending.
--
When the sky turned dark and everyone was ready to go, Arthur found himself
aching to stay and chat with Eames until the sun came up the next day. But
alas, Dom was his only ride home and he’d told his parents he wouldn’t stay out
late.
Eames carried drunken Ariadne to his car firstly, then came back to help Mal,
Dom and Arthur with carrying their leftover food and utensils.
“Hope Ariadne is okay,” Mal said.
“Oh, she’s a trooper. I’ve seen her shitfaced loads of times. It’s her Irish
blood.”
Arthur imagined Ariadne tucking mugs full of irish creme lager in one breath,
and fighting men in the streets of Dublin. It made him insanely happy. Arthur
sometimes secretly wanted to be a lesbian. Not in a weird, heteronormative
pandering, “I wish I liked women” sort of way though. Sometimes the idea, just
the look of two strong females together, seemed aesthetically pleasing. It
didn’t do anything for him downstairs, but Arthur oftentimes wish it did.
“We should do these things more often!” Eames gushed to the trio as he helped
carry a box of cookware back to Dom’s car.
“Yeah, of course,” Mal tossed over her shoulder.
They hauled everything into the trunk and stood in the parking lot to say their
goodbyes finally. Arthur was irritated with the day ending. Why couldn’t it
keep going on?
“We’re going to Skate Land on Wednesday. Maybe you could stop by?” Dom said.
There was a slight hint of hesitation that only Arthur or Mal could indicate.
The quarterback wrapped an arm around Mal’s shoulders possessively. Arthur
could tell that she’d been the one to convince Dom to ask.
Eames nodded in consideration, watching them both with twinkling eyes. Arthur
absolutely hated how he wished that Eames would look at him like that too.
“You ever heard of Sammy O’s?” Eames asked, finally glancing at Arthur.
“What’s that?” Mal asked.
“It’s a roller rink in Ypsi. It’s a bit of a hole in the wall, but they play
great music. Mostly new wave, post-punk stuff.”
“Aw! That sounds like fun, Dom lets try it out!” Mal bounced, acting more
girlish than she normally did.
Dom was annoyed, Arthur could tell. “I don’t know. We planned this out over a
week ago. A bunch of the guys are coming. Thomas and Nash are supposed to come
too--” Dom cut his eyes to Arthur, “sorry Artie.”
Arthur’s blood set fire like a match to gasoline. He hated Thomas with a deep,
almost disturbing passion and hated Nash even more. The two bastards tormented
him all 7th grade year and still managed to be assholes about it even now,
although Dom lived in some fantasy world where Thomas and Nash were perfect
little angels that had turned over new leaves.
Thomas was white trailer park trash with Arnold Schwarzenegger’s body and
Rodney Dangerfield’s face. He also had a weird and annoying Christian Slater
voice that made Arthur’s stomach sick. Back in junior high, he made sure Arthur
received a swirly whenever Arthur did better than him on a test, which was all
the damn time because the hulking beast had the intelligence of a goldfish.
Those weekly swirlies were probably why Arthur always seized and had mild panic
attacks whenever he had to vomit in a toilet bowl.
Thomas was a piece of shit, sure, but Nash... Nash was slimier, though Arthur
had to admit he wasn’t ugly, technically anyways. He was just a greasy, long
haired reject who Arthur hated so much that he couldn’t even think of him
without also contemplating ways to get away with murder.
The story of Nash was long and stupid, but he was one of those “straight boys”
that Arthur fell for once before, except that time, Nash wasn’t exactly batting
for one team exclusively.
They’d met in junior league baseball and Arthur was the best player on the
team. That’s when the terrorizing began, and continued until the summer before
7th grade when Nash’s balls finally dropped and he decided that Arthur’s mouth
was the perfect way to find out what a blow-job felt like.
The first time had been after practice in the local park’s bathroom. Arthur had
gone into the restroom for a piss when he found Nash leaning over the sink,
sobbing. Arthur stupidly asked him what was wrong and suddenly Nash was all
over him, groping and slamming his mouth against him.
That was the first time Arthur got a hand job and was the first time he’d
sucked cock.
Every Saturday they’d give each other blowjobs in the park’s public restroom
until they were caught by Coach Browning. The coach never told. Said it was a
phase or something.
May have been true for Nash, but for Arthur... it hadn’t quite worked out that
way.
That following school year was when the real terrorizing began.
Lunch trays being flung from his hands, his head being slammed into lockers,
homework ripped up -- forcing Arthur out of the closet in front of his class.
Arthur never understood why he continued to keep Nash’s secret. Maybe because
he saw Nash for what he was: a closeted, sexually repressed weirdo who would
probably end up offing himself or someone else if Arthur told everyone the
truth.
Besides, it had been so long since the 7th grade, no one would believe him
anyways. Nash was popular and well liked and Arthur was a nobody with gross
punk shirts.
Then Thomas found Allah or some shit, and Nash had started hanging out with Dom
more, so the bullying stopped completely. Now they just reminisced on the ‘good
ol’ days’ whenever Arthur was around.  
He couldn’t stomach seeing those assholes again. Catching them in passing was
quite enough already, now that they were on the varsity football team with Dom.
“Let’s try Sammy O’s. We always go to Skate Land,” Arthur said, crossing his
arms and briefly watching Eames twiddle his fingers.
Dominic sighed, “But I told the guys we’d go to Skate Land!”
“No worries mate. We can go to Skate Land. I just thought I’d make a suggestion
-- didn’t mean to hijack your plans. Rather rude of me actually,” Eames said,
holding his hands up in surrender.
Arthur sighed in disappointment, waiting for Dominic to make the final call.
“Skate Land #2. Wednesday at 7pm.”
“Right. I’ll be there! See you kiddies then!” Eames waved at them and paused at
Arthur longer than any of them before jogging to his car. Not that Arthur was
counting the seconds.
“I really wanted to try that place out, Dom!” Mal said once Eames was out of
earshot.
“Yeah, me too,” Arthur added.
“Whatever. Get in the car you two.”
Arthur and Mal both probably pouted the entire trip back home.
--
Things were surprisingly quiet back at Arthur’s house, although most of the
lights were still on. In the living room, his dad had fallen asleep with an Al
Green record on repeat. The bluesy song “Call Me (Come Back Home)” was playing
and it seemed to fit the sad state he’d found his dad in. There was a spilled
crystal glass on the floor. Arthur picked it up and didn’t have to smell the
cup to know that there had been whiskey in it. He could smell the strong liquid
wafting off the carpet.
This worried Arthur. David had been an off and on again alcoholic and got
particularly mean-spirited and irrational when he was drunk. Thankfully he was
sound asleep. Arthur carried the glass back to the kitchen and gently laid it
in the sink. He took one last long gaze at his father’s sleeping body before he
crept up the stairs quietly, leaving the record to play.
Before he went to his own room, he checked inside his parents bedroom, noting
that his mother was not home. Fear seized him. Where was his mother and why was
David drinking again? He prayed nothing had happened.
Arthur couldn’t fall asleep, not while his mother was away like this. It wasn’t
until nearly 4 am that he noticed the familiar rumble of his mother’s truck; he
listened as she came up the stairs and closed the bedroom door behind her.
He waited a moment, contemplating whether or not he wanted to go to his mother.
Arthur pulled back the bed sheet that covered his body and he crept to his
mother’s room. He knocked a few times before opening the door. The room was
dark, but the moonlight seeping through the curtains gave him enough light to
see the outline of his mother’s body on the bed. The smell of White Diamonds
lingered in the air, his mother’s favorite perfume.
“Ma?” Arthur whispered, stepping into the room and closing the door.
She shifted in the bed, but didn’t say anything.
The boy inched closer, calling her name once again. “Ma, you okay?”
“Yeah honey. Mommy’s just tired.” her voice was strange; distant.
Arthur stood there, fearing the worst. His dad had started drinking again and
Leah had come home at nearly four in the morning. He twiddled his fingers
before wishing her a good night. He closed the door softly and returned to his
room.
--
He didn’t like to ask questions about his parents’ married life, mostly because
he’d rather speculate than hear the actual truth. He had a strong suspicion
that things were probably worse than they let on. Arthur was quite comfortable
with wanting to believe the best scenario, even if he knew he was being lazy
and cowardly.
Oddly enough, the next few days his parents never argued, but they didn’t speak
much either. Sometimes Arthur thought the tension was worse now, feeling almost
as if his parents were two grenades with their pins removed.
--
Wednesday couldn’t have come any sooner. There was a bit of good news and bad
news though.
The good news was that almost all of Dom’s friends decided to postpone the get
together as Frankie Cook was having a huge party at her house. No one could
blame them. Frankie was loaded and would probably have all kinds of liquor on
deck. Even Arthur kind of wanted to go, but remembered the shenanigans at the
last house party he’d been to and decided against it.
The bad news was that Dom no longer wanted to go rollerskating because he’d
made new plans to go next week.
So, Eames made the suggestion of going to the Magic Stick in downtown Detroit
to bowl.
Perhaps this was even better news.
--
The Magic Stick was run down, sleazy and had cheesy disco-era designs that made
Mal groan in disgust, but Arthur quite liked the dive feeling it had. The place
was interesting because it was in the basement of a music venue. You could even
hear the thumping of the show above. Arthur had been to the upstairs once
before to see a local punk band called Core, something he hadn’t remembered
until he had actually arrived.
The place was thick with the smell of cigar and cigarette smoke. Arthur could
feel his lungs beg for mercy already. The receptionist renting out bowling
shoes was a total asshat with a really bad half-sleeve tattoo of Betty Boop.
She seemed to respect Eames though.
They got the alley towards the far end of the building where no one else was
around.
Today, Eames was wearing a ridiculous red puffy Adidas track suit and a thick
rope chain. He had some brass knuckles that were purely fashion and probably
made out of fake gold or something. His thin, light brown hair was slicked back
with gel and the little bit of hair left in the back was tied into a tiny
ponytail.
Arthur normally found this style gross and off putting, but on Eames it worked
-- oh god did it work!
Since Dom could only have fun when competition was involved, he split them into
two pairs. Dom and Mal versus Arthur and Eames.
“I warn you, I’m no good at bowling,” Arthur said as they strode over to the
bowling ball shelves. The carpet below felt slippery under the soles of their
bowling shoes.
“No worries, love. We’ll crush them,” Eames winked at him and randomly dug a
bowling ball from the shelf, testing the holes with a few pokes of his fingers.
“Besides, I reckon Mal is absolute shite at the game.”
Arthur wanted to tell him how very wrong he was, but he thought it better to
watch the drama unfold slowly.
--
Dom seemed in a sour mood the entire time and even Mal was a little off. This
was something Eames noticed right away and asked Arthur about it once a few
missed strikes sent Dom in a cursing rage.
Arthur shrugged, “They probably fought about something. There’s always
something.”
“Christ. Well, this calls for beer then!” Eames said, extremely jolly and cute.
Arthur bit his lip, watching Eames run away over to the service desk.
--
Some strings were pulled or something, but somehow Eames got two pitchers of
beer without any of them having to show their ID.
“Merci, Eames! How did you get this?”
Eames shrugged, cocky. “They know me.”
Dom rolled his eyes, “You guys are four turns behind.”
A hearty gulp of beer from his cup left a white foam mustache above Eames’ top
lip. He licked it away and didn’t give one look towards Dom. Arthur noted him
mumbling, “wanker,” under his breath when he walked past and bent over to pick
up his bowling ball from the resurfacing machine.
--
After some cold brew got into them, everyone seemed to loosen up, especially
Mal who wasn’t playing her best at first.
This was a bad thing.
What Arthur didn’t tell Eames before was that Mal was a beast at bowling. Even
though she sullied the first half of the game, the second half was consistently
strikes or spares.  
Arthur laughed when the realization began to show on Eames’ face.
“Bloody hell Arthur! Why didn’t you tell me she had satanic skill at bowling?”
--
Eames wasn’t too bad himself, and Arthur was playing the best he’d ever played
really. This all helped the game come to a very tight finish, with only a three
point gap between them. Dom and Mal won, which lightened the piss poor mood
Dominic was in earlier.
They decided to play one more, but second games were never as fun as the first.
Arthur just wasn’t into it anymore. Eames and Arthur lost by a lot more points
the second round, but he didn’t care; Arthur was just glad to hang out with
Eames and his best friends.
--
“You two were cheating, I’m sure,” Eames said as they gathered their things and
started making their way down the narrow hallway exit.
“How can you cheat at bowling, Eames?” Mal asked cheekily, clinging to Dom’s
arm like some needy girlfriend. This was how she was when they fought. Needy.
“Yes, enlighten us,” Dom added, laughing.
“Some blood magic. Something wasn’t quite right,” Eames was all smiles and
giggles, quite adorable, although his wardrobe suggested something harder.
Eames was like a roasted marshmallow.
--
Tonight was cooler than usual, which Arthur was grateful for. They walked out
into the parking lot, listening to Eames make up stories about how Mal managed
to cast spells when they weren’t looking. A skinny punk looking guy came
jogging towards them. He was coming from a small group of people standing on
the other side of the parking lot, all dressed up in similar attire. His hair
was black and styled as if he’d just woken up. He had a cool black leather
jacket that was similar to Arthur’s and his pants were skin tight and ripped at
the knees. He wore a white tee that was too small for him -- you could see the
edge of his belly button and a trail of hair under it.
“Hey, you guys! You should check out the show tonight! Tickets are only two
bucks man!” his voice was high pitched and groggy and stoner-like.
“What sort of show is it?” Eames inquired, putting his hands into the pockets
of his tracksuit.
“Man, it’s like, ya’ know, punk. Rock and roll, man! Ya’ know?”
Arthur’s interest was piqued, even if this man looked and sounded higher than a
kite. Punk was Anthony’s favorite music and had thusly become Arthur’s. He
hadn’t been to a show in ages because it didn’t feel the same after Anthony got
locked up. Mal went with him sometimes, but she didn’t like it as much as he
did, though she pretended to.
“Who’s playing?” Arthur asked, although Dom and Mal had already said ‘no thank
you’ and had started walking away.
“Man, there’s this really cool band from Chicago called Anti-Flag. They’re
totally underground. And there’s this band called Force -- they sound kind of
like Bad Religion and Rick James melded into one--”
“.... Are you high mate?” Eames deadpanned.
The man laughed sheepishly, shaking his head, “N--... yeah, man.” He continued
to laugh, trying to comb his hand through his hair, but failing as his hair
proved too tangled.
“So dudes, are you gonna come?”
Eames looked at Arthur, this look of ‘I’m up for anything’ all over his face.
Arthur bit his bottom lip while watching Mal and Dom wait impatiently by the
car.
“I’d love to check it out, but my friends are my ride home, so I better go back
with them,” Arthur finally said. “It sounds really rad though.”
“Don’t worry about it man. Here, I’ll give you this flyer thing so you can
remember our names.” The man fished for a folded piece of paper from his back
pocket and handed it to Arthur.
“Take it easy, man.”
Arthur looked over the piece of paper and loved the amateur art work for the
tour advertisement. There was a picture of Godzilla stomping through what
looked like the skyline of New York City. In his hand, the beast held the
decapitated head of Marilyn Monroe. It was the shitty quality and the
subversive nature of punk that intrigued Arthur. It was so different from the
way his own mind worked.
“You really want to see it, don’t you?” Eames asked, walking up to steal a look
at the flyer.
“Yeah... it’s just... I haven’t been to a show in forever, you know?” Arthur
sighed. “Some other time. Maybe.”
“No, let’s do it!” Eames said, grabbing Arthur by the elbow. He said it again,
more loudly to Dom and Mal who were hugging on each other, looking gross and
mushy.
Mallorie shook her head, groaning, “No! I want to go home. Bowling’s tired us
out.”
“Yeah, right. I’m pretty sure they’re gonna go home and shag,” Eames muttered,
giving Arthur a sidelong glance. Arthur grinned at him, knowing it to be the
truth.
“We’re going to stay then.”
“No-no, it’s fine,” Arthur said quickly, suddenly almost panicked by the idea
of Eames staying only for him.
“Do you want to see that show or not? I’d like to check it out myself, but I’m
neither here nor there.”
Arthur paused, studying Mal and Dom’s faces, not sure how to answer.
“I mean, of course I want to check it out, but I couldn’t possibly--”
“It’s settled then! I’ll make sure Artie gets back nice and sound,” Eames said,
waving goodbye to Mal and Dom.
Arthur felt almost powerless, as though he couldn’t say or do anything to stop
the events from unfolding. He wanted to see this show, but he hadn’t expected
to see it alone with Eames. It felt like a dangerous situation; not that he
expected Eames to do anything. It was the uneasy sense that this ‘crush’ thing
he was developing might feed way too deeply into a one-on-one experience with
Eames.
Mal seemed to read his mind, which was one of her many gifts. She let go of Dom
and strode over to Arthur, her legs looking gorgeous in her black leggings
tonight. She grabbed Arthur and pulled him out of earshot of both Dom and
Eames.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, looking back at Eames who
started shaking his head like the entire thing was ridiculous.
“Should I be honest?”
“Of course, jerkwad.”
“Ew. Don’t ever use that word again,” Arthur frowned, crossing his arms. “Okay.
So, yeah, I’d love to see this concert, but not alone with Eames.”
“I thought so,” Mal said, biting the bottom of her plump lip. “Do you want me
to tell him?”
Arthur was surprised at how fast he said, “No!”
Eames started walking towards them, impatient and annoyed. “Christ on a
cracker! It’s not like I’m going to ra--, it’s not like anything is going to
happen to ‘im. Who do you think I am? Ted Bundy?”
“It’s not like that Eames,” Mal said, not looking away from Arthur. She lowered
her voice, “Don’t fall for him like you did with the others. He’s straight.
Please remember that.”
“I won’t. And I know.”
Mal pursed her lips and then pulled him into a quick embrace. “Take care of
him. He better not come home roofied like last time.” She winked playfully at
Eames before turning on her heel to go back to the car.
“So... we’re joking about that now?” Eames asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Mal deals with rough subjects with humor,” Arthur explained. He waved goodbye
to his friends, hoping he wasn’t making a big mistake. Once they’d driven off
out of the parking lot, Arthur turned to Eames and forced a smile.
“Shall we?”
--
The show was sparsely attended at first, but the bands were to die for. Arthur
missed the energy of a good punk show and this hit the spot just right. The
guitars and vocals were rough and seemed sloppy almost, which would bother
Arthur normally if it were any other genre. But punk was always like this. It
had a D.I.Y. quality to it that made Arthur feel like he was a part of the
experience as they played.
The drums were crazy fast and deliriously loud, rampaging Arthur’s ear drums to
the point of hurting them. He didn’t care if he was going to be deaf by the
time he was 50. It was 1989, he was 16 going on 17 and was ready to live in the
moment, because one day he could be on a dancefloor, and the next he could be
lying dead on said dancefloor.
That’s why Arthur forgot about his fears of crushing on Eames and just pumped
his fist and flung his head every which way. He didn’t know a single word the
vocalists sang, but tried to sing along anyways. He’d almost forgotten Eames
was even there.
There was no telling if Eames enjoyed it or not at first. He sort of just stood
there, his eyes wide and curious. But soon, the man started bobbing his head
and when the ground floor became more packed, everyone began to push one
another. Eames wasn’t keen on this, nearly decking a man square in the face for
shoving him.
“Eames! It’s punk! Live a little!” Arthur was actually saying this. He rarely
ever let loose like this, not since his time with Anthony.
And he was actually pushing Eames and Eames’ hands were actually shoving Arthur
back.
Suddenly he couldn’t stop smiling and it seemed like Eames couldn’t either.
It felt like old times.
--
Arthur suffered a good ache as he opened the door of Eames’ car, lifting his
legs out of the vehicle. He turned to Eames and smiled. “Thanks for tonight
man. I really had fun. I didn’t even have to get high.”
“I had fun too, darling.” The way Eames said that, so low and rumbly; and the
way his eyes twinkled in the dark from the light of the streetlight above made
Arthur’s heart skip. This shit felt like Purple Rain; all they needed was a
Prince record to be on the radio.
Arthur nodded nervously, turning finally to get out of the car. He pushed the
door closed, but before he could lean in and say one final goodbye, Eames had
called out to him.
“Wait, I’ve something to give you,” Eames said, reaching into the glove
compartment to pull out a small pad of memo paper. The young man scribbled
something down and ripped the page out, handing it over by the tips of his two
fingers.
“My telephone number. Dial me sometime, yeah?”
Arthur held the paper in his hands as if it were a handful of robin eggs. He
feared the sheet would suddenly turn to dust. It was unreal; this really DID
feel like a movie, not real life. Arthur’s hands shook horribly, so he quickly
folded the note and stuffed it into his back pocket.
“Yeah, sure.”
Eames smiled at this, happy. “Maybe... maybe we could hang out more. Just the
two of us? We shouldn’t always have to depend on Mal to organize outings. Plus,
I don’t think Dom likes me very much.”
Arthur didn’t trust the reliability of his own vocal cords at the moment, so he
just nodded at first.
“Dom is territorial. He’s just afraid of you is all.”
“Nonsense. What a silly boy.”
“Goodnight Mr. Eames,” Arthur said, grinning.
“Oy! Don’t call me mister Eames.”
Arthur felt tension twist away for a moment. He laughed. “Why not?”
“It’s creepy, innt? I’m not that much older!”
Arthur hadn’t really thought of their age difference and didn’t intend to give
a rat’s ass about it. He shrugged, beginning to smirk when he thought of the
perfect comeback. “I won’t call you mister if you don’t call me darling.”
Eames scoffed, his pillowy lips hanging open deliciously. Those lips deserved
to be wrapped around a cock, any cock. Arthur choked the lewd thought away when
Eames reached into the dashboard and fetched his Ray-Ban aviators.
“Whatever you say, darling.”
Arthur felt the smile that bulldozed its way to his face and when Eames
mirrored it, he could feel his heart growing one or two sizes larger.
“Sunglasses... at night?”
“Don’t switch the blade on the guy in shades, oh no!” Eames sang, his smile
wide and toothy.
“Goodnight, Mr. Eames.” Arthur stepped back from the car laughing joyfully and
waved goodbye.
He stood in the street and watched as Eames’ loud Trans Am turned and
disappeared around the block.
Arthur’s heart fluttered with a danger zone crush, almost too large for his
chest to contain. It was on the brink of actually bursting wide open.
Eames had given him his number and even asked to hang out one-on-one. What did
this mean exactly? Probably nothing. No, it was definitely nothing -- at least
the kind of nothing that meant that Eames had zero sexual interest in Arthur.
But tonight... tonight just felt so good.
‘Eames is just being friendly! And he’s straight, Arthur!’ He could hear
Mallorie saying it already.
Nonetheless, the night made Arthur deliriously happy.
--
He came home to a dark house. His father was gone, probably at work, and his
mother had fallen asleep in the Lay-Z-Boy in front of the television, which was
unusual. The tv was still on with only the standby screen showing.
Arthur pulled the remote from her hand and shut the television off. He tossed a
quilt over his mother’s sleeping form and made his way upstairs quickly.
The stink of booze, cigars and cigarettes clung to his skin, so he stripped
himself naked and went into the shower.
The water was just hot enough and soon the smell was gone, replaced by Irish
Spring. He hummed his favorite Clash song, ‘Rock the Casbah’ as he washed the
night’s dirt from his body. One of the bands at the concert had covered the
song. Their version was rough and not as dancey, but it was good enough.
Arthur remembered the way Eames turned to him and said, “I quite like this.” It
was pretty much the penultimate moment of the night, ending with Eames giving
Arthur his number.
Even thinking about Eames in an innocent way made him mad with desire. Arthur
touched himself, arching his back against the pounding water. His thin frame
bent under the stream, sun golden skin smooth and milky. He snaked a hand under
his ball sack and pretended that his fingers were Eames’.
He lathered himself and rubbed the outside of his hole, knowing from experience
that soap stung like crazy if he got any inside. He only played with the
exterior, that being quite enough. He occupied the area with his left hand and
then brought his right soapy hand to his right nipple, pinching and rubbing it
until it was hard.
Arthur closed his eyes, breathing through his nose as he imagined Eames doing
all of this and imagined his thick lips on his neck -- pictured the lips
traveling slowly, parting every once and awhile to flick out a tongue to taste
Arthur’s freshly cleaned skin, to lick a freckle or to bite a collarbone.
He jerked himself to completion faster than he’d wanted to and he came harder
than usual.
Fantasy Eames was good, but he knew real Eames would probably be phenomenal.
Jerking off to the other man made Arthur feel guilty; not because he was
against such things. He knew that people fantasized all the time about other
people and celebrities -- that wasn’t the issue.
It was the promise he’d made to himself and Mal that gave him that rotten,
guilty feeling. Above all else though, it was dangerous.
--
Arthur hid Eames’ number inside the dirty magazine under his mattress. It
seemed fitting, as Eames was yet another unobtainable man, just like the models
in that book.
It was quite the feat, avoiding mentioning Eames to his mom. He wanted to talk
about him so badly, but knew that he shouldn’t stir that pot, not now, not
ever.
It was unavoidable with Mal though, but he reassured her that they had a blast
and that everything was fine with him and his feelings. He did however neglect
to mention that he now had the man’s phone number.
“I don’t really like him as much now. I mean, he seems more like a friend, you
know?”
Mal didn’t buy that crap anymore than Arthur did.
--
The day they’d go to Skate Land chugged closer, but slowly.
Home felt like the graveyard in Night of the Living Dead these days. Neither of
his parents spoke much, zombified by their obvious contempt for one another.
Arthur began to worry that something rather big had happened, but the joy and
the mystique of hanging out with Eames distracted him enough to not wallow in
despair.
The day before Skate Land, Eames happened to be in the area on ‘business’. He’d
stopped by unannounced on Arthur’s doorstep, hair soaking wet, as well as his
N.W.A. shirt and his black jeans that were a bit more form fitting than usual.
Ice Cube, Dr. Dre and the rest of the rap group all stared back at Arthur from
the T-shirt with a look of rough intimidation, which was laughably the opposite
of Eames. The juxtaposition of Eames’ real personality vs. how he hamfistedly
attempted to appear ‘hard’ or ‘gangsta’ was embarrassingly charming to Arthur.
“What the hell Eames? You don’t have an umbrella? Get inside!”
No one was home, so Arthur didn’t care that Eames came in, tracking the water
on his shoes against the hardwood floor.
“Wait here, let me get you a towel.”
Arthur returned from the basement, handing Eames a big warm brown towel. “Fresh
from the dryer.”
“Thanks,” Eames said, covering his face with the cloth. “I parked down the
street, but then I remembered I left the keys in the damned ignition.”
“You locked yourself out?”
The cloth was away from his face and then on his neck, drying the dripping
water there. Eames made a pained look on his face and nodded morosely. “‘Fraid
so.”
Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, wondering what to do.
Johnny barked and came barrelling down the stairs towards Eames, his tail
wagging wildly. Eames turned and crouched down low to the ground, allowing the
dog to jump and lick all over him.
“Down Johnny! Leave him alone!”
“Leave it. I quite fancy the fella. He’s much happier outside his cage.”
“How’d you know that?” Arthur asked, suspicious and on the verge of panic,
though he already realized there was a perfectly good explanation.
“That night you were ill. I went down to the basement to toss your bedsheets
into the washer. Poor pup was all locked up and alone down there.”
Arthur immediately calmed himself, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “My dad
hates having him run all over the place, so he locks him up down there. I try
to let him out every chance I get.”
“Your parents home?”
“No.” The question sounded like a proposal and made Arthur’s face hot. He
prayed he wasn’t blushing. Arthur had seen too many teenage dramas where that
question meant that they were about to get it on.
“What’s your name buddy? Hmm?” Eames asked the dog, rubbing his own cold nose
against the animal’s.
“Johnny.”
Eames’ jaw dropped, seeming genuinely surprised. “Arthur! Did you know your dog
can talk? Blimey! I’m sure he’d get first place at the Kennel Club Dog Show in
London. I’ll drag you down to Aylesbury myself!”
Arthur laughed, the sexual tension shattering with each hitch, “Wow, that was
pretty lame, I have to say.”
“Suppose my charms don’t work on everyone,” Eames smiled that amazing smile of
his and his the skin around his eyes wrinkled, almost seeming to close.
Arthur watched Johnny play around with Eames until the dog got bored and wanted
more active play that Eames hadn’t signed up for.
“We have some wire clothes hangers in the basement. Maybe you could unlock it
yourself?”
Eames shook his head, “I’ll have to ring AAA. A wire hanger would scuff up the
paint job on my door. Besides, my family pays for the roadside service; I’ve
yet to use it.”
--
It turned out that it would take AAA a good thirty minutes, so Arthur had Eames
inside his house, all alone. This unsurprisingly put him on edge. Eames had
taken his shoes off and started inviting himself inside, looking at their
family photos on top of the television.
“Aw, is this one of you? The little one with the santa jumper?” Eames pointed
to a small kid in his mother’s arms, looking grumpy and weepy eyed.
“I had a cold, so my mom says,” Arthur explained, standing by Eames’ side. He
hadn’t looked at the photos in ages. He’d almost forgotten that they existed.
“Is that Anthony?” Eames pointed at the kid with missing front teeth and a bad
bowl cut.
“Did my mom tell you about him?”
“Yeah. She mentioned you two were close.” Eames sat the picture down and
reached for another, this time one with only Arthur. It was more recent, though
he still looked a lot younger.
“Did she mention anything else?”
Eames looked away from the framed photo in his head and eyed Arthur. “Are you
upset that she told me?”
Arthur hadn’t realized that his tone was so tight and serious. He didn’t mean
to come across that way. “No. No, I’m just --, do you want something to drink?
Tea?”
“Sorry, I haven’t the stomach for American tea. You’ve got any Coke?”
Arthur lowered his eyelids, finding Eames’ snobbery vaguely amusing. “I’m sure
we’ve got something for your refined taste buds.”
--
The two chatted a bit in the kitchen while Eames nursed a glass bottle of Coke.
Eames could tell that family was a touchy subject, so he ambled around the
topic like a swift moving cat, catching every subject change that moved in that
‘home’ territory as if they were mice.
Eames had no qualms about speaking poorly of his own family.  
“My parents are wankers, bless them.”
“They pay for college and everything though, don’t they? Can’t be too bad.”
“Money’s never been the thing I wanted from them.”
“Sounds like something a spoiled brat would say.” Word vomit. Arthur hated how
he didn’t think before he spoke. Eames probably thought he was an asshole.
Eames’ face broke into a slow grin and the older boy winked at him. “Nothing
gets past you Arthur, now does it?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Go on then.”
Arthur hesitated, wanting to make sure the wording was right, more importantly,
the tone.
“Back when we were on our way to the Silverdome, you said that I seemed more of
a Depeche Mode type of guy. What did you mean by that exactly?”
The man laughed, shaking his head, “Hell, you remembered that?”
“And you don’t?” Arthur began to feel self-conscious.
Eames shrugged, suddenly uneasy looking, though he quickly hid it with a
disarming smile. “I dunno. Just, you seemed... sad; melancholy, really.”
“How so?”
Eames shrugged again, raising his eyebrows, “Just a feeling.”
Arthur didn’t say anything back.
“You know,” Eames said, turning the Coke bottle up to take a big gulp. “I never
thought you’d unwind like you did at the concert. I was quite surprised.”
Arthur’s face heated; he knew he was probably blushing. “I uh... I guess I just
love music, you know? It’s the one thing I can trust to never disappoint me.”
The Brit nodded at that, biting at his top lip. Eames wanted to say something
maybe, but only sipped at his cola.
The doorbell rang and the AAA employee was outside the front door, wet and
miserable.
--
Eames left almost immediately after the AAA worker got him into his car.
“I’d only meant to stop by briefly anyways,” Eames said, pulling out a pack of
smokes from his glove compartment. “Thanks for letting me stay longer than my
welcome.”
“No, man. You’re always welcome.” Arthur wanted to wince, but gripped the
handle of his umbrella instead.
Eames smiled brightly at this. He pulled out a lighter and lit his cigarette,
tossing the lighter into the dashboard of the car, sandwiching it between the
windshield. He took a long draw and pressed the smoke out, grinning. “You’re
alright Arthur. ….I’ll see you tomorrow.” He slapped on his dark aviators,
still grinning cockily.
“Right,” Arthur said, a little breathless and juvenile.
Eames sped off and turned the corner sharply, causing the tires to squeal
loudly. Arthur smirked.
“Show off.”
--
Skate Land #2 was a dump that was stuck in the 60s; it smelled like stale
popcorn and vaguely of slightly spoiled Ensure. Arthur had no idea why it was
still being called number “2” when Skate Land #1 went out of business years
ago. They at least had a nice arcade, which was why people really came to Skate
Land. It pretty much had the best arcade selection in the Detroit area. If you
wanted a better experience you’d have to drive up to East Lansing to the
Butterfly.
--
Today was going to be rough, he could already tell. He contemplated faking sick
to avoid coming, but the promise of seeing Eames was much too great to pass up.
When Dom, Mal and Arthur arrived, they claimed a spot near the entrance,
renting out two large sized lockers for everyone’s shoes. Only a few of Dom’s
football buddies had shown up on time, no surprise there.
“Damn it. This locker is busted,” Dom said, noticing the door wouldn’t lock.
“Hey babe, go tell the guy at the desk that locker 1450 doesn’t work.” He
tossed her the stubby locker key and winked at her.
She smiled back, striding over to the customer service desk.
“Hey Artie, come here, I wanna show you something.”
Arthur tossed his shoes in the neighboring locker before leaning over to watch
as Dom pulled a small black box from his pocket. He gasped, covering his mouth.
“Cool your jets, I haven’t even opened it yet!”
Dom clicked back the top cover and revealed a small gold band with a decently
sized diamond jewel in the middle.  
“You didn’t! You’re not!” Arthur exclaimed, looking around for Mal who was
still chatting with the clerk about the broken locker door. “Is that a real
diamond?”
“Zirconium. I’ll get her a real diamond when we’re actually married. I’m going
to propose tonight,” Dom said, his face red and childlike.
“Here? In this dump? You’re joking right? This is a joke.”
“It’s where we first met!” Dom explained defensively, turning to look over his
shoulder as Mal began to skip over from the customer service desk with a new
key in her fingertips. “Swear to me that you won’t tell her anything!”
“Why the fuck did you even tell me?” Arthur asked, suddenly panicky and feeling
as though he was going to sweat. “Now I’ve got a huge secret to hold all day.”
 
“Because you’re my best friend, god damn it. I had to tell someone!”
Arthur smiled, clapping a hand on the other’s back. Although he thought it was
a terrible idea, Arthur ultimately was touched by it all.
“Did you tell her about Florida yet?” Arthur mumbled when Mal returned,
dangling a key in Dom’s face for a new locker.
Dom gave him a look that definitely meant he hadn’t.
--
The roller rink wasn’t busy yet, but the carpeted area was mildly populated
right now as everyone waited for the rink to open. Some generic, trash pop
songs were playing and normally this would put Arthur in an even more irritated
mood, but thanks to Dom’s big bombshell he was properly distracted. He’d have
to sustain Thomas and Nash on top of surviving Skate Land’s DJ Maxxy and his
terrible taste in music.
Mal and Arthur sat on the large round seat that was designed for quick rests
while you were on wheels. The fabric on the seat felt rough though, and
corduroy, like the couches in dentist offices.
“Look, I know you hate Tom and Nash, but please do try to tolerate them
tonight,” Mal asked, pushing down the buckles on her white and pink
rollerblades. She wore a pair of high waisted acid washed Jordache jeans and a
tucked in Control era Janet Jackson shirt. The look would have been achingly
‘pedestrian’ on anyone else. “We don’t want this to be Dom’s birthday party
part deux.”
“Tolerate?” Arthur said loudly at first, and then again in a whisper. “I’ve
been tolerating those bastards for years now! If they say or do anything I
don’t like tonight, I don’t know if I can keep my mouth shut like usual.”
“Like usual? Do you remember Dom’s birthday party, because I still do. Please
Arthur. Do we really need any drama? Do we?”
Arthur angrily buckled the last plastic strap on his rollerblade. God she was
lucky he was about to be super happy for her (although he still maintained that
it was a terrible idea for them to get engaged like this), lest he be
especially ticked off. “Whatever. As long as they don’t do anything to me, I
won’t have any reason to freak out on them.”
Mal pursed her lips and pushed off of her seat to join Dom by the lockers, but
not before raising a delicate hand to Arthur’s cheek. A few more of his friends
had shown up, all beefy and dumb. Nick Allen had come and pretended as though
Arthur didn’t exist.
Arthur and Nick used to screw around in the 10th grade behind the bleachers in
all their stereotypical teenage glory. One day Nick just stopped coming around.
Arthur never really gave a shit about it, he just wished that the boy had given
him a reason of some kind, at least so they could stop the awkwardness.
Then there was Dustin Wachowski who Arthur occasionally let suck his cock if
they were both wasted at the same party. Dustin of course ducked his head and
looked the other way whenever they saw each other.
This was why Arthur hated being around many of Dom’s other friends. He had too
much bad history with these weird, closeted assholes. Why he wasted his time
with them in the first place was a mystery. But not really.
Humans and their undeniable needs.
Arthur had a choice now, though. He could let this night turn into crap, or he
could take charge of it and enjoy himself. Eames would probably be there any
minute now, so Arthur focused on that, although it made him feel guilty again.
Truth be told, he’d already given up on hopping off this train, but it was
still slow moving, he could still jump off.
Eames and Ariadne arrived no less than ten minutes later. Eames was dressed up
in a simple black tee and blue jeans that actually fit him. He still had his
silver herringbone necklace on though. The Englishman had come dressed simply,
which Arthur admittedly liked more than the somewhat ridiculous Adidas jumpsuit
he’d worn at the bowling alley. Ariadne on the other hand looked... interesting
-- to say the least.  
“If I look like a slut, then that’s great, because I’m trying to get laid
tonight.”
Ariadne sauntered over, tossing her bag near Arthur. Her face was painted like
a porn actress; Arthur wondered who had done that for her, couldn’t have been
Eames. With a pair of Daisy Dukes, a skimpy white tube top and teased hair, she
was serving some Hooters Waitress realness.
Arthur raised his eyebrows, laughing. “Um, new look?”
“No, seriously. I’ve got some mad blue-clit.”
Eames’ face screwed up and he slapped the girl on her shoulder with the back of
his hand. “Alright, belt up about all this clit business -- blue-clit, red-
clit, whatever, just stop.” Eames was chuckling as he strode over and took a
seat next to Arthur.
“What’s wrong Eames, afraid of a little pussy?” Ariadne stuck her tongue out at
him and punched the taller man in his arm before sitting down on the other side
of Arthur.
Arthur enjoyed their horseplay, suddenly aware of the sheer lack of sexual
chemistry between them. He was even more sure of Ariadne’s lesbian nature, but
he still didn’t have the balls to ask her. It still didn’t mean he had a chance
with Eames though, he had to remember.
“She lost a bet with me last night. This is her punishment,” Eames explained,
grinning.
“What was the bet?”
Ariadne sighed, tossing her arm around Arthur’s shoulder. His body tensed, not
at all used to this sort of contact with anyone other than Mal.
“Best not to bother yourself with these grown up things.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to say something, but was
interrupted by Mal who had skated over and thrown herself into Eames’ arms. Mal
was extremely affectionate with just about anyone, Arthur knew this, but his
initial reaction to the scene before him was embarrassing jealousy.
“Eames, you came!”
“Of course I came! I said I would, didn’t I?”
Mal let go and smiled fondly. “I know, but people flake all the time.”
“Well this one never does,” Ariadne added, reaching for her bag. “One of the
reasons why I love ‘im.”
“Oh... hello Ariadne.... Nice outfit.” Mal’s eyes scanned the girl’s clothes,
or lack thereof.
Ariadne sighed, pulling out a pair of black roller skates. “Don’t get too used
to the whore costume. It’s only for tonight.”
Arthur chuckled at this. Suddenly the music got louder and a booming voice over
the PA system announced that the skating floor had been opened. The ground lit
up and a dozen or so lazers began scribbling everywhere, some with patterns
like flowers or shapes on the walls.
“Come on Artie, let’s skate!” Mal reached forward and yanked him up from his
seat.
Arthur resisted for a short pause, “You skating Eames?”
Eames nodded, pulling out his own pair of roller skates from his bag. “I’ll
meet you out there.”
--
The DJ got things started with ‘Safety Dance’ which Arthur didn’t mind so much
because he actually quite liked the song. But then the songs remained pretty
decent and even edged on being pretty damn awesome. DJ Maxxy either obtained a
better taste in music, or Arthur’s own taste was deteriorating. Hanging out
with Mallorie so much, he wouldn’t be surprised if her shameless obsession with
pop music had some influence.
Mal wasn’t great at skating, so Arthur made sure to keep the speed low. That
got old though, so he pulled out a few of his tricks he learned from playing
street hockey with the neighborhood kids. He rollerbladed hard, turning the
corners easily. He pushed against the floor, loving the swoosh of air that
caught under his shirt as he gained speed. He double and triple lapped Mal
until she’d had enough and skated off the rink to find Dom.
Ariadne and Eames joined just as ‘Sweet Dreams’ slinked in. The two of them
were probably the only people on the floor with roller skates on; everyone else
had gone the way of rollerblades. Arthur tried roller skates once or twice, but
he didn’t like it. You couldn’t get the speed you could on blades.
“Looking good out there!” Eames shouted over the booming audio.
Arthur smiled, stopping in front of them. “Thanks.”
“Come on, we can’t just stand in the way of these people,” Ariadne said,
skating ahead.
Eames gave him a private grin and took off after her.
Ariadne and Eames looked quite elegant together, twirling and twisting as if
they were figure skaters. Arthur rollerbladed nearby, just watching in awe as
the two of them danced and spun effortlessly. Eames crouched down and waited as
Ariadne skated up from behind. She reached under him with one long arm and
Eames grabbed the girl’s hand, standing up before pulling her under his legs
smoothly and then spinning her around by the same hand.
“You guys are fucking amazing!” Mal yelled from beyond the rink.
Arthur looked over and noticed that all of Dom’s friends had arrived and were
inching out on the skating floor. Terrible hatred seized him when he caught
Nash amongst them; he hadn’t seen Thomas though, so that was good. He left
Eames and Ariadne’s side to start skating hard again. If he skated fast enough
he’d probably get tired and have to sit down soon.
Arthur paid the jocks no mind as he quickly passed by them, wanting to close
his eyes whenever he neared Nash. He rolled on his wheels conservatively for a
moment to catch his breath, positioning himself right behind Nash. The bastard
still had his gross, long greasy black hair that Arthur hated so much. He
fantasized about cutting it all off with a few snips from a pair of scissors,
right there on the rink.
Nash turned round, double taking when he saw Arthur. He smiled, baring white
teeth at him. The footballer slowed down to skate side by side.
‘Ey there Artie. How’s it going?”
“Was going great, right up until you showed up.” Arthur spat, skating a bit
harder. Okay, he knew he probably shouldn’t start off his conversation with
Nash on a bad note, but fuck, it would end up going in this direction anyways.
Nash skated harder as well, chuckling.
“Butthurt, like always. You still that stick in the mud I remember you to be?”
“You just saw me in March. Pretty sure I haven’t changed since then.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right! At Dom’s birthday party. You had that prissy, tight
mouthed look on your face that you have on right now, right before you made a
scene.”
“Fuck you Nash.”
Nash laughed, skating as hard as Arthur did, but with less effort it seemed.
Arthur hated athletes.
“So,” Nash began as he moved so close that he and Arthur almost touched. “I was
thinking about you recently... you know, about that time in the 7th grade.”
Arthur felt something explode in him, an anger he rarely indulged in. “Fuck off
you sack of shit!” he bellowed, wanting so much to punch Nash in his stupid
oily face.
Arthur ducked his head and pushed his rollerblades against the floor until the
people around him were simply blurs in his peripheral view.
He despised Nash with every inch of himself. Probably the only person he hated
more than his dad.
He pushed onward until he was out of breath and properly tired. He skated to
the far end of the building where a slightly hidden seating area was located
and flopped atop the big, round seat. Arthur scooted up until his rollerblades
were off the ground.
Behind closed eyes Arthur calmed himself and his breathing, not realizing how
deep his displeasure with Nash was. He just wanted a sliver of peace, so he
laid there, distantly trying to enjoy the music. He’d all but forgotten Eames
was there, but when he heard the man’s voice calling his name he could feel the
stress melt off like butter to a hot pan. Arthur sat up, rubbing his eyes
because he knew he probably had a wild look about him.
“Is everything alright?” Eames asked, skating smoothly across the carpet and
spinning once before flopping next to Arthur.
“Just some asshole on the floor pissed me off.”
“I saw. I think the entire building heard you tell him off proper,” Eames said,
his body hitching as he laughed. Arthur looked over his shoulder, quite
enjoying the view. Eames’ arms were behind his head and his black tee was
rising up, revealing a sandy brown happy trail. “Who was that kid anyways?”
“Nash,” Arthur said with obvious venom. Mentioning him alone gave Arthur a
reverse boner. “We have a long history, but long story short, he made my life a
living hell for an entire year and now I pretty much hate his guts.”
Eames didn’t say anything for a moment, just let Arthur stew in his angry pit,
which the teenager was grateful for. Sometimes Mal poked and prodded him to
keep talking, but most of the time he just needed a pause, just a moment to put
everything back together in his head.   
But then Eames perked up. “Come, let’s go to the arcade!” He pulled at Arthur’s
arm, his grip around the thin boy’s bicep.  They were on the carpet, skating
roughly past people, the trip to the arcade suddenly a race. Arthur won, but
didn’t gloat, nor was Eames a sore loser. He came up behind the boy and clapped
his hands on Arthur’s shoulders.
“You’re fast,” Eames breathed into his ear, making him shiver.
The arcade was a long room with big windows on the left that gave you a view of
the skating rink. Digital 8-bit music filled the room, as did the smell of
cheap pizza and burnt popcorn. The best collection of arcade machines covered
the place, wall to wall with Arthur’s favorite games. Donkey Kong, Street
Fighter, Dragon’s Lair, Dr. Do! and of course Ms. Pac-Man.
Eames rolled over to the change machine and slipped in a five dollar bill
without a word. He scooped the tokens into a red cup and cocked his head for
Arthur to follow.
Arthur’s heart thumped in his chest, more excited than he ought to be for a
private moment with Eames. This was what he desired most, just casual fun. Oh,
and for Eames to maybe bend him over an arcade machine and fuck him so hard his
body jiggled like a marionette. But, yes, the bonding moments were important
too.
Eames didn’t even bother hemming and hawing on which game they’d play; they
immediately skated up to the Double Dragon machine. Normally Arthur would get
pissy about not having any say, but today he just wanted to be guided -
- anything to distract himself.
Eames pushed the coins into the slots for the both of them. “Come on, let’s
play a beat-em up and you can imagine the enemies are Nash.”
Arthur laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed the joystick and rested his
fingers on the buttons. “I’ll probably need the real thing to satisfy my
bloodlust, but this’ll do for now.”
They played the challenging video game, laughing and screaming in frustration
while burning through several tokens to gain retries. Before long, the two of
them found a groove and started advancing through the stages with more ease and
more confidence. They used up the entire cup of tokens by the end, but the last
boss was the cheapest Arthur had ever seen.
“Bollocks!” Eames cried out when his last life had been used up. In big red
letters ‘Game Over’ was plastered on the screen like a trophy of shame.
“Ariadne always carries us through the end. I’ve never been able to beat that
bastard on my own.”
“Ariadne likes video games?” Arthur asked, both surprised and amused.
“She’s fucking obsessed with them. Surprised she’s not here right now.”
“I am,” came the girl’s voice from behind. She was playing Street Fighter,
mashing the buttons and jerking the joystick in quick, sharp directions. “I’ve
been here for the last thirty minutes.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Arthur asked, creeped out that he hadn’t noticed
her.
“I didn’t want to interrupt your date.”
“It’s nothing of the sort. Arthur just needed a break,” Eames explained.
Arthur felt his face turning red, wishing so very much that it was a date.
That train of unrequited love was moving faster.
Eames scratched the back of his head, eying Arthur sheepishly. “Well... what do
you want to do now? Want to go back on the floor?”  
Arthur nodded, figuring he ought to make a real effort to hang out with Mal and
Dom, regardless of Nash being there.
“Well, we’re going to leave now. Have fun with your digital friends,” Eames
said to Ariadne before skating away, which prompted a stiff middle finger
gesture from her.
--
“I’ve got to pee,” Arthur said once they were out on the carpet.
“Alright, let’s go then.”
They skated over to the bathroom in silence, the air between them strange after
their encounter with Ariadne. Arthur frantically wondered why, but busied
himself with not running into Nash again.
He asked Eames to wait for him outside the door (he couldn’t imagine pissing in
the same room as Eames), so the man did.
The floor of the bathroom was bumpy with tiny square tiles that covered every
inch of the ground. The place rank of sour piss and mildew, though it seemed
clean enough. Arthur skated over to the urinals and balanced himself as he
unzipped his pants and started to pee. He heard a toilet flush, a stall door
opening, and then the sound of rollerblades approaching him from behind.
“You’re so predictable,” came Nash’s voice.
Arthur clenched his eyes shut, begging himself to make it through the encounter
without a fight.
“You reacted exactly the way I expected. Just like last time.”
“Fuck off Nash.”
The footballer paused and for a second Arthur thought he had resigned and would
leave.
“It’s funny we run into each other in a bathroom, of all places right? Bring
back any fond memories?” Nash’s voice had grown close; Arthur could feel his
hot breath on his neck.
Arthur sighed, shaking his cock before tucking it back into his underwear. He
zipped up and spun around to face the ugly asshole behind him. “Listen. I want
nothing to do with you, alright? So do us both a huge favor by fucking off.”
“Come on, you can’t really hate me all that much,” Nash said, his voice low and
oddly soft, though he wore a smug grin that couldn’t fool Arthur.
Arthur rolled his eyes, “You tormented me for years and now you expect me to
fool around with you in another bathroom? Fuck off!” the boy made to skate
around Nash to wash his hands at the sink, but the other teenager shifted to
the side, blocking his way.
“Out of my way Nash,” Arthur warned stiffly. Anger bubbled under his skin,
building so fast it scared him; he didn’t want to have to hurt Nash. Okay,
maybe he did.
“No. Not until you talk to me first.”
Arthur was fuming, clenching his jaw. “If you don’t get out of my way in the
next five seconds, I’m going to punch you in the face.”
Nash laughed, holding his arm over his stomach. “You? Punch me? Yeah, right.
You’re too much of a pussy.”
“One,” Arthur ground out behind clenched teeth, heat seizing his face, making
him sweat.
Nash crossed his arms and smiled in that stupid, infuriatingly smug way he’d
perfected over the years.
“Two.”
“Three.”
Nash laughed, moving closer, beginning to unzip his pants.
“Four!” Arthur bellowed, clenching his fists and staring Nash in the eye.
“Come on Artie, don’t be a prick about it. Just... suck on it a little.”
“Five!” Arthur bellowed, his fist connecting with Nash’s face so fast that it
didn’t register that he’d actually hit the other boy until he was sprawled out
on the floor holding his eye.
“What the fuck?” Nash yelled, covering his left eye with an open palm. “You’re
a dead man.”
Nash was on his feet swiftly, but Arthur was ready for him. Arthur swung
another punch, but it missed when his rollerblades shifted under him. He’d
never fought before on wheels; this was embarrassing. While he gathered his
balance, Nash suddenly was on him, slamming him into the urinal behind. Arthur
could feel the flowing water from the urinal wetting his back as Nash punched
him in his sides, hitting his ribs harshly.
Arthur fought back, struggling to punch the other boy, but he was pinned and
hadn’t the room to swing properly. Nash pulled him from the wall of urinals and
then slammed him against it again. The rounded porcelain fixture chopped into
Arthur’s back and he yelped out in pain. Nash clenched a fistfull of Arthur’s
shirt and wound his arm back to deck him square in the face, but suddenly Eames
was there, yanking Nash away.
The two boys wrestled each other to the ground, but Eames was much stronger.
Soon, Eames was on top of Nash and with one well placed punch to the face, Nash
was out cold.
Arthur was breathing hard against the wall, feeling his hand shake with pain.
He looked down at it and the knuckles had already begun to bruise. He was
amazed that he still managed to stand on his rollerblades with his legs shaking
like they did.
“Are you okay?” Eames asked, his voice trembling from the adrenaline coursing
through him. His breathing was labored as he still sat atop Nash’s unconscious
body.
Arthur nodded, unclenching his sore fist. He eyed the boy under Eames, watching
the blood beginning to drip from his nostrils.
Eames pressed his lips together and got to his feet, sliding around until he
caught balance.
Arthur glared at Nash’s body on the floor and privately fantasized about him
being dead, wondering what he’d do in this very moment. Eames skated over to
him, boxing the younger man in. He placed his left arm over Arthur’s shoulder,
splaying an open hand on the wall to rest his weight on.  
“Did he hurt you?” Eames asked, reaching forward to graze his knuckles across
the purpling bruise that started to form on Arthur’s neck.
Arthur could feel every hair raise on end. What the hell was Eames doing?
Eames’ muscled chest heaved quickly, unbearably close. “No. Not really. Not
yet, anyways.”
“I heard you yell and then there was a scuffle. I had to investigate.”
“Thank you,” Arthur swallowed, gulping a mouthful of air. His skin had gone
goose-like under Eames’ touch, somehow shivering, although his body felt
hundreds of degrees too hot.
Eames swallowed too; Arthur watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat,
desiring so very much to press his lips to it. Eames dropped his hand and
finally evened out his breathing.
“That’s the second time you’ve saved me,” Arthur finally said, sounding drowsy
and/or drunk. His brain felt so damned cloudy; how he managed sentences in this
state was beyond him.
Eames smiled broadly. “No worries, pet. It’s my pleasure.”
The older man seemed to roll his feet even closer. Arthur could smell his
breath, sweet peppermint, and there was a whiff of Boss cologne that Arthur
hadn’t noticed before. Stupid, unrelenting lust seized Arthur. He couldn’t stop
himself from doing it, but his hand animated on its own and pulled Eames’ hand
up, examining the reddened knuckles where he’d punched Nash hard.
“Does it hurt?” Arthur’s heart was beating so hard in his ears he could barely
hear himself speak. His throat was sandpaper and his brain felt as though
someone had tossed it into a blender and pressed ‘puree’.
Eames made some low guttural noise Arthur had never heard before. The man was
visibly nervous. Mind numbing adrenaline swept over Arthur as Eames’ eyes
fixated on his lips. Arthur’s gaze stayed trained on Eames’ mouth, the two
plump, fleshy lips shiny with spit because Eames had just flicked out a pink
tongue to moisten them.
Why were they still standing there like this: Eames staring at him with
something on his mind, Arthur standing stiffly like a cornered animal with a
million things on his; like for instance, wondering what would happen if he
were to crash his lips against Eames and if it would turn into a movie moment
where Eames would kick open a bathroom stall and have him right there.
There was no way that if Eames were straight he would be standing so close to
Arthur that their noses were mere inches apart. If Eames were straight, his
left hand wouldn’t be on Arthur’s hip, nor would his damaged hand be on the
boy’s neck, cupping it gently.  
Blind terror seized Arthur, his body becoming a Sears mannequin frozen in an
upright pose as Eames stared into his eyes, a shade of a grin forming on the
man’s lips.
“Mr. Eames?” Arthur managed weakly. He wasn’t sure why he called him ‘Mister’,
and couldn’t even begin to really think about much of anything else because
then Eames’ mouth was on his and they were sharing a kiss.
Arthur imagined these things happening in slow motion. He imagined all dramatic
things happened slowly, but this was fast, rough and was over before he could
even register that Eames’ lips were on his.
When Eames broke the kiss, the two of them were panting doggishly, the
Englishman’s right hand brushing the side of Arthur’s head, fingering through
his short brown strands. Eames’ chest was heaving and his face was beet red.
Numb was the perfect word to describe Arthur at that moment. Numb and in shock.
He wasn’t even horny like he knew he ought to be. Being horny would require
blood flow, which he seemed to lack currently, because his heart stopped
beating ages ago. He couldn’t even remember the warmth of Eames’ mouth.
“Fuck!” Eames said suddenly, which brought Arthur back down to earth.
“Yeah,” Arthur breathed out, though he wasn’t sure what he was co-signing to.
Eames abruptly pulled away, an open palm on his forehead which he slid back to
push his short brown hair down.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
Arthur was still panting hard, his legs weak and brittle feeling. He gulped
down some air before shakily responding, “What was that anyway?”
Eames shook his head and turned away. He skated across the floor and knelt down
over Nash’s head. “Come help me pick this poor sod up before someone comes in.”
It felt like rejection. Arthur battled with himself on what his next reaction
should be. There were several plans of action, but what he really wanted to do
was skate over there, pull Eames away from Nash’s unconscious body and kiss him
properly and then see if Eames would still say, ‘We shouldn’t have done that.’
Eames stared at him pointedly, flexing his jaw, “Come on Artie. Someone could
come in any second now!”
“You weren’t worried about that a moment ago,” Arthur said, testing his legs.
Eames sighed at the remark while he hooked his arms under Nash’s armpits.
“We’ll talk about it later. I know I owe you that at least.”
Arthur moved over to Nash’s feet and eyed Eames before bending over.
“Help me carry this sack of shit. He smells something awful.” Eames gave a
placating grin, and despite Arthur’s best efforts he couldn’t remain completely
vexed.  
Quickly they hauled the boy into one of the stalls and sat him on top of a
toilet. Eames and Arthur giggled nervously (or perhaps it was hysterically)
once Nash had been set just right with his arms crossed and his head down as if
he’d fallen asleep there.
Eames gathered some toilet paper and cleaned Nash’s face, stuffing his nose
with the tissue to stop the bleeding.
“I’ve got to tell Dom,” Arthur lemented.
“Tell him what?” Panic laced Eames’ voice.
Arthur eyed him, realizing that the Englishman was probably in the closet. “I
have to tell him about Nash. Besides, it’d be better if we tell him now instead
of Nash creating some fiction where the two of us ganged up on him.”
Eames sighed, nodding before taking one last look at the teenager on the
toilet.
“Fair enough.”
--
Dom reacted exactly how Arthur expected him to: Poorly.
They’d called him over from the rink to the floor, thankfully Mal hadn’t
followed. Arthur already felt bad that Dom’s happy face right now was going to
change dramatically.
Arthur explained the situation, and for a moment he thought perhaps Dom was
taking it better than he’d imagined, but that was only because Dominic hadn’t
quite believed what he was hearing. Arthur explained once again and that’s when
they finally got the reaction they’d been anticipating.
Dom was red faced and yelling at Arthur, jabbing his finger at him, reminding
him how he promised to keep the peace. Of course Arthur had to point out that
he never promised anything and that Nash had been an outright prick. It didn’t
help that Arthur too had grown upset because Dom ought to be on his side.
Eames had made an effort to vouch for him, only made matters worse.
“Why do you have to ruin everything Arthur? Why?”
Arthur knew why Dom was really upset. This was supposed to be the ‘big day’ for
him and Mal, but fuck, why must he suffer for their sake, especially when this
whole proposal thing was still a huge mistake?
“Didn’t you hear what he said? He said that it was Nash’s fault. He practically
jumped on him,” Eames chimed in, gesturing with an open hand towards Arthur.
“Where is he?” Dom asked. His mouth was pressed into a tense, and thin line. He
was definitely angry.
“In the last stall to the left,” Eames was unmoved by Dom’s potent anger, more
annoyed than anything else. His eyes stayed trained on Arthur, readying to
pounce and stop him from doing anything foolish.
“You’re both lucky I’m team captain, or all of those footballers,” Dom pointed
with his thumb over his shoulder at the group of boys on the roller rink,
“would rip you to shreds.”
Eames chuckled, “Like to see ‘em try.”
Dom glared at the man, sizing him up with eyes wild with rage while his
nostrils flared. “You know... I don’t think I like you very much.”
“That’s been made quite obvious from the start, sweetheart.” Eames was smiling,
but with contempt and all but dared Dominic to make the first move.
Of course no such move was being made, so Arthur stepped in between them,
facing his best friend.  
Arthur bit his bottom lip, completely furious. “Whose side are you on Dom? This
fucker came up from behind and made a pass at me! When he whipped his fucking
dick out was when I fuckin’ punched him. What was I supposed to do?”
“Walk away,” Dom said it with a period. Final and sure, as if it were so
simple.
“Wa-walk away?” Arthur sputtered, “Are you kidding me?” He could feel the
respect he once had for Dom dripping away like sand in an hourglass. Dom
usually stood up for him, even when he didn’t know or understand the situations
completely, he was always on Arthur’s side, no matter what.
“Has football really gone that far to your head that you let these meat sacks
convince you that Nash is worth anything more than pig slop?”
“Shut the fuck up Arthur, you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
Arthur clenched his fists tightly and eased forward. His heart thumped savagely
in his chest. If he were an old man, he’d imagine he would have had a heart
attack by now. “No, it’s you that’s got it all wrong. You won’t even believe
your best friend, Dom. What kind of shit is that?”
He was in Dom’s face, close and threatening, although Dom looked past him
distantly as if Arthur didn’t exist. That was when a crowd began to form around
them.
“Back up Arthur. I’m warning you.” The way Dom spoke was like no tone Arthur
had heard from the boy before.
Arthur never had much of an anger issue. Sure he got mad and had fits like
anyone else, but it was rare and he never had these strong urges to hurt
someone. But in this moment, this very second, he wanted to destroy Dominic
Cobb. Arthur wanted to show him how much it hurt to lose Dom’s support like
this and to see it waft away to someone like Nash.
“Look at me!” Arthur exploded, seizing the other teen’s collar in a white
knuckled fist.
Dom shoved him away so hard and fast that Arthur lost his footing and collapsed
to the floor painfully. Eames was already moving towards him, but Arthur held
his hand up in protest. He wasn’t going to sit around and wait for Eames to
fucking save him. He’d never been a damsel in distress; he didn’t want to start
now, or ever. The boy swiftly unbuckled his rollerblades, tearing them off, and
on socked feet he strode over to Dom.
“Arthur, leave it!” he heard Eames call out from behind, but only the blood
pumping through his veins and Dom’s face animated him.
Pure, unadulterated anger erupted, and when he threw the first punch, feeling
Dom’s flesh connect, he knew it wasn’t exactly Dom he was mad at; at least it
hadn’t been the full story.
He was mad that Anthony was taken away, leaving him all alone like this. He was
mad that his father became such a dick afterward. He was mad that actually,
maybe he didn’t want to go to EMU or Michigan University, maybe he wanted to go
to Michigan Tech, but he was afraid of being alone without Dom and Mal. He was
mad that he was so dependant on them. He was mad that things at home were going
rotten again and there was nothing he could do about. And once again, he was
falling for a boy that didn’t have the balls it took to be with him.
It all came out in that first punch, but the thoughts ended with a bolded
period in the second punch.
For a moment Arthur didn’t think Dom was going to hit him back, but in a flash
he was on the ground, a serious, dull pain in his stomach from a blow he hadn’t
even seen; all of the air knocked from his lungs when he slammed to the ground
like a felled buck.
Dom was on top of him, strange and animal-like.
“You know why I don’t believe you? You wanna know why?” Dom bellowed as he
began punching Arthur in his sides, but avoiding his face. “It’s because you’re
a slut! You let any of these guys use you and then you play the victim when
they want nothing to do with you afterwards! That’s why I don’t fucking believe
you! It’s no wonder your dad hates you, because you’re just like your brother:
worthless!” Dom’s hands were around Arthur’s neck, but they weren’t pressing
hard enough to choke him.
Even through the shuffle, the punches, the sudden shouting from the crowd and
Mal’s distant wailing, Arthur heard every word Dom said. The words cut like
razorblades, biting into him, ugly and heartless.
He had to hurt Dom back, but through retrospection Arthur could agree that
perhaps this wasn’t the time nor the place to say what he said next.
“You think you’ve got it all figured out, yeah? Well did you know that Mallorie
cheats on you?” Arthur shouted, silencing everyone. Eames was in the middle of
pulling Dom away when the comment froze him into inaction.
Arthur was breathing hard, a sticky and uncomfortable sheen of sweat lingering
over his sweltering face. The shocked look Dom wore was priceless, but Arthur
didn’t feel as good about it as he thought he would. Nonetheless, he continued,
“That’s right, she’s cheating on you, you dumbass! She cheats on you whenever
we go out to parties and I’ve even made out with her because you’re fucking
inadequate and boring. So save that engagement ring for some stupid white trash
bimbo cheerleader you’ll bang up senior year! It’s what you really deserve
anyways!”
Dom shrugged off Eames’ hands and turned to Mal who stared at Arthur in
disbelief, only shifting her gaze when Dom began to move towards her slowly.
“Is that true?” Dom choked out.
When Mal didn’t immediately deny it, Dom roughly shoved his way through the
crowd, stopping at a trash bin where he tossed the jewelry box before storming
off to the opposite end of the building where his football buddies had
gathered.
Mal stood there stiffly, seeming smaller than Arthur had ever seen her before.
When she looked at him, her eyes red and her lips curled inward, Arthur felt
his insides shatter like glass.
“Mal...,” Arthur called out as he began to pull himself up from the ground.
She numbly walked over to the trash and retrieved the jewelry box; she held it
without opening the top.
Arthur eased forward, unsure what to say to her, knowing that there wasn’t much
to say really. He knew he’d fucked up properly, but Dom... Dom pushed him to
that point. Already Arthur could tell it hadn’t been worth it.
Mal fisted the box in her hand and with such a harsh and bitter tone she said,
“I don’t ever want to see you again!” Mal’s French accent had gone thick as she
spoke, her bottom lip trembling. She stuffed the box into her pocket and
stormed away to the women’s bathroom. A few of the cheerleaders that had come
with their football boyfriends chased after her.  
Maybe he should have chased her too, begged her to let him explain. But with
Eames’ hand on his shoulder he completely broke, lowering his head as the crowd
began to dissipate.
An employee had rushed over, cordless phone in hand. “You need to leave now, or
I’m calling the police,” the man said, pointing towards the exit with the
antennae of the phone.
“No need for that,” Eames spoke for him. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The employee jogged over to the other side of the building to the group of
football players surrounding Dom, presumably to tell them all to leave as well.
Arthur numbly ambled to the lockers, digging in his pocket for the key. Eames
didn’t speak much at all as Arthur sat down and slowly tied his shoes before
dumping his rollerblades in his backpack.
“I’ll go fetch Ariadne. I’ll be right back,” Eames said softly. Arthur nodded,
looking up, hoping to see Eames’ smiling face, knowing that it would at least
cheer him up to a certain point, but the man had already turned away.
Finally alone to truly despair about what he’d just done.
He’d been upset with Dom, rightfully so, but there hadn’t been any real reason
to bring Mal into it, to ruin what could have been a perfect day for her. But
what of Arthur’s ruined perfect day? Arthur was so tired of putting everyone
ahead of himself, always wanting to be considerate of how they felt. What about
him? What about the things Dom said, things that weren’t even true!
Or were they?
Maybe Arthur was a whore, but so what? Did that somehow mean Arthur was a liar?
Arthur squeezed his knees, the back of his throat beginning to burn when his
emotions slammed into him like a 18-wheeler. Dom and Mal were his favorite
people in the world and he realized that he’d ruined their friendship. He
choked down the tears though, not allowing himself to make an even bigger fool
of himself.
He stood up when Ariadne returned with her shoes on and her skates in her bag,
Eames beside her with a small smile that seemed just for Arthur.
“Come on pet, let’s get going.” Eames reached out, helping him to his feet.
Arthur hadn’t realized it until then that Eames was the only one still on his
side. He clenched the strap of his backpack and nodded as they began to leave.
“You’re a dead man!” came Nash’s voice from behind.
Arthur whipped his head around to face the voice.  
“You and your faggot boyfriend are dead!”
“I’d like to see you come here and say that to my face, ya fugly little shit!”
“Eames!” Ariadne shouted, grabbing at the man’s beefy arm.
“Come on! I fucking dare you to say it to my face!”
“Come on guys,” Ariadne insisted, grabbing Arthur by his arm.
Eames followed as well, shouting obscenities that would probably get them
banned from Skate Land forever. Arthur’s skin felt like a battleground, staticy
and hot. He never so badly wanted to hurt someone like he did Nash, but he kept
moving, wanting so desperately to look back and get one last glance at either
of his best friends before saying goodbye.
But, one of the things his mother always told him was to never look back.
So, he didn’t.
--
Eames dropped Ariadne off at a nearby friends’ place in Taylor which had been
on the way to Detroit anyways. She said she’d get a ride back her own way.
Ariadne waved goodbye to Arthur sadly, slamming the heavy door shut before
walking up the driveway to her friend’s place.
“Going home then?” Eames asked, looking over his shoulder to Arthur.
He was wearing his dark aviators again and he’d just placed a cigarette in his
mouth, lighting the tip with his silver Zippo.
It reminded Arthur so much of that first day he’d met Eames; that day he drove
up in his fancy American muscle car with that ridiculous accent, and that
Michael Jackson jacket that he hadn’t worn since.
A fragile balance had been managed since Arthur left Skate Land, sitting there
in the back seat in silence as Eames and Ariadne robotically worked through
small talk, transparently wanting to talk about the day’s events, but not
wanting to upset Arthur. He’d sat there on the brink of a breakdown, but he
staved it off long enough to last until just now.
Arthur surged forward, knocking the cigarette out of Eames’ mouth before both
his hands flung towards either side of the man’s face, the stubble prickly on
his palms. He pressed their lips together, desperate and needy. He kissed
Eames, hungrily taking in the man’s sweet peppermint breath, tinged with the
taste of tobacco. Arthur melted into the warmth that beamed there.
He kept the desperate show of affection up, his eyes squeezed tight, too afraid
to open them, afraid it would ruin the dream. Eames kissed him back, sighing
into Arthur’s touch.
Eames was unbelievably soft and wet against Arthur’s mouth. Arthur didn’t even
mind the stubble that burned his smooth face. He only pressed harder, coercing
Eames’ mouth open.
Arthur parted his lips, relaxing ever so slightly when he flickered his tongue
out, somewhat surprised that Eames opened up to him. He made a dance with his
tongue against Eames’, easing the muscle into his own mouth. Eames chased him
back, allowing Arthur to suck on his tongue gently.
The teenager distantly noticed the song, ‘Could’ve Been’ playing on the radio;
bursting into hysterical laughter against Eames’ lips. Out of all the songs in
the world, he was having his first proper kiss with Eames to a fucking cheesy
pop ballad.
“This song...,” Arthur breathed out.
Eames laughed too, but Arthur silenced him with his lips once again, not
allowing a shitty pop ballad to ruin everything.
“Ar-ah-Arthur,” Eames managed weakly in between kisses.
The younger boy finally pulled back, his lips wet and his face scratched red
with Eames’ stubble.
Eames was panting, his lips parted, pink and shiny. Eames peeled his sunglasses
away, staring back at Arthur with something to say on the tip of his tongue.
His cheeks were blushed red, a soft embarrassed haze over the freckles that
dotted his nose and cheeks.
Arthur breathed hard as well, sinking his hands down to Eames’ shoulders,
digging his nails there.
“Arthur,” Eames said again, this time more confident and clear. He pressed his
lips into a line. “Wa-where do you wanna go?”
The boy didn’t know what else to do other than cry, which was unusual -
- completely unlike him. He lowered his face into Eames’ neck, wetting the
man’s collar.
“Eames, I really fucked up,” He mumbled into the warm skin there. He wrapped
his arms around the man’s neck, wishing they were in a bed instead of an
uncomfortable car.
Eames hooked an arm around Arthur, a hand on the back of the younger man’s
head, combing through his dark hair. The other hand reached up and tilted
Arthur’s face up by the chin.
Arthur’s eyelashes clumped together from the tears and for a moment he couldn’t
make out Eames’ face until he blinked the salty liquid away.
“It’s going to be quite alright. You’ve got me on your side at least.” Eames’
voice rumbled, deep and strong. The Englishman jerked into a smile, and then
smoothed the pad of his thumb against Arthur’s chin.
What the hell could Arthur say to that? This man that had only known him for a
little less than a month was still willing to stand in his corner even after
seeing how nasty he’d been.
Eames cocked his head towards the front passenger seat. “Hop up front.”
--
Arthur smoked the cigarette he’d smacked out of Eames’ mouth. It was bent and
sad looking, but Arthur didn’t mind. They drove down i96, going somewhere,
anywhere. There was a New Order mixtape in the radio and after a few swigs from
the pint of cheap vodka they found in Eames’ glove compartment, Arthur was
finally calmed and relaxed.
They didn’t talk about the day, or why they kissed, Eames’ sexuality or what
would happen next. They only drank from the bottle, chatting aimlessly about
music and the latest celebrity gossip. Eames wasn’t much of a tabloid reader,
nor was Arthur, but Mal always had the latest issue of Tiger Beat so he knew
everything, even if he didn’t want to know.
Just thinking of her stung horribly, so he replaced it with the sting vodka
gave when he swallowed it down raw.
Eames drove them to a park Arthur had never been to. The sky had since gone
dark and so the place was technically closed, though Eames claimed that the
cops never patrolled there.
They took the loud Trans Am deep into the park, travelling down a dirt path
that many cars had traversed before. Arthur wasn’t nervous and he wasn’t
scared. Eames cupped their hands together as the trees above them shifted past
the bright waning gibbous moon.
--
“Is this like a make out spot or something?” Arthur asked once they’d finally
stopped beside a large American Beech tree, the branches stretching over the
car, shrouding them in darkness. Eames had driven the car into an open field
with all but the one lonely tree sitting in its center.
“I suppose people come here to make out. I come for the stars and the swing.”
Eames pointed towards the tree and suddenly Arthur noticed the swing that had
been installed on a thick sturdy branch.
“What did we come here for?” Arthur asked, not turning from gazing out of the
passenger side window. “To make out? To gaze at the stars, or to swing?”
Eames sighed reaching over to rub his hand against Arthur’s neck. “Why not all
three?”
Arthur was warm with liquor, lolling his head over lazily. He watched Eames
turn the vodka bottle up, taking a big gulp. He handed it over to Arthur,
pressing it to the boy’s lips.
He drank down a mouthful, the liquid no longer burning him like it did before.
He handed the vodka back into Eames’ hand who then twisted the cap on.
“Hey. What was that bet you had with Ariadne earlier?”
Eames smirked, lolling his head, “Ah, you wouldn’t want to hear about that.”
“I do!” Arthur shifted in his seat, excited for a bit of gossip.
Eames gave him a sidelong stare before finally breaking, “She made a bet that
you’d call me before we went to Skate Land. And if you did... well, it meant
you liked me.”
Arthur couldn’t help but laugh, “Really? You thought I’d call you?”
The other man seemed to go a bit bashful, making Arthur’s insides twist at his
adorableness.
“You study psychology, right?” Arthur asked, a grin curling on his pouty lips.
“Why, yes I do.”
“Tell me what I’m thinking.”
Eames laughed, “It doesn’t quite work like that.”
Arthur chuckled, playfully slapping the back of his left hand against Eames’
solid chest.
“You can read people though, right?”
“I’d be a behavioral scientist, not a clairvoyant for christ’s sake!”
“Oh! A behavioral scientist! How exciting!” Arthur was laughing, holding his
stomach.
Eames laughed too, taking another swig from the vodka bottle. “If you recall, I
want to study law anyways. Psychology is just a temporary thing until I can get
into a law school.”
“Right,” Arthur said, not in the least bit condescending.
An easy silence fell around them, just enjoying each other’s company for a
short moment.
“Why don’t you ever wear your Michael jacket anymore?” Arthur asked eventually.
“Because bastards like you keep teasing me for it,” Eames said, winking at him.
“I miss it. Wear it the next time you see me,” Arthur demanded, placing his
fingers on the cool leather seat under him.
“On one condition,” Eames began as he leaned towards his younger companion,
causing the seats to groan. “You can’t tease me.”
The teenager nodded, giving him a thumbs up, “Deal.”
Arthur looked down at the black t-shirt over Eames’ muscled body, hating that
he covered such a gorgeous body.
“Fuck,” Arthur breathed out, reaching over to place his hand on Eames’ knee.
“You’re so damn hot Eames. D’you know that?”
Eames chuckled, picking up Arthur’s hand from his knee, entwining their
fingers. “You’re drunk, kid.”
“Thanks, Eames the behavioral scientist. It’s the truth, sober or not,” Arthur
slurred, leaning towards the older man. “D’you know that I had a crush on you
ever since that Madonna concert?”
Eames grinned, “I didn’t know back then actually. I thought you may ‘ave
fancied Robert.”
“Robert? Hell no! He’s too privileged and... no, not my type. Not like you.”
Eames shook his head, “I’m too old for you Artie. You’re still in high school
for christ’s sake!”
He bit his bottom lip when Eames eased from him, the rejection like a blow to
the chest. Instead of anger, he simply felt sad. “Y-you’re not that much older
than me.”
“Do you even know how old I am?”
When he thought about it, he realized he didn’t know.
His silence spoke volumes. Eames laughed, “I’m turning 22 next September.”
Arthur shrugged, resting his elbows on the armrest between them, his face close
to Eames’. “I’m turning 17 in less than two weeks. Age of consent is 16.”
Eames tossed the half full bottle of vodka into the dashboard, sighing. “It’s
not just the age thing. You’re still in secondary school. I’ve been at
university for four years. High school is a distant memory. There’s still so
much you don’t know.”
“What do you know that I don’t?” Arthur asked, leaning closer. “So, what, you
turn 22 and suddenly it’s all figured out? You can’t even tell me what I’m
thinking.”
Eames smiled, running his right hand down Arthur’s face. “Alright, fair
enough.”
Arthur leaned into the touch, pressing his lips to Eames’ palm. “This whole
time I thought you were straight. Mal and Dom think you’re fucking Ariadne.”
“Ariadne?” Eames burst into laughter, his body hitching.
“I know! She’s obviously a lesbian!”
Eames slowly pulled his hand away to scratch his nose, “She’s no lesbian, but
she’s also definitely not my lady. She’s fit, but not my cup of tea.”
Arthur couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It looked as though the three of
them were ALL wrong about Eames and Ariadne. God, he wished he could see Mal
and Dom’s faces now. He reached over and grabbed at Eames’ hand, holding on to
it.
“What’s your ‘cup of tea’ then?”
The Englishman pressed his lips together, rubbing his mouth with his left hand
in thought. He scrunched his eyebrows cartoonishly, humming. “Obviously I’m a
fucking pedophile if I’m trying to shag you. So, let’s say Corey Haim, License
to Drive-era.”
“Corey Haim is older than me, you know,” Arthur said, sitting up in his seat to
start slithering over into Eames’ lap.
“Well fuck, I must be a full-blown pedophile then if I’m after you,” Eames
said, grinning.
“No, just a full-blown statutory rapist. But don’t worry, I won’t tell,” Arthur
joked, leaning over Eames with his right hand against the driver side door and
his left on the gear shift. Arthur kissed him sloppily, pulling away to say,
“Besides, the age of consent is 16, like I said.” He continued the kiss,
stopping only when Eames weakly pushed him off.
“We really shouldn’t do this. You deserve to keep your innocence a bit longer,”
Eames said breathily.  
Arthur rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to play this game, nor did he want to
wait for Eames to get over his irrational fear of ‘ruining’ Arthur’s so called
innocence, which had been ruined a long ass time ago.
“You heard everything Dom said. I’ve been around the block a few times. There’s
nothing to corrupt here,” Arthur said, so close now that their lips were almost
touching. He could smell the vodka and tobacco on Eames’ plump lips.
“You don’t even know me, darling.”
He wanted Eames to shut his fucking mouth, so Arthur claimed it, plunging his
tongue into the man’s already yielding mouth.
The teenager pulled back briefly, breathing out, “I know that you’re the only
person I’ve got right now.” Arthur stared into the man’s eyes, watching them
soften and something deep twisted inside him when Eames hugged him closely and
kissed him back properly.
“I didn’t agree with him, by the way,” Eames mumbled. “I don’t think you’re
worthless.”
Eames’ lips were hot and wet against Arthur, the man’s tongue molesting his
mouth wide open. He grunted against the new found aggression.
Arthur reached down between the Englishman’s legs, cupping his hardening
manhood. The denim was stiff and stretched over his erection; Arthur was sure
it was uncomfortable because his own cock ached terribly against his jeans.
Through a mess of needy gasps, kisses and fumbling hands their zippers were
opened, pants shoved down to their ankles, and then their cocks were finally
out.
Eames was thick, though not particularly long. He was stiff with blood and
shining at the tip with leaking pre-cum. The younger man felt his cock twinge
with aching lust. Even in the low light Eames’ cock was beautiful.
Arthur wasn’t one for foreplay - it gave you too much time to realize that
you’re making a big mistake; he righted his knees in the passenger seat and
hunched over, filling his mouth with the man’s cock.
“Christ!” Eames groaned, his left hand clenching the door handle and his right
fisting a handful of Arthur’s hair, though he didn’t push the boy’s head down.
Arthur sucked down until his nose buried into the curls of Eames’ golden,
almost red pubes. Eames sunk to the back of his throat, prompting Arthur to
swallow, closing as tightly around the man’s cock as he could.
“Jesus!” Eames breathed.
Arthur lifted off with a loud ‘pop’. “Are we in church or something?” He
giggled, stroking Eames’ thick cock from the base up with his fist made slick
with spit.
“W-what?” Eames stammered, confused.
“You keep calling for jesus,” Arthur laughed, leaning to share a quick wet
kiss.
Then Arthur was down on Eames again, already addicted to his taste and his
smell. He went deep on purpose so that he could breathe in his musky scent.
Arthur drew hard on his cock, stroking quickly while he moved his head up and
down in a slow and deliberate fashion.
The boy took him deep again because Eames seemed to encourage him whenever he
did. The man’s cock was snug in his throat, sinking ever so deeper when Eames’
hips bucked up involuntarily. Arthur could tell he was holding back.
Arthur pulled off once his gag reflex stopped him from taking Eames so deep. He
gasped loudly for air, blinking tears away. Suddenly aware of Eames’ right hand
stroking his lower back, Arthur arched his ass in the air, waiting as
mischievous fingers smoothed right over where his ass began to curve. His back
was sore, as were his ribs, but Eames’ fingers seemed to lull the pain away.
“If there were a Church of Arthur’s Cock Sucking Skills, I’d attend every
Sunday morning,” Eames said, pushing his hand further, clenching one of
Arthur’s ass cheeks. “Maybe even Wednesday night bible study.”
Arthur laughed around the man’s cock while he arched his back, feeling insanely
sexy when Eames leaned over him and began to squeeze his ass with both hands.
Eames’ chest was annoyingly covered with a t-shirt still, so Arthur attempted
to hook his fingers under the cloth and push it over Eames’ head; the boy’s
back pressed against the steering wheel as he did so, sounding the car horn.
They both jumped at the blaring noise and then laughed until they were in
tears.
Eames pulled him into a nasty, raunchy kiss that left Arthur’s lips wet and
shiny. “Let’s go outside.”
Arthur nodded lazily, his head swimming with proper intoxication. He began to
pull his jeans back up when Eames stopped him, slapping his hands away. “Keep
your trousers off.”
“Outside?” Arthur asked, his eyes wide.
“There’s bloody no one around for miles!” Eames kicked his jeans off, and
pulled his shirt over his head, only donning his white fruit of the loom briefs
that he pulled up to his waist. He reached into the sun visor above and
revealed an envelope.
Arthur laughed, removing all of his clothes instead of just his pants. Maybe it
was the cheap vodka, or his brain meltingly horny state of mind, but the idea
of being completely naked in the woods with Eames seemed hot.
The Brit molested him with his eyes, reaching over to rub his rough hand over
Arthur’s young, thin body. Arthur winced against the touch when the fingers
covered a bruise.
“Oh my,” Eames said, his pressure lightened to ghost-like touches. “Those
bastards really did a number on you.”
The younger boy shrugged, idly stroking his own hard cock as Eames felt him.
Arthur’s skin was smooth and creamy against his palm, making Eames deliriously
hot for him; Arthur could tell by how hard Eames swallowed, and how the man’s
briefs struggled to hold Eames’ rock solid hard-on.
The Brit ripped his gaze away. In the envelope, Eames retrieved two postage
stamps, showing them to Arthur. “LSD. Good shit too. Got this from Robert and
he only gets the good stuff.”
Arthur had done LSD one time and it had been amazing, but that was a long time
ago when he’d gone to a basement party with Anthony and his punk friends.
He trusted Eames, so Arthur stuck his tongue out and licked the postage stamp
when Eames carefully placed it there. Eames did one too and quickly they were
outside with damp grass tickling their feet.
--
The grass turned to green ocean under the moonlight. Eames held him from behind
in the field, his cock inside Arthur without a condom, a hand on his lower back
to have him bend over more. Arthur sunk to the ocean green instead and laid on
his back, his eyes wide when the stars began to swirl and become bigger. The
milkyway hazed the night sky in a rainbow of twinkling colors and everything
just looked fucking amazing.
“Wow,” Arthur breathed out as Eames sank to his knees.
Eames looked up at the stars too. “I know. It’s good shit.”
Arthur pulled his gaze from the lights above and stared at Eames, watching as
his tattoos seemed to move and vibrate. “Fuck me.”
So Eames did.
--
The teenager’s hands were on Eames’ bulging pecs, his fingers in the wispy
reddish blond chest hair before sliding down to twist the man’s nipples. Every
thrust felt heavenly smooth, like the slick that room temperature butter made,
all thanks to the bottle of astroglide Eames had in his armrest storage. Arthur
felt like they were sinking to the core of the earth and when Eames suckled on
his nipples, he swore he could feel himself being milked of all the bad shit
that had happened to him that day.
They fucked slowly in the tall grass that swayed ever so gently, suddenly
growing taller and dancing against the midnight sky. The moon and the stars
shined blue illume all around them.
Eames had Arthur legs in the air, gripping right under his knee. He pumped in
and out of Arthur, his top row of teeth biting his top lip.
The sudden onset of orgasm rapidly assaulted Arthur. He hadn’t even anticipated
it.
“Nnnngg,” Arthur moaned, his hands on the ground, yanking at the grass for
support because he felt as though his body would lift from the floor and he’d
fall into the sky.
“Eames,” Arthur breathed, “I’m gonna come.”
“Do it darling, come for me,” Eames breathed, thrusting harder and more
precisely. The head of his cock consistently jabbed Arthur’s prostate, sending
the younger boy’s body spasming.
Arthur thrust his head back when orgasm surrounded him and milked him. Cum shot
spurted from the mushroom tip, sending streams of cum shooting all the way to
his neck, leaving white pools all over his chest and stomach.
A warm tongue lapped at the liquid on Arthur’s stomach. He watched as Eames
pulled out of him and cleaned his chest of his own cum. The older man’s tongue
was pink and hot, pulling up the gooey cum into Eames’ mouth. Arthur felt as
though he could come again just from watching Eames clean him like this.
Eames kept up his cleaning duties, lapping up the thick pools on Arthur’s neck,
sucking harder than he needed to, intending to leave a large hickey there to
cause Arthur problems.
Arthur watched the herringbone chain hang and dangle. The moonlight shimmered
off of it prettily. Arthur seized it in his hand and pulled it up to force
Eames into a kiss. He could taste himself on Eames’ tongue, the sweet, but both
salty and bitter taste making him crazy. Eames pulled back and just stared at
him.
He was so beautiful like this, naked with his gorgeous, thick red lips, a
droplet of cum on the corner of his mouth that Arthur took the liberty to lick
away.
Arthur couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
Eames stared into his eyes as he fumbled around with re-inserting his cock into
the thin boy. They both watched each other while the thick member slid in
easily and in a quick motion, Eames was lifting him off the ground. Arthur
wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, feeling as though the ground was
falling from them, though Eames’ legs grew as tall as fast as the ground fell.
Arthur pressed his cheek against Eames, wrapping his legs around the man’s
waist, clenching his hole as they traveled to the swing with the older man’s
cock still fully submerged in him.
“Hold on,” Eames breathed into his ear as they sunk down onto the swing.
Arthur blinked in the darkness, the tree branches suddenly becoming thin vines
that whipped each and every way. He pressed his face into Eames’ neck and held
tighter once the swing began to move and Eames was timing his thrusts to each
time they swung forward. The rough rope bit into Arthur’s thighs, causing him
mild discomfort, but he only focused on the back and forth swing.
Arthur sighed into the motion, kissing and tonguing Eames’ mouth while his
hands groped everywhere, scratching his nails against Eames’ back, intending to
leave scars.
He’d never had it like this before. He’s never been fucked so slowly, so
lovingly. Not to mention on a swing. They soared through the night air under
the darkness of the beech branches, each down swing sinking Arthur down to the
hilt of Eames’ cock.
The novelty wore off however and soon they were off the swing and Arthur’s
cheek was painfully pressed against the bark of the tree with Eames slamming
into him properly. Eames wouldn’t have it that way, so he turned Arthur over
and picked him up in the air, pressing the boy’s back against the tree and
sinking back into him.
Arthur palmed both sides of Eames’ head, covering his ears. He wrapped his legs
around the thick waist and squeezed his eyes shut as Eames fucked him in
midair.  
Perhaps it was the LSD, or maybe it was that way Eames stared so fucking deep
into his eyes when he came, wincing and parting his beautiful lips as he
emptied himself into Arthur; perhaps it was that Eames then muttered, “I love
you.” Maybe it was all those things together that made Arthur feel as though he
could never be parted from him.
--
Arthur woke with the sun glaring painfully at him from above. The car hood was
hot and uncomfortably sticky against his back; his skin was soaking wet with
sweat, Eames’ arm laid across his chest, also warm and gluey. An explosive
headache pounded Arthur’s skull, causing him to wince when he sat up. Eames’
arm flopped away and then the Englishman was awake.
“Bloody hell,” Eames muttered as he gathered their surroundings. His hair was
in complete disarray, the right side matted down while the ends stood up like
Alfalfa from The Little Rascals. Arthur would find it endearing if it weren’t
for the headache.
Arthur’s limbs felt like blocks of lead attached to one another. Every movement
caused him regrettable pain. He thanked God for the shade that the tree
afforded however.
“What time is it?” Arthur managed, groaning as he stretched his back. The
night’s memories began to trickle in and he began to grow a little embarrassed,
his eyes on Eames as the man rolled off the hood of the car and checked his
watch.
“Three-fifteen. Wait... that can’t be right, can it?”
“Three-fifteen p.m.?” Arthur shouted, leaping off the hood. “I gotta go home.
My dad’s gonna kill me.”
“See, this is exactly why we shouldn’t date,” Eames said as they opened the car
doors and retrieved their clothes.
“What?”
Eames pulled his shirt on and began to step into his jeans. “Curfews and shit.
Not to mention your parents would kill me and you if they knew what we did.”
Arthur didn’t reply because it did make sense.
“Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Eames rambled, watching out into the
distance as a police car began to ride towards them.
Arthur’s heart stopped when the vehicle’s siren lights lit up. He quickly
donned his clothes and stood on the other side of the car, unsure what to do
with himself.
“What the hell Eames, I thought this place was secluded!” Arthur said, willing
himself not to start pacing.
“At night it is! How in bloody hell was I supposed to know we’d blackout and
sleep into the late afternoon?”
“We got wasted and did LSD. How the fuck do you NOT blackout?” Arthur was
pissed off, even if he knew it was unfair to be angry at Eames he had to be
angry at someone for this.
“So it’s MY fault then?” Eames shouted, his eyes wide and dangerous.
“No, I’m not saying that!”
“‘Cause that’s what it sounds like to me.”
“Listen, Okay? What the fuck are we gonna do?” Arthur was hysterical, his arms
stiffly plastered to his sides. “What if they drug test us? I’m only 16! My dad
REALLY is going to kill me if I go to jail!”
“Exactly why we shouldn’t be dating!” spat out ferociously just as the patrol
vehicle pulled up. “Just play it cool and we’ll get out of this alive.”
--
The police officer was a middle aged Japanese man with a name tag on his black
uniform that read ‘SAITO’. He walked over with his hands on his hips, the wide
brimmed hat casting a shadow over his face.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Eames said, grinning from ear to ear. Arthur wanted
to gawk at how damn good of an actor he was. “What can we do you for officer?”
“Save it. I’ve been watching you two in the distance for a few hours now.
Wanted to avoid having to wake two naked fellas up,” the man spoke; his
Japanese accent was thick, but his speech was fluent. “What are you two doing
up here?”
“We uh,” Arthur stammered, glancing over at Eames who was still oddly smiling.
“Just campin’ out,” Eames offered, moving over to clap a hand on Arthur’s
shoulder. “Just two blokes camping out and have a bit o’ fun in the woods.
Nothing more.”
Saito gave Eames a skeptical look before casting his gaze on Arthur who seemed
a lot more nervous. “How old are you boy?”
“Twenty-one,” Arthur said effortlessly. His fingers nervously tugged at the end
of his shirt.
The cop laughed, holding his hand out, “Yeah, okay. Show me your I.D.’s.”
‘Fuck!’ Arthur screamed in his head as he dug into his back pocket for his I.D.
Why did he lie? Now they were really going to get it.
“I lied, officer. I’m only 16. I’m sorry,” Arthur rushed through the words,
holding out his Michigan identification card.
“Seventeen in a few weeks,” Eames added, chuckling a bit nervously now when he
handed over his I.D.
The officer pursed his lips and immediately checked Eames’ card.
“This isn’t an American I.D.,” Saito said, handing it back to Eames. “Get your
passport.”
Eames hadn’t reached for his card yet. “That has all the information you need
to know. Age. Gender. My portrait.”
The officer pushed the card into Eames’ chest and narrowed his eyes. “Go get
the damn passport, or I’ll phone in to Immigration.”
Eames gave up on his jolly Englishman persona and snatched the card away,
stuffing it back into his wallet as he shuffled back to the car to retrieve his
passport.
Arthur stayed back behind, terrified and thinking he was probably going to
prison now. How in world could such an amazing night turn into this mess? He
was sticky and sweaty, his back was killing him and he was pretty sure he
smelled like vodka and lube.
The middle-aged Japanese man studied Arthur’s card, his dark eyes flickering
back and forth  from the boy and the I.D.
“Arthur McCallister. McCallister, McCallister...,” Saito repeated his name,
tapping the card on his other hand as he looked up to the brim of his hat in
thought. “I knew a McCallister in academy. Dave? Dave McCallister?”
Arthur swallowed hard. His mother always told him that honesty was the right
way out. “David McCallister, sir. That’s my father’s name.”
Saito smiled, shaking his head, “We called him Dave. It’s been awhile since
I’ve seen that old bird. How’s he doing? Still fat?”
Arthur nodded jerkily, trying to smile, but his mouth wouldn’t move. His heart
hammered as he watched for Saito’s next move, praying to all the gods for him
to let them off.
The officer laughed, turning Arthur’s card over. “So, 16 year old son of David
McCallister at Lakelands Park. You still live over in the ‘D’?”
Arthur nodded, stiffly turning his head when Eames returned with his passport
in hand.
“And there you are officer! Hope this is sufficient enough identification!” The
jolly British accent was back, though Eames still seemed disgruntled with his
arms cupped behind his back and a fake smile plastered on his face.  
Saito glared at the boy as he flipped through the thin pages. “Your father know
you’re out here with a 21 year old man?”
Arthur’s throat seemed to close up at the thought of his dad knowing where he
was right now, knowing what he did, who he was with. “N-n-no sir. He doesn’t
know.”
“Who is he?” Saito asked without looking to Eames.
“The name is Charles Eames,” the older boy said, his tone clipped.
Officer Saito didn’t look back at the man, only stayed trained on Arthur who
was nearly ready to collapse to the ground and tremble in absolute terror. He
couldn’t go to jail.
“He’s my friend,” Arthur said finally.
Saito flipped through the book in silence, seemingly satisfied enough when he
closed it. “What are you doing out here in Lakelands with this boy?” He handed
Eames his passport, still holding on to Arthur’s I.D., which hadn’t gone
unnoticed by either of the young men.
“We were just camping out, sir,” Arthur blurted out.
Saito didn’t look at him, nor did he respond.
Eames glanced over to Arthur, obviously quite nervous himself. “Right. We were
just camping, like we said before.
The Japanese man nodded slowly, pursing his lips as he began to walk over to
the car. He pointed to the black American muscle.
“Where’d you get this car?”
“A friend of mine,” Eames said, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he
followed the policeman.
“It’s nice. You must be pretty loaded if you can afford a good paint job like
this one. And wheels,” the officer kicked at Eames’ tires with the tip of his
black boot, “like these.”
Arthur could feel himself go breathless as the officer walked closely to the
vehicle and peered through the driver window. He didn’t know if there was
anything to find, but all he could remember from last night was tripping balls
and being fucked senseless by Eames.
Eames seemed scared shitless as well, his feet never seeming to stop moving.
Saito turned around, a bitter look on his face. He stared Eames in the eye,
pointing at him with Arthur’s I.D. card. “Give me that vodka bottle sitting in
the dashboard and put the astroglide away. Take him home,” Saito pointed with
the I.D. to Arthur who’d reserved himself to standing right where Saito and
Eames had left him.
“Right sir,” Eames said quickly, opening the heavy door and climbing into his
vehicle.
Relief washed over Arthur as he watched Eames hand the liquor over and Saito
poured it out into the grass, tossing it back to the other man. “Get rid of
it.”
He was going to let them off.
“I don’t want to see you two here ever again, you understand?” the policeman
said as he walked over and handed Arthur his card.
“Of course sir. You’ll never see us here again,” Eames said, a big dopey smile
on his face.
Arthur smiled as well, breathing slower once the card was in his hands and then
back into his wallet.
“Tell your father I’ll call him up sometime soon. Lot’s to catch up on,” Saito
shifted his gaze between the two of them before tipping his hat and walking
away.
Arthur had never been more in a rush to go home in his entire life.
--
Arthur hated to admit it, but it seemed as though sex with Eames had gone and
made things awkward. Or maybe it was just the circumstance of having the police
scare -- Arthur couldn’t tell yet.
The ride home was long and silent. They just let the radio play and rolled the
windows down to air the car out of the smell of booze and B.O.
Arthur didn’t say anything to Eames until they reached the end of his block and
parked at the corner there. Eames kept the car running.
When he looked over at Eames, Arthur could see the distress this caused him. It
was what Eames probably wanted to avoid, but then again, Eames WAS the one to
make the first move.
“Fuck... did I do that?” Eames gasped, touching the younger man’s neck where
he’d made love bruises.
“What? What are you talking about?” Arthur pulled down the sun visor and aimed
the mirror until he could see the small dark bruises across the left and right
side of his neck. He covered them with his hands.
“What the hell Eames?” Arthur whined, pulling at the skin, stretching it.
“I don’t even remember doing it,” Eames said, attempting to touch the boy’s
neck again, but Arthur only edged away.
“My dad... now I’mma have to make some shit up,” Arthur groaned, sinking into
his seat.
He closed his eyes, just needing a short pause. But then the pause turned into
a longer moment where the two of them just sat in silence.
“What are we doing Eames?” Arthur asked, slapping his hands on his knees in
frustration.
Eames nodded his head in agreement, scratching in the same spot he always did,
right behind his ear. “I know, I know.”
Arthur bit his bottom lip, wanting to reach over and hold his hand, just to see
if everything was going to be fine. But he didn’t.
“Are we together? Just fuck buddies. Friends with benefits or what?”
Eames considered him for a hard long second, pressing his thick lips together.
“I don’t have an answer for that right now.”
Arthur stared at him for awhile, wondering if he regretted their LSD laced
night under the stars yet.
“It doesn’t have to be difficult. It could be easy... if you want it to be,”
Arthur said lowly, his gaze fixed on his twiddling thumbs.
“But it’s not - even if I want it to be - it’s not simple. Look at what
happened today Arthur! What if we’d gone to jail? We’d never see each other
again, your parents would make sure of that.”
Arthur sighed, placing his hand on the door handle, “Then that’s it then? We
have one scare and suddenly it’s too dangerous to be together? Maybe we should,
you know, just not fucking do drugs in the woods!”
“Arthur,” Eames dragged the letters out to great effect, “We mustn’t rush
things. We have to make sure it’s RIGHT.”
“No, I get it. You’ve fucked me and now that you’ve gotten what you wanted all
along, you’re done with me. I get it.”
“No!” Eames hissed, grabbing Arthur’s arm before the boy could climb out of the
car. “Artie. That’s... it’s not that... I like you, okay? I really do. You’re a
cool ass kid and I want to get to know you more, but that’s the thing... you’re
still a kid.”
“I’m NOT a child! This isn’t going to work if you can’t see that!” Arthur
almost grimaced as Eames’ hand melted off of his arm in defeat, no longer
stopping him from exiting the car.
He stayed put anyway, sitting there in the rumbling Trans Am at the corner for
a long pause - Arthur too afraid to leave on such a sour note, Eames too
worried to put his foot in his mouth.
“Artie? Artie McCallister?” came a voice from outside.
The younger man turned and was surprised to see his neighbor Mrs. Paisley
waving at him from across the street, donned in garden work overalls. She
strode across the street, looking particularly plump and bouncy today, but she
did not wear the joyful smile she normally wore.
“Mrs. Paisley! How are you today?” Arthur asked, smiling brightly as she
approached the car. He could snap into whichever mood he needed when it came to
acquaintances.  
“Oh you know, same ol’ same ol’ over here,” she waved her soil caked garden
trowel towards her home where she’d been tending to the flowerbed. She leaned
down, waving at Eames who smiled back and returned the gesture. “Who’s that
handsome man there?”
“Oh, that’s Eames. Mallorie Miles’ cousin from England.”
“England? Well, I’ll be! Nice to meet you Eames!”
“You as well madame,” Eames said, so posh and polite that Arthur almost
laughed.
“So, what’s up Mrs. P?”
The woman’s demeanor changed, oddly serious. “That’s what I came over here to
bother you for, I’m afraid. Do you mind if I speak in front of Mr. Eames here?”
Arthur nodded, “Sure Mrs. P, go ahead. What’s happened?” He was worried now.
“Well,” she sighed, taking off her gardening gloves. “There’s been an
accident.”
--
“Leah, McCallister! Yes, she’s my mother! Leah Raphaela McCallister!” Arthur
was gasping for air and almost shouting at the receptionist.
The dark skinned woman had very little interest in Arthur’s panicked state, and
her aloofness pissed him off even more.
She pushed back a few of her long thin braids over her shoulder before saying,
“Okay, so we have a Leah McCallister in ICU. Unit 14 on the 3rd Floor, Wing B.”
Arthur repeated the information over and over in his head before moving forward
with Eames by his side. The woman pressed a button that buzzed the door open.
In seconds they were in the ICU division of the hospital. Arthur was too
frantic to take the elevators so they bounded up the stairs. Once they were on
the 3rd floor Eames grabbed Arthur, steadying him by the forearms.
“Listen, you’ve got to calm down. She’s overdosed, but she’ll be fine, okay?
You can’t go inside all panicked like this. Chin up!” Eames said, panting and
stroking Arthur’s red cheeks. He stared for a moment, just marveling at how
young Arthur looked right now.
“I know. I’m trying - it’s just that... I can’t - I can’t lose her -” Arthur
was breathing harshly to the point of hyperventilation. His cheeks were bright
red and his fingertips had gone numb and staticy.
Eames pulled him close, cradling the boy’s head against his chest.
“Breathe with me,” Eames said, his voice rumbling like a peaceful thunderstorm.
Eames pressed his cheek against Arthur’s and he hummed.
Arthur held on and steadied his breathing to the same speed as Eames, following
the slow rise and fall of the man’s muscled chest. He felt safe, wrapped up in
the Englishman’s arms, unaware of the people around them that stared as they
walked past.
The two of them took long deep breaths until Arthur finally gathered himself.
Eames pulled away and already Arthur missed the warmth of his body. “It’s going
to be alright. She’s going to recover and she’ll tell you what a sodding idiot
she’d been.”
Arthur nodded, smiling because he knew Eames meant for that to make him laugh.
--
Arthur had been used to keeping his emotions to himself; he always prided
himself on keeping composure, but fuck, he was sixteen going on seventeen and
his mother was lying there on the hospital bed with tubes connected every which
way and a breathing mask that made her look like something straight from a sci-
fi movie. How could anyone expect him to keep composure?
He stayed strong though, trying to remember what Eames had said to him.
His father David was seated by the hospital bed in a narrow guest chair, his
legs wide open with his hands cupped atop his stomach. He was wearing a dark
green sweater that Leah had knitted him a few christmases ago and a pair of
khaki trousers that didn’t quite fit him anymore. He was fast asleep until
Arthur stepped forward into the deathly quiet room, only the heart monitor’s
ominous beeping filling the dimly lit room.
Eames eased in behind Arthur, sheepish and unsure. David eyed him, but not with
venom.
“‘Ello, sir. I’m Eames - Mallorie’s cousin,” Eames introduced himself, holding
out a hand for the other man to shake.
David ignored the gesture. “Where have you been Arthur?” David’s voice was
hoarse from sleep and obviously from a stressful night.
“With Eames,” Arthur didn’t bother lying, nor did he look at his father. He
only moved forward to grab at his mother’s hand, making sure to not touch the
tape that kept her IV in.
“What happened?”
Arthur’s father shifted his gaze to Eames, cocking his chin up to him. “Leave
us.”
“Right, of course. Arthur...,” Eames said.
The younger man tore his gaze away from his mother for a moment to look to
Eames.
“I’ll wait outside if you like.”
Arthur shook his head. “No. I’ll go back with my dad.”
“You sure?” The way Eames sounded like a worried sick parent just now made
Arthur’s insides twist in admiration. “I’ve nothing to do tonight. I can wait.”
Arthur smiled at him, pressing his lips tightly into a line, fighting the
sudden urge to cry. “Thank you Eames. It’ll be fine.”
Eames smiled at this and nodded, saluting Arthur’s father before leaving.
An eerie silence hazed over the room until Arthur asked David once more what
happened.
His father took a deep breath and rested his elbows on his knees before he
began to explain everything.  
--
“What?” Arthur hissed, his eyes wild. He let go of his mother’s hand and just
stared at the woman, his eyes tracing down her arms. He turned the limb over
and saw the bruised area where she’d injected herself.
Heroin overdose.
Arthur could barely put it together in his head that his mother had done this
to herself.
David had found her on the toilet seat after they had a particularly nasty
fight regarding Arthur’s whereabouts. The sound of her falling over onto the
bathroom floor was what prompted him to check in on her.
And there she was, spasming and slack jawed with her eyes turned to the back of
her head.
The image kept flashing, strobing behind Arthur’s eyes as he imagined it all.
“When the fuck did she start using?” Arthur whispered, not wanting to look at
his father because he’d already begun to blame him, but then again he’d already
begun to blame himself as well.
“I think she started recently. I noticed her acting... strange -- coming home
late after fights, leaving the bathroom bug eyed, only wanting to sleep.”
Arthur’s jaw tensed. “It’s because of you.” He glared at his dad finally,
hating how fat and gross he seemed now, knowing that he must have chewed Leah
out while Arthur enjoyed himself in the woods with Eames. “Why’d you have to
make her life a living hell?”
David sighed, cutting his eyes away. “I don’t mean to make anyone’s life a
living hell. I just want...”
“--to destroy us? Is this what you want? For us to resort to USING?” Arthur
hadn’t noticed he was yelling until he felt his vocal cords vibrate painfully.
He lowered his voice, but didn’t cut back on the loathing in his tone. “You
push everyone away. Didn’t you learn anything from Anthony? Do you need another
lesson?”
Arthur had gotten so close to his father that the two men were almost touching
nose to nose after the older man had pushed himself up from his seat.
“Now,” his father began, his voice a deep, foreboding boom that suddenly seized
Arthur in fear. “You’ll watch the way you speak to me. I’m your father god damn
it!”
Arthur wanted to cower away, but he knew this to be a pivotal moment in his
relationship with his father.
“I’ll respect you when you learn to respect us,” Arthur said through clenched
teeth, gesturing to his mother. He stared at the man for a moment longer before
storming past him and out of the door.
David didn’t stop him, and even though Arthur was glad he hadn’t he still
wished that his father would have at least tried to.
He took the bus home alone, not knowing how to feel.
All he knew is that he missed his mother and wanted her home straight away.
--
Arthur couldn’t stand the emptiness of his home as is, so after he took his
shower he busied himself with cleaning the kitchen because he reckoned that’s
what his mother would do. He let Johnny run around in the backyard as he
scrubbed the cabinet doors and handles, the countertops, and then mopped and
waxed the floor until it he could see his reflection in the tiles.
His father returned when Arthur had begun to sort the living room, carrying in
a greasy bucket of KFC.
“I’ve got chicken for dinner,” David said as he entered the front door, kicking
off his shoes. He’d obviously been drinking and driving. He stumbled a tad as
he shut the door with the press of his heel. The wide man steadied himself as
he strode over to the kitchen to place the bucket on the dining table. “I got
all white meat because I know that’s what you like.”
Arthur didn’t respond because he didn’t want to say anything snarky, so he just
continued to straighten up the living room, dusting off the side tables and
cleaning the television screen.
After five minutes, David came into the room, announcing that food would be
served.
“I’m not hungry,” Arthur mumbled, picking up their old family portrait. He
stared at the photo of his mother, smiling brightly and proudly next to her
boys. Arthur longed for those simple times again.
“Come sit anyways,” David said, and that was final.
Arthur conceded when it became obvious that his father wasn’t going to stop
staring at him until they were both seated at the table. Arthur placed the
family photo back into its resting spot and followed his father into the
kitchen.
The large man sat at his normal spot at the end of the table and Arthur sat in
the middle, the other end sickeningly absent of his mother’s presence.
His father seemed to catch the overall feeling because he then explained that
Leah would probably be ready to come home tomorrow as she’d woken up today.
Arthur stayed silent as David placed a chicken breast and a biscuit on his
plate, tossing a packet of honey his way.
The man reeked of whiskey.
“Eat,” his father demanded, taking a hearty bite into the drumstick he’d set
aside for himself.
“I’m not hungry,” Arthur repeated, and truth be told, he wasn’t. He didn’t have
the stomach for anything greasy at the moment.
“You know... I try to be nice, and you just...,” David left the sentence
hanging in the air over them as he reached over to Arthur’s plate and snatched
up the boy’s biscuit. He roughly tore open the bready food and squeezed a
generous amount of honey inside.
“Eat!” David repeated harshly, his face red and puffy as he slammed the biscuit
down in front of Arthur.
“Fuck this,” Arthur grumbled, bolting up from his chair.
His dad grabbed his arm, giving Arthur a wild drunk man stare. “If you don’t
eat the food on that plate, so help me god.”
Searing anger seized Arthur, but instead of punching his dad like he wanted to,
he yanked his arm away and stuffed his mouth full of chicken, his teeth ripping
through the meat effortlessly. He chewed quickly, biting his tongue a few
times; Arthur didn’t care, simply ignored the pain. He was crying, forcing the
chicken into his mouth, pieces of the food sloppily falling down on the table
and the floor as he ate savagely with his bare hands.
“Are you happy now?” Arthur bellowed once he’d ravaged the chicken breast,
leaving the table a mess. He didn’t wait for the answer from his father who’d
sat and watched the entire thing with a blank expression.
Arthur ran, slamming the front door behind him.
--
The cool night air danced over Arthur’s overheated body, chilling him slightly,
but not uncomfortably. He had to get away, far away - as far as his tired legs
would take him. He trekked through the neighborhood, running across the
Meyberry’s pristine lawn, crossing the wide busy main street of Woodward before
running right through a particularly sketchy area that Anthony used to
frequent.
He didn’t stop, only ran faster.  
Arthur finally made it to the nearby elementary school, settling on a swing to
catch his breath, his lungs burning from exhaustion.
He hated David. He hated his father with every fiber of his being and it was
now that he realized that he may truly be alone.
But then he thought of Eames. He wondered why Eames cared at all, why he even
bothered with him.
Arthur didn’t have an answer, but he didn’t think he was really looking for an
answer anyways. He’d get it soon enough, he reckoned.
He sat there immobile, just steadying his heartbeat and breathing in the cool
night air. Arthur kicked at the mulch under his feet, squeezing the cold chain
links of the swing.
The teenager pushed against the ground and began to swing. He began to recall
the previous night, getting a half-boner when he recalled how Eames fucked him
on the makeshift tree swing. He shook the thoughts away though, finding them
vastly inappropriate for the setting. Instead, he thought of his mother, hoping
she was okay and wondering how she’d allowed herself to sink so low.
His heart grew sick with terrible guilt. If only he’d gone straight home...
He wondered if his family was stuck in a never ending cycle of addiction, self-
medicating and self-destructing themselves.
Arthur found himself really longing for his older brother Anthony, thinking to
himself, ‘Tony would know what to do...’ But Arthur knew his brother wouldn’t
have handled the situation any better, hell he probably would have done a whole
lot worse.
Arthur smiled privately as he imagined Anthony’s response to his dad, how the
two would have probably been on the brink of a fist fight. David bossed Leah
around, he constantly berated Arthur, but Anthony... Anthony was the one person
he could never control.
And that ended him up in prison.
He contemplated this unfortunate future of his older sibling and no matter how
much he loved and admired Anthony, Arthur had to admit that he was a huge fuck
up.
After thirty minutes or so passed and Arthur decided it was probably better to
go home. On the way back, he contemplated whether or not he should apologize.
His father HAD made an effort, even if it had been a shitty one.
But like his father, Arthur was a proud individual, especially when it came to
family. He’d apologize only if David did first.
--
The living room reeked of whiskey and sadness when Arthur returned. His father
was laid up in his Lay-Z-Boy recliner, David Letterman on the television screen
saying boring one-liners that even his father didn’t bother to laugh at.
“Decided to come home, eh?” The man’s words were so slurred that Arthur barely
caught what he said.
Instead of engaging in conversation, Arthur quickly removed his shoes and
strode towards the staircase for his bedroom. However, mid-way, his father
painfully gripped him by his forearm, pulling him back.
“You’ll answer me when I speak to you!” the large, blubbery man shouted after
wobbling out of his seat to face Arthur. Specks of spit splattered across
Arthur’s face and the thick, rancid odor of his father’s liquor breath made his
stomach flip.
“You go in that kitchen and clean up the mess you made.”
Arthur glared at the man that still held his arm in a death grip, not at all
planning to clean anything.
“You clean it up, you drunk asshole,” Arthur spat, attempting to yank his arm
away, but the older man proved stronger.
David began to yell at him incomprehensible words, slamming him against a
nearby wall where a picture frame fell and crashed to the floor loudly. The
older man’s hand was now gripping Arthur’s shirt in a tight fist, pressing into
the young boy painfully.
“Go into the kitchen and clean it!” David bellowed, yanking his son from the
wall. He pointed towards the kitchen while Arthur stood in front of him,
glaring with insane hatred. “Go to the kitchen, faggot!”
Arthur was in such a shock that he could barely register his father shoving him
towards the kitchen entrance. Arthur tripped, stumbling forward until he
finally fell to the floor.
Terrible rage bound every single sense. Arthur bolted from the carpeted floor,
reaching back to throw a punch at his dad, but he missed and the first punch
from his father had connected right at his jaw, nothing held back.
Arthur stumbled backwards, but he did not fall. He couldn’t even feel the pain
throbbing at his jaw as he charged forward, throwing punches wildly, connecting
sometimes, but missing most of the time.
Somehow his dad ending up on top of him, slamming his fists on Arthur like a
gorilla. Arthur covered his face at this point, realization of the situation
hitting him and breaking his heart.
David pulled him up from the floor and threw him onto the couch, big, red faced
and dangerous looking. Arthur felt dull pain all over his body, but it all
didn’t hurt as much as it did emotionally. His father had never hit him before.
The older man paced in front of him as Arthur began to sob.
“You didn’t think I knew, huh?” David said, breathing hard for air. “It all
makes sense now you know. I knew as soon as I saw ‘em. That British faggot and
you. I knew it as soon as I saw.”
Arthur covered his face, not wanting to give his father the pleasure of
watching him fall apart like this.
If only Anthony was here. If only Anthony was here!
David pulled Arthur’s arms away from his face, “And he has you wearing hickies
like you’re his bitch!” The man yanked down the collar of Arthur’s t-shirt
until the stitching began to tear to reveal the bruises Eames had left on his
neck. “Stand up for once and be a man, god dammit! Anthony may have been a
shithead, but at least he wasn’t a sissy!”
Arthur couldn’t take much more of the abuse. He swatted the man’s hands away,
showing his face fully now.
“What do you want from me?” Arthur screamed, sobbing shamelessly.
David stopped his pestering, standing there as though he’d just been sucker
punched.
“I get good grades in school, I’m applying to go to college - I haven’t fucking
overdosed in some field. What more do you want?”
“I want you home. I want you normal and healthy,” David said finally. His face
twisted, something odd flashing across his face as he considered his son.
“You can’t control me! You couldn’t control Anthony so stop trying to do the
same to me!” Arthur bolted from his seat, dodging his father’s hands. He
bounded up the stairs, going straight to his room. He lifted his mattress and
snatched up the porn magazine and retrieved Eames’ phone number.
The teenager stormed down the stairs, his eyes on his father who was still
standing where he’d left him.
“This is who I am dad. You only have one son left, so get fucking used to it!”
Arthur shouted, flinging the magazine at the man’s feet. He didn’t stay to see
the David’s reaction, he just escaped through the front door and ran as fast as
he could to the nearest payphone.
Ten or so blocks down from his house there was an old run down Coney Island
restaurant that was open 24 hours. It had a payphone inside, so Arthur entered,
pushing in his quarter and then punching in Eames’ numbers for the first time
ever.
Eames picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Eames....,” Arthur said, unable to hold back his emotion. “I need you.”
It sounded as though the man had been laying down as Arthur could hear the
mattress springs crying out through the earpiece.
“Where are you?”
Arthur paused, looking around for a moment to make sure no one was staring.
“Leo’s Coney Island on Woodward.”
“I know where that is. Mal and I ate there once.”
“Please, can you come?”
“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can, darling.” Eames hung up and Arthur
felt himself break.
He placed the phone back onto the receiver, leaving the diner to sit on a
turtarrier in the parking lot. Arthur hugged himself, counting down to five
seconds, wishing that the sound of Eames’ Trans Am would hum into the
soundspace there and he would be taken far away to Ann Arbor and never have to
return.
--
Eames showed up, surprisingly on a blue Suzuki motorcycle striped with white,
Arthur willed himself not to start crying the minute the man removed his
helmet. He was wearing the ‘Thriller’ jacket again.
Arthur eased forward, feeling a tad awkward making such an emergency out of the
situation.
Eames swung his leg over the motorcycle, plopping his helmet on the seat. “...
Arthur... what happened?” The older boy was staring at his face, rushing
forward to gently touch the puffy red flesh. Arthur hadn’t noticed that his
right eye hurt until Eames touched it with his leather gloved hand.
“Got in a fight with my dad,” Arthur said, his voice small and timid.
“Oh dear,” Eames whispered, brushing Arthur’s long hair back as he examined the
boy. “I’m taking you home with me, straight away.”
Arthur smiled, nodding. God, he loved the way Eames spoke. It always calmed him
and made it all seem just fine.
“Sorry about the ride. Ariadne is borrowing the Trans Am to visit her parents
upstate in Muskegon.”
Arthur choked down the lump in his throat, brushing a hand against the sleeve
of Eames’ red jacket. Eames watched Arthur admire the clothing, the two of them
sharing a private moment without having to say a single word to one on another.
They hopped on the motorcycle and because Eames forgot the other helmet, he
went without, forcing Arthur to wear the protective headgear, although the boy
protested.
Down i94 they sped towards Ann Arbor, each mile shedding a layer of stress
away. Arthur’s arms were around Eames’ torso and his chest snug against the
man’s back. The heat wafting off of the Engishman’s back was almost enough to
block out the cool breeze that attacked them as they reached 70 miles per hour.
Arthur wasn’t afraid and he wasn’t nervous.
--
Eames and Ariadne shared an apartment just outside of the university, just off
of South University street. Eames said there was a late night arcade called
Pinball Pete’s down the street that they could go to if they wanted; it was
Ariadne’s favorite hangout spot.
Their apartment was located in an old mansion that had been converted into
student housing. Eames’ place was on the back of the house on the second floor,
so he had a cool balcony where there were two lawn chairs and a small table for
placing things. Ariadne had built some sort of contraption out of old metal
pieces that hung from the aluminum overhead shelter. Eames said it was a
salmon, but it sort of looked like a squashed turtle to Arthur. Eames made him
promise never to say that to Ariadne.
“I love big old houses,” Arthur mused as Eames gave him a short tour, showing
him the living room which was covered wall to wall with various bands and anti-
war banners. Christmas lights had been installed along the ceiling, giving the
space a homey feeling. It smelled of incense and faintly of good hash.
All of their furniture looked second hand as none of the pieces matched one
another. There was a huge fuzzy orange recliner that had cigarette burns in it
that was Eames’ favorite to read books in. And Ariadne’s favorite chair was an
equally ugly, broken, brown recliner with a colorful hand-knitted head cover.
On the opposite side of the living room sat a long, four seat sofa that was an
unfortunate shade of green that reminded Arthur of bile.
“It’s alright I suppose. Terribly ‘college’ I’m afraid,” Eames shrugged,
flopping down in his favorite chair. “Come here and sit on my lap and tell me
all about it.”
Arthur chuckled nervously, shaking his head. “I’ll need a beer first.”
Eames sucked on his teeth a moment and then nodded, pushing up from his chair.
“Of course.”
Eames fetched them both two cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a small bag of frozen
peas for Arthur’s future black eye. They clinked their drinks together,
sighing.
Arthur ambled around the room as he nursed his beer, holding the bag of peas up
to his eye and looking at all the posters Eames and Ariadne nailed to their
walls.
“Those are more of Ariadne’s doing. I think I only have a poster of the Union
Jack, and The Smiths,” Eames said as he walked over to their record player,
thumbing through the collection of records in the shelf that the player sat on.
Arthur nodded, stopping at a small polaroid picture of Ariadne, Eames and
Robert outside the Michigan Union building, all three of them looking so
blissfully happy. They must have been freshmen on account of how “fresh” eyed
they were. A surprising painful pang struck him to the core when he realized
how much the picture reminded him of Mal’s dream.
He missed them.
“How about this one?” Eames held up Depeche Mode’s Black Celebration album,
freezing Arthur in a mini-panic after snapping him out of his melancholic
thoughts.
Though, with his best poker face, he shrugged nonchalantly before returning his
attention to the many posters and banners on the walls.
“You know,” Eames said as he slid the vinyl from its sleeve, placing the record
in the player. “Back when we first met, I thought it was sort of adorable how
you pretended to be familiar with Depeche Mode when I mentioned them.” Eames
pressed the power button and waited as the advanced Sony record player animated
the pin on its own to play the LP.
Arthur’s face went hot and he didn’t look back at Eames. He sipped his Pabst
and adjusted the frozen bag on his eye as he continued browsing the walls,
stopping at a photo of Ariadne in Paris underneath the Eiffel Tower.  
Eames picked the pin up and moved it until he reached track number seven.
Electronic music hummed through the room, this odd sense of romance lingering
in the air, though Arthur’s mind was too muddled with about a million other
things to dedicate his mindspace to. Eames’ arms were wrapped around Arthur’s
chest as Dave Gahan’s vocals swept in.
“You remember this song, right?” Eames whispered into Arthur’s ear, causing the
younger boy to melt into his embrace.
“Of course,” Arthur said with a smile, holding onto Eames’ thick forearm with
his free hand. “Stripped.”
“Good boy,” Eames cooed in his ear. He reached up and pulled the frozen peas
away, tossing them on the nearby sofa.
“I remembered it because,” Arthur leaned out of the man’s touch briefly to set
his beer down on the wooden coffee table that was chipped and ancient. “You
gave such an amazing rendition of it in the car.” Arthur faced him, wrapping
his arms around Eames’ neck, feeling silly that he got goosebumps when the
Englishman’s hands were on his hips, swaying them both against the mid-tempo
beat.
“So, you liked my singing then?” Eames grinned boyishly, obviously fishing for
more compliments.
Arthur laughed as he moved forward to press his nose against Eames’ pointy
nose. “Yes, I did! What do you need, a review in RollingStone?”
Eames narrowed his eyes, smiling smugly. “Want me to sing for you again?”
Arthur pressed his lips tightly together, hating how just about anything right
now could bring him to the edge. He hugged Eames close, hooking his chin over
the other man’s bulky shoulder. They swayed from side to side and Arthur lost
himself in the music and in Eames’ gorgeous singing voice. Gahan’s vocals
seemed to disappear completely and all Arthur could hear was the low and tender
voice in his ear, whisper singing the lyrics, ‘Let me see you stripped down to
the bone/let me hear you speaking just for me.’
He cried and squeezed harder and Eames stayed and kept singing.
--
Telling Eames everything was harder than Arthur thought, mainly because he
hadn’t realized how bad it was until after he’d said it aloud.
It proved therapeutic however, because after letting Eames convince him that he
was guiltless of both his mother’s hospitalization and his father’s drunken
behavior, Arthur was ready to get loose and enjoy himself.
In the cabinet Eames fetched the good gin and they both shotted four glasses
and stumbled out into the night.  
Ann Arbor was lively with college age activity. Several chinese and korean
exchange students populated the area, as well as quite a few Indian students.
Arthur was amazed at the diversity and drank it all in.
Several small shops were still open, the smell of foreign cuisine fresh in the
air. There were many bars that were packed wall to wall with college students
drinking and having a good time. The city just vibrated with youth and fun.
Arthur loved it already.
They stopped into Pinball Pete’s for a few rounds of Street Fighter and then a
heated match of air hockey. Arthur won the game by the skin of his teeth, but
it was all in good fun.
Being away from Detroit and in an area that was absent of anyone he’d known
personally was completely freeing. He and Eames held hands down the street
(something they would never do in Detroit), which had been proof enough that
Eames wasn’t in the closet, but Arthur asked the question anyways.
“I’m out to all my friends, but my parents don’t know,” Eames said when they’d
stopped in front of Blue Karaoke, the bright neon blue light of the business’
sign flickering in the window.
“You plan on telling ‘em?” Arthur slurred his words and realized how drunk he
was suddenly.
Eames shrugged, cupping his hand into Arthur’s, pulling the younger boy up the
stairs to the building in front of them. “Why bother?”
Given Arthur’s current coming out experiences, he really didn’t have an answer.
--
Arthur didn’t like karaoke. Not willingly anyways. But, he followed Eames into
the building, because he’d rather sing karaoke with Eames than go back home to
his wretched father.
Blue Karaoke was owned by a grumpy old korean woman with a large black mole on
her chin. Arthur couldn’t understand a word she said; he was pretty sure she
only spoke in Korean to Eames who shouted back to her in the same language.
They seemed to be arguing about something, but then Eames just tossed her a ten
dollar bill and she finally lead them to a private room that was lit up with
cheesy disco ball lights.
There was a small television set with a black, bulky machine under it situated
on wheels. Wired to it was a pretty nice Marantz stereo set.
“This is karaoke?” Arthur asked, confused. He was used to the bar variety, the
sort that required you to get up in front of strangers and embarrass yourself.
“Asian style karaoke. It’s loads less awkward,” Eames said as the korean woman
left, closing the door behind her.
The room was long with three expensive chocolate leather couches that were
actually very comfy. In the center laid a long glass coffee table with two
large binders full of karaoke songs and a wicker basket bowl full of
questionable chex mix.
“I didn’t know you could speak Korean,” Arthur mused as sat down on the nearest
couch, picked out a rye chip and experimented with nibbling at it.
“I can’t,” Eames said over his shoulder when he turned the machine on.
Arthur laughed. “What? You were just speaking it a second ago with that woman!”
Eames waved a hand dismissively, cocking his mouth sideways, “It’s fake
speaking, innt? Her and I do it all the time. She shouts at me in Korean and I
repeat back everything she says to the best of my ability. She doesn’t speak a
lick of English, but she’s fluent in American dollars.”
“You’re fucking outrageous, Eames,” Arthur said, laughing hard.
Eames smiled nice and big, squeezing his eyes shut to adorable effect.
“Right. Pick a song to sing then.” Eames strode over to where Arthur had seated
himself and flopped next to the boy, pushing out all of the air from the fluffy
sofa. “Nothing pooftery like Cher or Madonna for christ’s sake!”
Arthur rolled his eyes at Eames’ ridiculous statement before flipping open the
book. “I really hate karaoke. I’m terrible at it.”
“Who cares? It’s just you and I,” Eames said lowly, bumping his shoulder
against Arthur playfully, eliciting a grin from the younger man.
The asian woman came back through the door without knocking, startling Arthur.
She’d returned with a server platter with four ice cold budweisers and two
shots of a clear liquor. The woman placed the platter on the table, already
holding out her hand before Eames could drop crinkled up five and ten dollar
bills in her hand. She glared at them both, frowning deeply before she left,
closing the door lightly in her wake.
--
Eames grew tired of Arthur’s heming and hawing over which tracks to choose, so
he chose for them.
They were mostly top 40 pop songs that Arthur didn’t know all that well. They
found a Dead Kennedy's song, but punk didn’t translate well to karaoke.
After another shot and two beers, they both were properly wasted. Arthur chose
a Madonna song, slinking seductively against the beat as he sang along to the
cheaply recorded backing vocals that were clearly not Madonna’s. Eames watched
him with a huge, amused smile on his face.
“You’re fucking enjoying this, aren’t you?” Arthur said into the microphone,
gyrating his hips. His boner was ever present in his skinny jeans, but he loved
how Eames’ eyes stared down at it, licking his candy pink lips before standing
up.
He snatched the mic from Arthur as the next song came on, slapping Arthur on
his ass before the youth returned back to the sofa.
Prince and the Revolution’s hit song, ‘I Would Die 4 U’ started up and Arthur
found himself wanting to roll his eyes. But as Eames sang the lyrics where
Prince’s vocals were no longer present, Arthur suddenly felt his heart flip in
his chest. This ugly, but still somehow beautiful need surrounded Arthur as he
watched Eames move to the beat and listened as the Englishman did his own
version of the song, not at all trying to outdo Prince’s already outlandish
vocal work.  
He was just being Eames. Just being absolutely perfect in his own way.
Arthur could feel it happening right there. He was falling in love.
The song ended quickly, probably because Arthur hadn’t been paying much
attention to the song itself. Eames was grinning like a five year old who’d
just opened all his christmas presents as he walked forward, sporting his own
boner.
“Did you like that?” the older man asked, standing over Arthur, his erection
pressing harder against his jeans.
“Yeah,” Arthur breathed out, his gaze moving back and forth between Eames’
boner and the man himself.
Eames grinned mischievously as he sank to his knees on the floor and leaned
over the edge of the sofa, yanking at Arthur’s legs until the boy’s crotch was
right under his chin.
“What the hell are you doing, Eames?” Arthur hissed, swatting the man’s hands
away from unbuckling his belt. “That chinese woman could walk in at any
minute!”
“She’s korean and she won’t.” Eames was more aggressive this time, unbuckling
the belt before unzipping the boy’s pants and easing his briefs down to reveal
Arthur’s engorged cock. He was already wet and leaky at the tip, oozing pre-
cum.
“Eames, no, we can’t do this here!” Arthur protested weakly.
He pushed at Eames’ shoulders gently, but had given up completely when the
man’s gorgeous mouth took him. Thick lips pillowed around Arthur’s cock,
swallowing him down whole. Arthur stared at the way the lips wrinkled when
Eames sucked harder, loving how red and bruised they became after a while.
Eames looked up at him with pretty green eyes, humming lowly around Arthur’s
cock, causing a vibration that sent Arthur into madness.
Arthur’s mouth went slack as the other man worked him, stroking and sucking
him, wet and sloppy. Instead of pushing Eames away, Arthur brought his hands up
to Eames’ light brown hair, combing his fingers in the soft strands, scratching
affectionately at his scalp. The soft sucking noises filled the room, coupled
with Arthur’s now increasingly insistent panting.
Normally Arthur was good about controlling his orgasms, but this one hit him
swiftly. Watching Eames’ thick lips go deep red and wet around his dick was
just too much. Arthur quickly warned him, groaning, “I’m gonna cum!” before
exploding into Eames’ mouth. He shot off spurt after spurt, draining himself
completely onto Eames’ willing tongue.
The Englishman opened his mouth, revealing the pool of semen on his tongue,
grinning darkly at Arthur before swallowing. He lapped at the remaining bits of
cum on Arthur’s cock before gazing at Arthur behind long lashes.
“You’re so sweet, darling. I could suck you like this all day.”
Arthur’s brain had become mush, so he couldn’t think of anything much to say,
he just moaned weakly in response.
Eames laughed, kissing the sensitive mushroom tip before creeping up the couch
on his elbows to kiss his young lover on the lips.
Before he could however, the Korean owner opened the door, once again without
knocking, and when she saw Eames on top of Arthur, clear as to what was going
on, the woman began shouting at them, flailing her arms dramatically.
“Out! Out! Out now! Now!”
Arthur surely understood that.
--
The two ran through the streets of downtown Ann Arbor, screaming and laughing.
Arthur’s was heart sick with young love, feeling as though anything were
possible right now with Eames’ hand holding his, with Eames laughing and
smiling just for him. They owned the night together and not even thinking about
the problems back home, or missing Mal and Dom could ruin it just yet.
‘Finally,’ Arthur thought to himself, kissing Eames full on the lips before
they crossed the street to return to Eames’ apartment.
--
Depeche Mode still played distantly in the living room when Arthur was laid out
naked on nice, clean linen, Eames tweaking his nipples as he pressed his tip
against the boy’s saliva slicked hole.
“Are you ready for me?” Eames whispered in the dark room, hooking his arms
under Arthur’s knees. The younger boy quivered, thinking about how masculine
and solid the large man was and how sexy it made Arthur feel to be so thin and
vulnerable in comparison.
“Yes,” Arthur breathed out, craning his neck to get a better view of Eames’
face in the dark. There was a sliver of moonlight beaming through the window
that shone upon his face, making him blue and seductive.
Arthur took a sharp intake of breath and placed both palms against Eames’
slightly hairy chest, covering his two tattoos that covered the sizable pecs.
He could feel the man’s muscle flex and quiver as Eames sank into him, the heat
of Arthur proving delicious and soul-stirring.
Arthur hissed at the intrusion, the pain red hot when the thick member
penetrated him. He yelped when Eames pressed forward down to the hilt.
“Fuck!” Eames groaned, falling forward to mouth at Arthur’s neck. “It’s really
hard to hold myself back. You’re so tight.”
Arthur squeezed his eyes tight, wrapping his arms around Eames’ neck. He
pressed his cheek against his lover’s scruffy cheek, the skin there slightly
moist with sweat. The boy clenched around Eames’ cock and then Eames pulsated
inside of him in response. Arthur’s legs wrapped around the man’s torso and
then the Englishman hooked his arms under the teenager’s armpits, pulling him
into a vice grip. He pressed his mouth against Arthur’s ear and breathed, “Can
I fuck you properly now?”
Arthur nodded against him and then let out a loud yelp when Eames pulled back
and then pumped into him, the slide insanely slick, but the pain still mind
numbing.
But he didn’t want to tell Eames to stop. He didn’t want to tell him that it
hurt like fucking crazy because truth be told it felt just as good.
Arthur moaned louder and Eames encouraged him, fucking him harder, cooing in
his ear that he wanted to hear Arthur scream for more.
Eames filled him to the hilt again and again and again, and surely enough
Arthur’s hole was finally relaxed.
“Fuck me, come on,” Arthur growled when Eames began to slow his pace.
“I’m too close, wait,” Eames was panting for air, his chest and forehead
dripping with sweat already.
Arthur rocked his hips against the cock filling him up so fully, rubbing his
hands all over Eames’ sweaty body. Arthur explored with his fingertips all the
nooks and crannies, loving the way Eames’ back muscles felt complicated, but
smooth; he adored the bit of fat on Eames’ sides, preferred he had a bit more
to grab onto; then Arthur molested the man’s damp, hairy chest, watching Eames
obviously feel desired under Arthur’s exploration. His fingers traced the
tattoos that littered the other man’s body, redrawing them all as if he were
placing them there for the first time.
The distinct scent of musk and sweat lingered in the room, driving Arthur
crazy. Not keen on waiting around for what he wanted, Arthur pushed Eames over
into the mattress, keeping them connected still, but now he was on top and
Eames was on the bottom. The Englishman’s cock seemed to sink even further than
it did before, now with his full weight on top of Eames.
“Oh, I think I like this position too,” Eames said, smiling stupidly as he
rolled his hips, slow and gentle.
“Me too,” Arthur quipped. He leaned forward, kissing Eames passionately, their
tongues dancing in a sexy fervor that sent Arthur’s hips rocking quickly.
The teenager fucked himself on Eames’ cock, lifting one of the man’s arms up,
revealing the dark patch of hair under his armpit. Arthur dipped down and nosed
the hair, his loins shivering when Eames’ full on musk filled his nose. Arthur
opened his mouth and licked at the hair there, eventually tonguing as much of
the area as possible.
Eames lifted his hips high off the bed, fucking Arthur and lifting the boy’s
own arm up to return the favor.
They licked at each other’s pits, both dizzy from the insane bombardment of
pheromones lingering in the air.
Done with all the extras, Eames pushed off the bed, slamming Arthur into the
mattress on his back, prompting a small giggle from Arthur that was completely
silenced when Eames drove down into him, fucking him like an animal, just the
way Arthur wanted him to. He clenched Arthur’s round buttocks, spreading the
boy’s ass so that he could watch his cock disappear into the tight entrance.
Arthur moaned loudly, holding on for dear life as Eames grunted and fucked him
senseless. Eames began to screw him so quickly and so hard that Arthur for a
moment forgot what was happening, caught in a surreal moment where he was
suddenly cumming without any hands on his cock. He spurted between their two
bellies, both of them ignoring the new found wetness there. Eames only fucked
him harder and faster, not stopping until he was balls deep and emptying
himself.
Arthur could feel the man’s cock bucking wildly inside as it gushed helplessly,
the warm liquid filling him up deeply.
Eames collapsed on top of Arthur, completely spent. “Thank you,” the Englishman
said, panting loudly for air. He made to pull out of Arthur, but the boy would
have none of it; he wrapped his arms around his lover and held Eames in place,
eliciting a soft chuckle from the older man.
--
The sex was mind-blowingly amazing, and the shower sex thirty minutes later was
almost as great.
Now all nice and clean, the two of them thought it’d be a good idea to sleep,
but by four in the morning, that was clearly no longer an option.
They were too locked into conversation to sleep, too intrigued by each other.
“Isn’t it nice?” Arthur asked, his thumb caressing Eames’ herringbone necklace.
“What?”
“This. Us. It’s nice right?”
Eames sighed, reaching up to push a rouge strand of hair from across Arthur’s
eye, hooking it behind the boy’s ear. “It’s lovely.”
Arthur didn’t say anything else, just stared and wondered what the hell they
were doing.
“I know what you’re thinking about,” Eames said, his thumb brushing across
Arthur’s smooth cheek, musing to himself how the boy probably couldn’t even
grow a beard there.
“What’s that?”
“This. Us.”
Arthur pressed his lips into a sharp line and moved forward to nuzzle against
Eames’ chest.
“Should we talk about it?” Arthur mumbled into the man’s breast.
Eames sighed again, pressing his lips on top of Arthur’s head. “Depends. You
ready to leave wonderland?”
That statement alone proved to Arthur that they needed talk.
--
“There’s just so much you don’t know about me Arthur,” Eames lamented, the two
of them now sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing one another.
“Then tell me. Give me a chance to understand before assuming I won’t.”
Eames sighed heavily, sliding a hand down his tired face. “It might ruin our
friendship.”
Friendship? This was a friendship?
“Fuck, Eames! You’re the immature one here. Isn’t there something to be said
about the maturity it takes to trust someone? I trust you! You could have
hacked me up and had my head chilling in a deep freezer by now.”
Eames had to laugh at that, the joke lightening up the tension. Arthur leaned
forward, cupping Eames’ hands in his. “Please. If there’s some stuff you need
to tell me and it’s the only thing that’s holding you back from really pursuing
this, whatever this is, then say it now. I can’t take it anymore.”
“Okay... okay,” Eames whispered, his gaze lingering on their coupled hands. He
cleared his throat, and suddenly Arthur realized how nervous the man seemed.
“Alright. So. I steal shit,” Eames said, shrugging his shoulders and looking
away from Arthur. “I stole this necklace from a jewelry shop in D.C.. I stole
this bed from an Art Van in Hamtramck. My Trans Am? I nicked it from a poor
fool in Dallas, Texas. But, to be fair, he had it coming. He was a proper
prick.”
Eames’ gaze flickered up to Arthur to gauge his response, seeming so small and
childlike.
“That’s it?” Arthur asked, letting out the breath he’d been holding. “That’s
your big secret?”
“Well, that’s not the full story.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“The truth is... I’m just a bored rich kid. I used to get into fights all the
time just to prove I was tough. I was an outright bully. Used to beat up the
gay kids on the way from school, just because I knew they wouldn’t fight back
and because I hated myself.”
Eames paused, looking at Arthur, wondering what he was thinking. Arthur only
squeezed his hands and nodded for him to continue.
“And well. I kept surrounding myself with the wrong sort and got pretty deep in
some gang shit and ended up spending the last two years of high school in
juvenile detention. But, while I was inside I studied really fucking hard, and
as it turns out I’ve got me some good brains. So, I took some tests and after
jumping through loads of hoops, Mal’s dad got me into university here.”
Arthur smiled, leaning in close to give Eames a chaste kiss on the lips, “See,
you’re doing good now though! Yeah, you steal, but you can cut that out if you
want to. I don’t care about who you used to be.”
Eames let out a long sigh, “There’s still a bit more.”
The teenager chuckled, bowing his head. “Alright, go on then.”
“I’ve completely flunked out this past semester. My sister has been
intercepting letters from the university, but before they were always warnings.
But a fortnight ago she wrote me, saying she no longer wanted any part of it
since the latest letter said that I’d failed completely and that they were
sacking me.”
“Oh no,” Arthur whispered, pressing his lips together.
“I know. So, once my parents find out, I’m pretty much cut off. Study abroad in
America was supposed to be my saving grace, but I’ve sullied it.”
Arthur sighed, racking his brain for something to say - some advice on what to
do next perhaps.
“Why did you lie to us?” Arthur decided to ask.
Eames shrugged, “I wanted you little bastards to like me. It’s the same as when
you lied about knowing who Depeche Mode was. Sometimes we want to make people
think we’re something special.”
“You’re special to me,” Arthur said, giving the man a small smile.
“That’s lovely of you Artie, it really is, but I’ve fucked my life over too
many times to drag you down with me. You’re too young for it.”
Arthur rolled his eyes, “Would you stop making decisions for me? And stop
treating me like a child! I’ll be seventeen soon and in a year I’ll be on a
college campus making hard choices like which major to choose, which clubs to
join, Pepsi or Coke? We don’t have to make this one a hard choice.”
Eames laughed, rocking in his seat on the bed. “You never take my bullshit
Arthur, that’s why I like you.” Eames smiled sadly, bowing his head. “But, I
don’t think I can be in a real relationship right now. Not with you.”
Arthur felt wonderland crumble all around him.
The boy snatched his hands away, biting his bottom lip. “Would have been nice
to know that before I fucked you.”
“Arthur....”
The boy shook his head, wishing maybe he’d not said anything because tonight
had actually been quite nice; he’d already begun imagining it being like this
always. Arthur found himself longing for Dom and Mal, or his mother. Someone he
could count on.
He looked up at Eames finally, his throat dry and his skin prickly. “You’re a
fucking coward,” Arthur spat, scrambling off the mattress.
Eames didn’t stop him as he stormed out of the bedroom, but he followed.
“What am I supposed to do Arthur? If my parents are cutting me off and I’m no
longer in school, how the bloody hell am I supposed to continue living in
America? I’m on a student visa! You know what happens after that expires? I go
back to England!”
Arthur stopped at this, turning and glaring at Eames in the dark hallway. “We
could figure it out together, but you’ve already given up on that.”
“Arthur..., you don’t understand. If we start this now and I have to leave,
it’ll be so much harder in the end!”
“Then why bother with me in the first place?” Arthur shouted, suddenly in
Eames’ face. Lately he found himself rarely able to control himself.
Eames sighed, blinking hard. “I... because, because I knew as soon as I saw
you... I wanted to be with you.”
Arthur could see the emotion twisting Eames’ face as the older man struggled to
keep composure.
“If I’d known it’d come to this, I may have backed off immediately.”
“But you did know Eames. You knew your situation, but you still did what you
did. Kissed me at Skate Land. In the car. Fucked me in the park and just now in
your bed and in the shower. You could have stopped it, but you didn’t. You’re
just using me.”
“I’m a human being, Arthur. I’m lonely and I could see that you were as well.
We’re both Depeche Mode type of blokes.” Eames grinned to bait Arthur into
doing the same, but he wasn’t biting.
“Do you remember what you said to me that night we were in the park?”
“I said loads of things I reckon, I was blissed out on LSD.”
“But this was something big - something you don’t say often.”
Eames shrugged his shoulders, raising his hands inquisitively. “What? What did
I say?”
Arthur could feel the disappointment in him boil over. How could Eames not
remember? They were high and tripping balls, but even Arthur could recall that
special moment.
“You’re such a fucking asshole Eames. I wish I’d gone on thinking you were
straight.” Arthur spun around and charged for the door, toeing into his shoes
angrily.
Could he count on anyone anymore?
“Where are you going Arthur?”
“Home.”
“Back home to your dad.”
“I can handle my dad, but I can’t handle this. I expect my father to be a jerk,
but you...” Arthur tied his shoes, and stood up, his hand on the door knob.
“Come on Arthur, the buses don’t even start running for another three hours.”
Arthur considered this, and he didn’t have much cash on him at any rate.
“At least stay until Ariadne gets back. She’ll be here at ten. I’ll take you
home then.”
Arthur frowned, bending down to untie his shoes, “I dunno if I should ride
around in a stolen car with a fucking coward.”
“Don’t be unkind,” Eames’ voice seemed to crack as if Arthur’s teasing got to
him.
Arthur kicked his shoes off and walked past Eames as if he weren’t there. He
flopped on the sofa and curled into a ball, wanting the core of the earth to
just swallow him up and get him out of this situation.
The boy kept his eyes shut as he listened to Eames walk away and then return
with a blanket to cover Arthur with. Eames patted him on the shoulder and
wished him a goodnight before turning the record player off and going to bed.
Arthur opened his eyes and realized how fucking sucky it was knowing that Eames
was only a room away and they both were sleeping alone tonight.
All in a matter of a few days, everyone that Arthur cared for was gone or their
presence compromised.  
When it rains, it pours.
--
Arthur couldn’t sleep so well, even though the couch had been quite
comfortable. He tossed and turned all night, only stopping to pretend he was
asleep when Ariadne came stumbling in the next morning.
Turned out that pretending to sleep was a good way to fall asleep. He got a
good hour in, but soon Ariadne and Eames were awake frying bacon and eggs and
chatting it up, which had made it pretty much impossible to sleep.
Arthur joined them in the kitchen, sleep deprived and still a little
heartbroken. He didn’t look at Eames much, but Ariadne was a nice breath of
fresh air. She complained endlessly about her younger brother who was still
living at home with her parents. He’d just gotten his girlfriend pregnant and
lost his job at Montgomery Wards after being caught smoking weed in the lounge.
It was nice hearing about someone else’s problems for once.
“He’s a fucking dumbass!” Ariadne exasperated, scooping up the sunny egg she’d
cooked especially for Arthur with her spatula, walking over to the small dining
table in the kitchen where he and Eames sat. “And my parents are still letting
him stay in the basement rent free!” She gently laid Arthur’s egg down on his
plate, prompting a small ‘thank you’ from the teenager.
Eames sighed, “Well, he’s their son. One day you’ll understand what it’s like
having your own children; I’d like to see you sack ‘em when they turn
eighteen,” Eames quipped, already beginning to nibble at the bacon his plate.
He tested a glance towards Arthur, but the younger man only had eyes for
Ariadne it seemed.
“Yeah, well we’ll see about that.”
All three of them sat at the tiny dining table, Eames having to sit atop a milk
crate because they only had two chairs.
Eames and Ariadne small talked over the delicious breakfast of eggs, bacon,
homefries and english muffins. Arthur listened as he spread butter on his
muffin, catching Eames’ gaze every now and then, conjuring up a raw pinkness to
Arthur’s cheeks.
Arthur could be mad all he wanted to, but Eames never stopped being so damn
attractive; Even in the morning with his hair all messy and his eyes narrow
with drowsiness.  
After a few painful minutes ticked by, Ariadne had clearly had enough of their
silent treatment towards one another.
“Okay, whatever this is,” the woman pointed between the two of them, “you two
better figure it out now, because it’s making my morning awkward and I just got
home.”
Arthur sighed, taking a bite into the egg and bacon sandwich he’d made for
himself. He looked over at Eames, expecting him to explain, or to get them out
of the line of questioning.
“We had a... a long night is all,” Eames offered, shoveling homefries into his
mouth until it was full.
“Is that where Arthur got the black eye from?”
The young man felt his skin twitch where he was bruised as if the wound itself
had grown self-conscious from Ariadne’s watchful eye.
“No. That was something else. Long story,” Eames offered, gobbling up more
homefries and guzzling down some cold orange juice.
“Whatever,” Ariadne grumbled, finishing up her meal. She picked up Eames’
plate, leaving Arthur’s as he hadn’t quite finished his meal.
Eames leaned back in his milk crate seat, fully sated.
The girl sighed, shaking her head as she tossed the dirty plates and forks into
the sink, “Really wish you guys would stop being weirdos.”
“Hm.” Eames flickered a look towards Arthur who’d been ‘accidentally’ staring
at him. His eyes dropped down to the boy’s half-eaten sandwich. “After you’ve
finished, ready to go back?”
When he nodded, Arthur felt like this was finally goodbye.
--
Arthur hadn’t noticed how little he spoke that morning until he said goodbye to
Ariadne with a hoarse croak. He hugged her and left through the door with
Eames, knowing that it’d be the last time he’d see her.
Ann Arbor was normally a thirty to forty minute drive to Detroit, but this
morning it felt completely and utterly too brief. There were so many things he
wanted to say to Eames. He wanted to ask him to keep trying. He wanted to lower
himself until the Englishman agreed. But right before he tried to open his
mouth the better part of Arthur told him to keep his mouth shut. So, they drove
the entire way without speaking with just the radio on.
Arthur’s heart began to beat rapidly when Eames pulled up to the end of his
block and parked at the usual spot. Eames turned the engine off and they sat
there like they did the day before, their relationship, or as Eames called it,
their “friendship” caught in flux.
This was it.
Eames sighed  deeply, scrubbing his face with the palms of his hands. “So. Do
you plan on fixing things with Dom and Mal?”
Arthur worried his brow, the question seeming oddly out of place. “I don’t
know. Even if I was, it wouldn’t be any of your business, now would it?”
Eames banged his hand against the steering wheel angrily, startling Arthur.
“Fuck, Arthur! You think this is easy? You think I want it this way?”
“That’s what it feels like! You won’t even try!”
The older man let out a strangled cry, his hands fisting his hair. “So what, we
never can see each other again?”
Arthur swallowed as he watched Eames become emotional, though Eames did not
cry. “I think it’s for the best that we don’t. The best for me anyways.”
Eames cut his eyes away, resting his elbow on the open car window. He leaned
his head into his hand, roughly carding his fingers through his hair as the
realization hit him that he was going to lose Arthur right now if he didn’t do
something about it.
They sat there in silence again, even the radio had been turned off.
Arthur didn’t want this to be the end. It didn’t feel right - it wasn’t fair.
The teenager looked over to Eames who was already staring back at him, his eyes
red.
“So, is this it?” Arthur asked, his throat seeming to close itself as he spoke.
He would kill for a glass of water right now.
Eames shook his head slowly, pursing his beautiful lips. “It doesn’t have to be
like this Arthur. We could be friends you know.”
“With a bit extra on the side.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What do you mean then? Are we supposed to go back like the last few days never
happened?” Arthur’s voice shook, overcome with emotion.
“That’s not what I mean either.”
Arthur threw his hands up in the air, mentally preparing for their end and the
beginning of dealing with his father again.
“I want us to still be able to hangout - to see each other,” Eames said,
reaching over to place a hand on Arthur’s knee.
The younger man edged away, glaring at him. “And what of your ‘human nature’,
your so called loneliness? Can you control that when we’re around each other?
Or can I expect to be kissed randomly whenever your selfish needs flair up?”
“I get it. I deserve all of this. Any more callous remarks before you leave?”
“Go to hell Eames,” Arthur yanked at his door handle and climbed out of the
car, slamming the heavy door behind him.
“I love you,” came Eames’ voice before Arthur could even take his hand off of
the warm metal of the car door.
Arthur’s heart stopped and then began pounding as if it were attempting to
break through his chest.
He leaned down, his hands inside of the window. “What did you just say?”
“I love you,” Eames repeated, his face flushed red. “That’s what I said to you
that night in the park. I was tripping hard, but I remember.”
The bastard! How dare he say that now, just when Arthur needed to already start
getting over him? Arthur slammed his hands on the door and flipped Eames off
before storming down the street. He strode stiffly forward, hating Eames right
now for what he was doing, and totally unsure about what he was about to face
at home.
Arthur begged himself not to turn around, but when he didn’t hear the familiar
rumble of the Trans Am, he had to. He looked over his shoulder, taking one last
glance at the car, barely able to see Eames watching him walk away forever.
“Fucker,” Arthur spat before ripping his gaze away, blinking away hot tears.
--
His father wasn’t home, but his mother’s truck was in the driveway. He came in
through the back patio door because he’d forgotten his key and Arthur knew they
left one under the outdoor rug there.
Once inside, Arthur called out to his mother, searching the house and then his
parents bedroom, but to no avail.
He took a shower to wash the smell of Eames off of himself and threw his
clothes into the washing machine to erase any remnants of the Englishman. All
that was left was the soreness of his asshole and the pain in his heart.
Arthur had Eames’ number in his hand, wanting to rip it up and toss it on the
stove range, but he didn’t have it in him. Some stupid side of him was hopeful
that they’d meet again, maybe when he was older and Eames respected him more.
Instead, Arthur tucked it away in one of his Batman comics.
The placement was still appropriate. Eames was still a fantasy that would never
come true.
--
Arthur’s bed swallowed him up for what seemed like ages until he woke up to the
wet and warm tongue of Johnny the following morning. He scratched the dog
behind its ears, just the way it liked, and gingerly got out of the bed. The
smell of bacon wafted upstairs from down below, making Arthur’s stomach growl
hungrily.
Johnny was out of his cage and there was bacon on the stove? Had his mother
returned?
Arthur quickly brushed his teeth and scowled at the ugly mug staring back at
him in the mirror. The black eye had turned a deep purple, almost black. Arthur
swallowed grimly as he left the bathroom and stalked down the stairs to the
kitchen.
His father was busily making his way around the kitchen area, opening cabinets
for ingredients, the morning news playing loudly on the small television set.
The man stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed Arthur standing in the
doorway. On the counter he laid down the glass container of flour he’d just
retrieved from the cabinet, his eyes on his son with an indescribable
expression.
Regret. Relief. A bit of both?
“Son,” David whispered, smoothing his hands over his t-shirt which was clearly
just for cooking on the count of how many stains it suffered.
Arthur’s jaw stiffened and suddenly he had no idea what to feel. He’d expected
to be angry at his father - expected to be so pissed that he’d turn back around
and hide in his room, but no, that’s not what he felt now. Arthur stared back
at his father who’d started walking towards him, his face twisting into a raw
emotion Arthur had only seen once before when they found out that Anthony was
being sent off to prison.
David pulled him close into an embrace and began to sob, saying how sorry he
was for hitting Arthur, begging for his forgiveness.
“I only want the best for you Artie. That’s all I want,” David said once they’d
broken up the father-son moment. “I never meant to hurt you and your mother
like this.”
“I know dad,” Arthur sighed, realizing that he believed his father.
“I just didn’t want you to become like Anthony, son.”
“Dad,” Arthur said, pursing his lips and testing a slight grin, “I’m not
Anthony, okay?”
David nodded, wiping away his tears. He gestured towards the stove. “I’m making
french toast. Wanna help your old man with the rest?”
The sentence felt strange, almost as if this man standing in front of Arthur
wasn’t really his dad. But Arthur cautiously rolled with it, joining the man in
creating their breakfast meal.
--
Sitting down with his father at the table hadn’t actually been so bad. David
didn’t ask him where he’d run off to last night, nor did he lecture on the
importance of education like he usually did.
Arthur got his big question out of the way: Where’s mom?
“She’s at Sunny Oaks rehab center. They moved her there this morning. We can
visit her tomorrow if you like.”
Arthur nodded, feeling relieved. He wanted to ask more questions, but he was
too worried that their conversation would ease into murkier territory, so he
stayed mum on the subject.
“You know, you left Johnny out all night when you ran off. Found him crying in
the backyard the next morning,” David said, his tone slightly scolding for the
first time today.
“Sorry,” Arthur mumbled, sitting back in his seat, sipping at his glass of
milk.
“Given the circumstances, let’s let it slide this one time.” Arthur’s father
winked at him, and it felt strange.
Arthur cleared the table and poured Johnny’s dish full of dog food, noting that
both his food and water trays had been moved up to the kitchen. This new leaf
his father had turned... Arthur wasn’t so sure he believed in it just yet. But
maybe it took having to get punched in the eye for his father see what he was
doing to their family. His black eye would be a silent reminder for the next
week.
David decided to take a nap, so Arthur left him to it.
--
The teenager spent the better part of the day watching ‘Murder She Wrote’ and
‘Golden Girls’ reruns, barely sufficient distractions from the whirlwind of
shit his life had become.
He missed Mal so much. They’d sometimes pretend they were Golden Girls
themselves. Mal was always Blanche and Arthur was Dorothy of course.
Arthur contemplated dialing her number, but knew it wasn’t such a great idea.
He thought of Dom. He wanted to call up his old friend and talk about the
upcoming release of the Sega Genesis that year, and maybe they could apologize
to one another for the other day?
If only it’d been a small problem, Arthur could just bring a pack of Budweiser
and they could sort it out over video games at Dominic’s house.
Instead, he returned to his room and locked himself away, even rejecting Johnny
who’d barked and wagged his tail happily until Arthur closed the door on him.
Arthur sat at his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out his college
applications. He laid them all out on the desk.
Eastern Michigan University.
University of Michigan.
Michigan State University.
Wanye State University.
And finally Michigan Tech.
Those were all the major public universities he had his sights on. University
of Michigan seemed the odd man out because now he’d have to dodge both Mal and
Eames, that is, if Arthur and his parents could afford it.
Arthur hadn’t even bothered writing his name on any of the applications yet. He
took a deep breath and dove in headfirst.
--
That first week with his dad wasn’t so bad because after they’d visited his
mother in rehab (she was doing much better), David started back up his normal
working hours, which meant that Arthur often times had the place to himself.
When his dad was around he was actually not so bad. He’d thrown all of the
whisky away (except for a secret stash behind the tv) and swore off hard liquor
for a while.
Arthur used his alone time for plenty of self-reflection, but mostly he buried
himself into his studies. Arthur had picked up a few calculus textbooks from
the library and tried to teach himself as much as he could.
Every Tuesday and Thursday Leah had visiting hours. Arthur would take the hour
long bus ride down to the clinic which was nearly in Dearborn where all the
yuppies lived. She hated the food in the cafeteria, so sometimes Arthur would
sneak her in twinkies or a zebra bar.
They chatted about mundane things like the weather, or her crazy roommate
Bertha who was a recovering cocaine addict who may or may not have been blowing
the male nurse that tended to their care.
“She’s got no teeth in the front. Probably feels amazing!” Leah quipped just as
Bertha entered the room one day.
“Fuck you Leah!” yelled the woman, obviously overhearing the gossip. She was a
tall, awkwardly proportioned woman who looked like your typical lot-lizard
blonde who probably had tall tales about being some local Detroit band’s
groupie on the road. She glared at Leah, but when her eyes fell on Arthur, she
smiled, winking at him. Arthur felt his stomach turn green.
Leah laughed, covering her mouth. “He’s gay sweetheart. Completely barking up
the wrong tree.”
Bertha seemed disappointed, but shrugged, “I’ve turned gay boys out too.”
Leah and Arthur both eyed each other, cringing, but then bursting out in
laughter.
These days were the best because Arthur could finally confide in someone.
Besides, his mother didn’t like to talk about what happened that night when she
overdosed. She didn’t want to relive the night with her son.
So, instead, Arthur confessed his own issues.
On his birthday, he told her everything, albeit the PG-13 version of
everything. She scoffed and called him an idiot for what he did to Dom and Mal,
but admitted that she understood why he’d done it. He wasn’t quite sure how
that made him feel exactly, but he knew it had been better this way than to
just keep bottling it all up inside.
Then there was the subject of Eames.
“It’s his loss honey,” Leah said as they walked about the outdoor courtyard
area, the scent of lilac and tickling Arthur’s nose. The sun was up, but a nice
and steady breeze made it not too unbearable.  
“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Arthur sighed, chewing his bottom lip.
“Then believe it for christ’s sake!”
“Mom, you don’t get to say ‘christ’. You’re Jewish, remember?” Arthur scolded
jokingly.
The woman rolled her eyes, “Oh please! It’s because I’m Jewish that I can take
that hack’s name in vain.”
The mother and son shared a laugh and then lulled into an easy silence. The
outdoor resting area was nice enough, but Arthur could tell his mother wanted
to go further out. He reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing it.
“Only two more weeks and you’re out. Then you can come home!” Arthur said,
smiling broadly at her.
Leah smiled back, but it quickly faded as she casted her eyes down to the
ground below. “There’s something I need to tell you Artie.”
--
It wasn’t that Arthur was particularly surprised that Leah had decided to
divorce his dad, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected it so soon.
He still held onto her hand though as she explained herself, describing that
night she turned to getting high to escape David’s wrath.
“I just couldn’t take anymore, you know? It’s just... I think we really fucked
up with Anthony, at least David thinks we did, especially me.”
“It’s not your fault Ma! Anthony was a shithead and was always gonna be a
shithead. End of story.”
“No... no, I didn’t do enough to stop it. I encouraged his behavior even. Then
I found myself doing the same to you Artie, and I just couldn’t sit and watch
you fall down the same path.”
“But I’m not!” Arthur was getting frustrated, realizing this whole thing was
stemming from him being ‘the problem’.
Leah squeezed his hand gently, “That night Eames brought you in. I should have
done more. I should have told your father sooner.”
“Wait, what, you told him?” Arthur’s mouth hung open, flabberghasted.
Leah nodded. “The night I overdosed.”
The teenager let go of his mother’s hand, brushing his shaggy hair back with
both his hands. If his dad knew about that crazy night when he came back home
completely wasted and drugged out, why hadn’t his father mentioned it? “So
that’s why he went ballistic on you?”
Leah nodded, stuffing her hands into her jean pockets. “I had to tell him
Artie. I felt like I was being a bad parent.”
Arthur almost growled in frustration at the woman’s self-deprecating comment.
“Dad’s been the one fucking up, Ma. The tighter he clenches his fist over our
lives, the faster we slip through his fingers! You can’t go around blaming
yourself for things you can’t control. Anthony would have ended up in jail no
matter what - that was his fucking destiny and he fulfilled it!”
Arthur was panting hard, breathing through his nose while his lips stayed
clenched tightly. His mother stood there speechless, unsure what she should say
to Arthur to make him understand.
“Ma...,” Arthur sighed, moving forward to place a hand on her shoulder. “You
can’t just up and leave like this.”
Thick tears rolled down her face. Arthur hadn’t even noticed her beginning to
cry until then.
Leah reached up and cupped her hand into his, smiling sadly. “I love you Artie,
you know that?”
Arthur tightened his lips, feeling as though he wanted to cry. He hadn’t
realized until then that he rarely ever did say, “I love you Mom.” He said it
this time, and made a promise that he’d say it more often.
--
The reality didn’t set in that his mother and father were getting a divorce
until she moved out two weeks after she’d been released from the rehab center.
They helped her move into a small apartment just a short walk from their house.
She was super close, but Arthur felt like she was moving far, far, far away
forever.
The apartment was modest and a bit run down, but Arthur was sure his mom could
fix it up in no time. She was on medical leave from the plant so she had all
the time in the world.
David took it especially hard, deciding to take a few weeks off to spend time
with Arthur at home.
This turned out to not be so bad.
Arthur mainly liked to stay in his room and study these days. He’d recently
become extremely interested in cryptography, checking out every single book
they had on the subject at the Detroit Public Library.
The boy’s newfound dedication to his studies didn’t go unnoticed by his father,
who’d come in every now and then with food, roughing up Arthur’s hair in
admiration.
David hadn’t done that to him since he was ten.
July zipped by and then August seemed to zoom just as quickly by as the last
month. After a while, Arthur just stopped thinking about his friends and
eventually stopped thinking about Eames. Though that became quite difficult
when he decided to purchase Depeche Mode’s ‘Black Celebration’ album on
cassette so that he could listen to it during study sessions. That worked for
about a day. Every time he listened, his fingers burned to grab the comic book
and fetch Eames’ number.
He hid the cassette in his bookcase, out of his sight as if it were a dirty
little secret.
--
Arthur had received his acceptance letters from Wayne State, Michigan State,
and Eastern Michigan, all with sizeable scholarships. He was still waiting on U
of M and Michigan Tech, the two big ones, but his father thought it was a
reason to celebrate anyways.
The night Arthur got his early acceptance letters, David took them both out to
the Wheat & Rye bar. It was more of a family restaurant than a bar really,
which Arthur liked because he never had much fun at bars given he was
underaged. The Wheat & Rye had world famous corned beef sandwiches that were
the size of Arthur’s head.
They joked and laughed over dinner, his father limiting himself to one beer. He
let Arthur sip at it occasionally when the waitress wasn’t around. Arthur felt
happy for the first time in awhile and couldn’t believe the complete turn
around he and his father were making. The teenager savored these moments, still
not fully able to trust that things were going to be like this always.
Chatter about football turned into chat about college and of course the topic
of money came up.
“Don’t worry about money son,” David said after swallowing a mouthful of his
corned beef sandwich. “We’ll take out loans if we have to.”
“I couldn’t ask you guys to do that,” Arthur said, dipping a potato wedge into
the mountain of ketchup he’d made for himself on his plate.
“We’ve saved up enough to cover most of it. It won’t hurt to borrow a bit. So,
that means that when Michigan Tech or U of M early acceptance letter comes in,
don’t let money be a deterrent.”
Arthur smiled, nodding his head. “Yeah... okay.”  
The two men continued dinner with visions for the future, figuring out where
Arthur would live, what his roommates could be like, how grossly expensive
books were going to be. Arthur was just so fucking happy and blissfully full of
corned beef and greasy fries, nearly ready to go home when suddenly he noticed
Mallorie approaching their table. She strode over dressed in the ugly “cowgirl”
waitress uniforms that consisted of brown daisy dukes, a gold button-up top,
and floppy cowgirl boots that were usually way too big for the girls. She
looked every much as beautiful as Arthur remembered her, except now she was
awkward and red faced with a stupid brown ten gallon hat on.
She waved at the two men at the table, lowering her gaze for a moment before
saying, “Hello Arthur... hello Mr. McCallister.”
“Hi,” Arthur said, his heart ready to burst.
“Mallorie right? Artie’s friend?” David said, pointing at the girl with a meaty
finger.
Mal and Arthur both chuckled nervously, but all the same nodded.
“I just heard from your waitress that you’d gotten into Wayne State, EMU and
Michigan State. Congratulations.” Mal smiled tightly, her eyes trying to meet
Arthur’s but somehow always missing the mark.
Arthur blushed, fumbling with his glass cup of water, “Yeah, thanks. My dad has
been bragging about it all night.”
“It’s not every day your son gets into three of the major public universities!
Still waiting on U of M and Michigan Tech,” David said, gulping down the rest
of his beer.
Mal’s eyes widened, “Michigan Tech. Wow. Didn’t know you were the sort to go so
far away from home.”
The tone was ever so slightly bitchy, Arthur could tell, but he played it cool
because honestly, seeing her right now was giving him everything.
“People change,” the teenager said in response, shrugging his shoulders.
Mal nodded to this, seemingly impressed. “Well... I’m truly glad to hear you’re
doing well Arthur, and nice to meet you finally Mr. McCallister.”
“Likewise,” David replied, smiling politely.
“Thanks Mal,” Arthur said, feeling himself suddenly choke up. He couldn’t
believe how much he’d missed her.
She grinned, her large expressive eyes on Arthur. “Maybe... maybe sometime we
could catch up? Maybe go to the Daly Dog or Leo’s?”
Arthur swallowed, feeling desperately happy and cautiously relieved. “Yeah.
That sounds... that sounds awesome, yeah.”
The girl smiled at them both before saying she had to get back to work, leaving
the two men in a delicate, lingering scent of Yves Saint Laurent Opium.
“She was a pretty thing. Why don’t you date her?”
Arthur sighed, the first annoying thing his father had said that night.
The older man coughed awkwardly, realizing his mistake. He sucked the corned
beef chunks from in-between his teeth before raising his hand for the check.
--
Meeting up with Mallorie was a surreal and sufficiently awkward experience, but
Arthur was glad it happened; it gave him a more accurate vision of where they
were and how far they’d have to go to be friends again. The circumstance that
put them here wasn’t talked about, more like it was talked around. They knew
the words “I’m sorry,” were on the tip of their tongues, but neither of them
could man or woman up to the challenge.
The talk stayed tame, mostly college shit, though Arthur was dying to tell her
how wrong she’d been about Eames and Ariadne. He decided he shouldn’t talk
about Eames like that without him being there to tell his side of the story.
Why Arthur even gave a shit about Eames’ side of the story was beyond him.
Mal had gotten into U of M already (big surprise) and Dom had decided to follow
her there since her father yet again pulled strings for someone. Arthur guessed
that meant no University of Florida.
So, it was confirmed. Dom and Mal had started back to dating and apparently
were still in it for the long haul. Arthur would be lying if he said he didn’t
think this meant that it was safe to assume they’d all become friends again in
the end.
Nonetheless, he stayed cautiously optimistic.
--
Arthur spent the last shimmering moments of his summer with his parents,
alternating between the two of them, though he stayed home with his dad for the
most part.
When Arthur got his acceptance letters to both U of M and Michigan Tech, his
dad let him drink the secret stash of whiskey he’d hid behind the television
set.
They invited his mother over and had their first family meal all together in
months. Arthur tried not to feel so sad, but he couldn’t help it.
His mother Leah and his father David, both beaming at him proudly, not even
hackling him to choose which school he wanted to go to. This was in sharp
contrast to how it was just a few months ago when Arthur was constantly scolded
on being out late.
It felt good.
Arthur didn’t think the night could go any better, but then his father said he
had a surprise for him, which, coming from his father, it was an actual, legit
bombshell. David and Arthur both disliked not knowing about things before they
happened.
“It’s outside,” David said and they all got up from their seats, Arthur’s
parents following close behind as he walked towards the front door.
Arthur was jittery with anticipation; excited, but kind of scared, but more so
excited for whatever this “surprise” was. He tore the front door open and
stepped outside, looking around for anything unusual, perhaps a big box in the
front yard.
But there was nothing.
Arthur turned around, his jaw slack, “You guys aren’t tricking me, are you,
because it’s a cruel one if you are.”
Leah laughed, clenching onto David’s arm. His father laughed too, digging into
his pocket.
“You really don’t see it?” David asked, pulling out a shiny ring of keys.
“Look!”
Arthur turned and then that’s when he noticed. A brand spanking new blue Ford
Escort in the driveway between his dad’s mustang and his mother’s truck.
“Oh my god... oh my god!” Arthur shouted, running over to the shiny new
vehicle. “Is this really mine? What’s it for?”
“Yeah!” his parents both said in unison, prompting a few awkward glances at one
another.
“It’s for... many things. But mainly for proving me wrong,” David said.
“For proving us both wrong,” Leah added, grinning proudly.
“This car? Right here? You’re not pulling my leg are you? You’re not giving me
Ma’s old truck or something right?”
David chuckled, walking forward from the front door to drop the keys in
Arthur’s hands. “It’s yours son.”
Arthur’s hand trembled when the cool metal dropped into his hands, feeling so
light and delicate that they’d blow in the wind. He didn’t know what to say, so
he talked with his body, yanking his father into the tightest embrace he could
ever recall and then ran over to hug his mother equally so, picking her up for
a moment to spin the short woman.
“But no driving until you get your license!” David said, wagging his finger.
“And you’ll have a curfew while you’re in school. After that, you’re an adult.”
Arthur nodded, still smiling a mile a minute. “Fair enough.”
“We’ll practice together so you’ll be ready for the driver’s test,” Leah chimed
in, equally excited to see Arthur so stoked and pumped.
Arthur was so happy he could literally die. But of course, he’d rather not;
life was finally turning around!
But even with his tiny, itty bitty baby steps towards repairing his friendship
with Mal (which he hoped would mend his relationship with Dominic by
association), his acceptance letters, his parents’ approval and his brand new
car, something was achingly missing.
He’d really started forgetting about Eames. Yeah, he still jerked off to the
memory of their sex, only seeming to achieve a proper orgasm when he recalled
how Eames felt inside him - how he smelled and felt, but he didn’t always think
about the other man like he used to.
Arthur was glad that the Englishman hadn’t tried to call or bug him at all, but
likewise, Arthur found himself growing bitter over the fact that Eames hadn’t
pestered him. It became clear that Eames really didn’t care or he was too much
of a coward to face Arthur ever again. Or maybe he was just respecting the
younger man’s wishes. Arthur liked to live in a fantasy where Eames didn’t give
a shit about him so that it’d be that much easier to get over the cool young
man that bulldozed his way into his heart just a few short months ago.
--
It had been a lazy Saturday before Arthur’s first week of school. Yusuf had
called earlier, which had been a huge surprise as the Indian man hadn’t called
Arthur’s house since Anthony lived there. Yusuf was throwing a huge back to
school party up the road, but Arthur didn’t feel much like partying.
Tonight Arthur had the place all to himself because his dad had gone back to
his busy schedule at the prison working the graveyard shift. Watching M.A.S.H.
and Larry King Live reruns proved depressingly domestic.
He decided that perhaps spending some time drinking and partying after such a
stressful month would probably be a good thing.
Arthur pulled on his skin tight acid denim, donned his brother’s old Anti-
Nowhere League t-shirt that had gone light black from the years of washings.
There were a few holes towards the bottom of the shirt, but he didn’t care.
He hurried to tie his all black chuck taylors and smuggled the bottle of
whiskey his father gifted to him in the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
Arthur was out the door and then into the Detroit streets, readying to unwind
for the first time in ages.  
--
Yusuf was probably the only close friend Arthur’s older brother Anthony ever
had. His brother rarely trusted anyone other than Arthur. Yusuf was a local
drug dealer and was the only person Arthur would ever buy anything from if he
needed to get high. When Anthony was a free man, Yusuf and him would sell blow
on the side, but mostly stuck to pot. After Anthony was arrested, Yusuf only
sold weed and occasionally pills when he had them.
The Indian man lived in a large three story house that was really two
apartments. His good friends Mickey and Ian stayed on the other side, so it was
really as if they all lived in one house.
The night was warm, but thankfully comfortable.
There was thumping rap music that Arthur could hear even a block away. He’d
walked to the place figuring he’d be in no shape to drive later. Besides, Yusuf
only lived six blocks away.
A dozen or so cars were packed in the front yard like sardines and many more in
the driveway. Everyone always came to Yusuf’s parties because they knew they’d
be guaranteed to get high. The front porch was packed, the sound of chatter and
music filling the air, sending a nostalgic shiver up Arthur’s spine. That was
until he remembered he was all alone; Mallorie or Dom wouldn’t be by his side
to gossip about the other partiers.
Arthur paused outside the house, scanning the porch for anyone he recognized.
There was Jody Donalds making out with a boy he couldn’t quite recognize. She’d
grown breasts in the 6th grade and had been a slut ever since. He smiled, oddly
thankful that little did change around here. The rest of the lot were semi-
recognizable faces - mostly people he’d met in passing at school or through
mutual acquaintances.
The boy took a deep breath and bounded up the rickety stairs and then strode
right through the front door.
Loud hip-hop beats pounded in Arthur’s ears, the bass tickling his eardrums.
The living room was stuffy and smelled like booze and male puberty.  People
were drinking, smoking pot and dancing in the middle of the smoky, dimly lit
room.
Oliver Mann was the DJ tonight, situated in a corner at a turntable and a set
of really massive speakers. Arthur wondered who helped him carry those beasts
in. Oliver was bobbing his head to the towering beats, glancing around the room
to make sure everyone was still in the groove.
Arthur ambled into the noisy mess, unzipping his jacket and retrieving his
whiskey. He scanned the room as he walked deeper into the house, trying to
catch Yusuf or someone he knew better than these strangers he didn’t recognize.
He bit his bottom lip when he caught sight of quite a few football players, but
thanked god Nash wasn’t there.
Arthur screwed off the top of his liquor and took a big gulp, wincing painfully
when the burning liquid scorched its way down his throat. He took another
sizable drink and continued on through to the kitchen. On the dining table
where a few people were sitting and chatting, beer bottles and cans littered
the surface, enshrining a plate of somewhat dodgy brownies.
Beside the plate of brownies, there laid a small white ceramic bowl full of
various colored pills. Arthur eyed them, wanting so badly to grab a few. He
nodded towards a girl who’d just leaned over the table and picked up a purple
one, popping it into her mouth like a piece of candy, grinning at him.
“Want one?” she lifted the dish, handing it over to him.
Arthur eyed the bowl, wanting to laugh his head off at the Winnie the Pooh
design that rimmed the dish. He picked a round, medium sized white pill. He
popped it in his mouth and washed it down with another swig of whiskey. He
winked at the girl playfully and walked away, noticing that the liquor was
already making him relaxed.
He continued through the house to find Yusuf, finally trekking up the stairs.
He tried Yusuf’s bedroom first, but the door was locked. The other rooms were
mostly empty, save for one where a couple were too busy snorting to notice him.
Arthur turned on his heel, not really looking to do something as hard as coke
(cocaine and heroin were his limits).
Where was everyone?
He lazily went down the stairs, taking every step one at a time as he
contemplated what to do if there wasn’t a single soul he wanted to talk to. Go
home most likely. But that sounded lame as shit. He’d spent the later half of
his summer hauled up in his room studying and being the good boy his dad always
wanted him to be. Arthur deserved a bit of fun, right?
When he reached the landing, his jaw dropped, but Arthur quickly schooled
himself.
Eames was in the corner swigging on a pint of cheap vodka, sexy as always in
his white tank top. The man’s unique tattoos covered his shoulders, reminding
Arthur of how much he missed touching and tracing those dark markings. Arthur
locked eyes with the other man, making him feel as though his heart had
bottomed out and drained itself.
Arthur couldn’t handle this right now, probably never. He scrambled nervously
through the crowded room, finding an empty spot on the sofa. The boy plopped
down and rubbed his clammy hands on his jeans, trying his damnedest not to look
like a jittery coke addict right now.
He’d thought of this day for a while now, always wondering what he would say,
what needed to be said. But he couldn’t even look at Eames, let alone talk to
him. Arthur could feel Eames’ gaze burning into his cheek, but he dared not
look back. Instead, he focused on the dirty dancing in front of him, bobbing
his head involuntarily to the current synth-pop beat. He felt the world spin a
bit, but then quickly focus.
In the corner of Arthur’s eye a figure approached. He didn’t bother to look,
too afraid that it would be Eames.
“Hey Artie,” came Mal’s sweet, airy voice.
Arthur’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline, a slow coming smile on his
lips. Mallorie was cute tonight in a pair of white Boy London leggings and a
simple Nike top that had been cut at the midriff.
“Hi Mal.” He shot up, his head spinning for a moment.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Mal said, idly swaying her hips to the music.
She brought the can of Pabst up to her lips for a sip.
Arthur watched her, remembering the old times, wishing their friendship was
back to where it was before. He wanted so badly to dance with her, to break
down the final barriers. Instead, he just smiled broadly, his eyelids falling
lazily.
The girl laughed at him, pointing, “Are you high? Merde!”
Arthur laughed too, lolling his head about, “I guess I drank a little too fast.
I took one of the pills in the kitchen too.” His brain felt a little foggy, but
he felt alright.
“Yum.” Mal giggled, one hand on her hip. She glanced over her shoulder, eying
towards where Arthur knew Eames was still standing. He forced himself to not
follow her gaze.
“Did you know Eames was here?”
Arthur shrugged, finally stealing a peek. Eames was now chatting with Yusuf, no
longer concerned with Arthur it seemed. A twinge of disappointment irritated
him, but he ignored it.
“Oh! There’s Yusuf. I looked all over for him,” Arthur said nonchalantly, his
eyes still actually on Eames who finally did flicker a look towards Arthur,
pausing briefly before rubbing his nose and glancing away.  
The French girl was obviously unconvinced, her lips pressing closely together.
“I know we’ve not been the closest of friends this summer, but I still remember
who you are. What happened between you and Eames?”
The Sahara Desert decided to relocate to Arthur’s throat apparently. He
coughed, taking a small sip of his whiskey in response. “Whatcha mean?”
Mal probably found his whole ‘act dumb’ routine nostalgically frustrating and
amusing at the same time. “You know exactly what I mean.”
Arthur scratched the back of his head, sighing. “It’s sort of a long story.”
“I’ve got time,” Mal said, reaching over to grab him by the wrist. “Come on,
we’ll go to the back porch.”
He let her pull him through the crowd, butterflies fluttering about in his
stomach as he could feel their weird tension melting away. Alcohol had a way of
helping things like this along.
In the narrow hallway that led towards the back of the house, a group of young
footballers squeezed through, all of them hooting and hollering at Mal, but
then giving Arthur odd, almost angry looks. A few of them grumbled, ‘fag’ under
their breaths, but Arthur kept moving forward, not willing to engage in any
sort of altercation.
His heart stopped when he spotted Dom coming up towards the end of the group.
Even Arthur could admit that Dom was handsome tonight, even in his stupid
varsity jacket. They caught eyes, but Dominic immediately cut away, crashing
against Mal to ravish her with a deep, obnoxiously lewd kiss.
“Where you going?” Arthur heard him ask. Mal’s hand dropped from Arthur’s arm.
“Going to have a chat with Artie.”
Dom nodded, not even giving Arthur the slightest bit of acknowledgement. He
kissed her once more and stalked away.
Arthur hadn’t noticed he was holding his breath until he suddenly felt the
sensation of something akin to suffocation. Mal must have noticed because she
pat him on the back and led them outside.
--
Leaving the house was a welcome change actually as it was much cooler outdoors
and the music wasn’t as loud. Arthur felt as though he could finally breathe.
Seeing both Eames and Dom was pretty much taking him through some intense and
complicated emotions that he honestly had no patience to figure out just now.
Seeing Mal was enough.
A few people were out on the patio, but no one they were concerned with. Mal
and Arthur ducked into a lonely corner and sat crossed legged, facing one
another.  
“So,” Mal began as she fetched a pack of Virginia Slims from inside the elastic
band of her leggings. “Are you going to tell me everything, or do I have to
torture you to find out?” She flipped open the top of the box and pulled out
two cigarettes, handing Arthur one.
Arthur shrugged, “I suppose so.” He waited as she retrieved a small green
lighter from the Virginia Slims box, lighting his stick before setting flame to
her own. “Seems like you already know something.”
“I do,” Mal admitted, pressing out a cloud of smoke. “You two seem to regard
each other as taboo subjects.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, when we met up a few weeks ago, you dodged the topic of Eames as much as
I dodged the Skate Land incident.”
Arthur swallowed nervously at the mention of the ‘incident’. He ducked his head
low, thumping away the bit of ash on the end of his cigarette. Disgusting guilt
settled in his belly and suddenly he was vomiting the words, “I’m sorry, Mal.”
The girl shook her head, “I’m sorry too. Dom is as well, though he won’t admit
it just yet.” She puffed at her cigarette, looking away briefly, contemplative.
“Another topic for another day.”
Arthur nodded in agreement.
So, the subject of Eames it was.
--
Arthur told her everything. Even about the sex, though he didn’t go into exact
detail (even if Mal did nearly beg him to tell her). She was sufficiently
stunned by the news of Eames being gay, but eventually came to the conclusion
that it had all started to make sense.
“You know, he was always very fond of you,” Mal said, grinning.
Arthur sighed, not wanting to talk about how they both knew Eames liked him.
Whatever that meant before, it meant fuck all now. Eames didn’t want a
relationship, plain and simple.
“He’s just trying to protect you, you know. I get that, but on the other hand I
see and understand your pain.”
“Pain?” Arthur defended, laughing bitterly, “I’m not in pain! I’m kind of glad
it’s like this now. He’s gonna end up back in England before the year is over
anyways.” He couldn’t believe he was now agreeing with Eames’ reasoning.
“That’s not what I heard.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “What did you hear then?”
“Eames applied to EMU and got in. His parents know all about him flunking out,
but apparently they’re giving him a second chance. He said he had you to thank
for that. Mentioned he wanted to come and thank you personally, but then he
went all quiet-like. That’s when I knew something had happened between you
two.”
Arthur found a smile threatening to form, way too happy to hear even a
suggestion that Eames was sad about what happened to them.
A ‘what if’ floating around in his head, but he pushed it away as best as he
could. There was no way he could ask Eames whether or not he was ready for a
relationship. Arthur couldn’t lower himself to that level, nor could he face
the possible shame of being rejected again. But nonetheless, hope began to ring
in his heart.
A commotion broke Arthur from his thoughts, the distinct sound of people
yelling and screaming from inside the house. The piercing noise of glass
shattering perked both Mal and Arthur up to their feet. The back patio door
burst open, and four or five guys were caught in a brawl that spilled out onto
the backyard grass.
“What the fuck?” Arthur breathed out, bounding off of the patio to catch a
better view.
When the men broke apart briefly, Arthur noticed him, Eames, his face bleeding
with his white tank top ripped at the side. That was when Arthur also began to
recognize the four other boys, all members of the Jr. Varsity football team.
Before the teenager could blink and think of what to do, all four of the men
charged at Eames, one taking him from behind, binding his arms behind his back
while another boy freely punched the handicapped Englishman multiple times in
the face.
Arthur couldn’t think straight anymore. Blind rage turned his vision red and
before Mal could grab him by the arm, he was in the brawl, punching a
footballer right in the back of the head. A strange, animalistic gratification
seized him when the boy dropped to the ground. He turned, swiftly dodging a
punch coming his way, but before he could land a blow, Dominic had joined in,
seeming to appear out of thin air. Dom knocked the other football player to the
ground in a rough tackle. He punched the other boy in the face over and over
until he stopped squirming. Arthur’s eyes were immediately on Eames who had
somehow unhooked himself from the last footballer’s grip, landing a nose
breaking elbow blow to the face. The man turned around and placed a well aimed
punch to the boy’s chest, successfully knocking him to the ground with a
satisfying thud.
Arthur’s hand throbbed painfully and his lungs burned as he panted, the
adrenaline beginning to edge away.
Dom turned to him, his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “You okay?”
He nodded, almost left stunned by Dom’s gesture. Arthur fixed his gaze onto
Eames who was already looking back at him, his face shiny with blood.
The man eased slowly towards them both. “Bastards,” Eames said, spitting out a
mouthful of blood. He opened his mouth and tested one of his front teeth.
“Teeth still in order though.”
“I’m so sorry Eames. I tried to stop them,” Dom said, turning as one of the
boys on the ground began to stir.
“I know, I saw.”
Mal charged over, her hand on Dom’s chest as she checked his and Arthur’s faces
before gasping loudly at Eames’. “Oh my god Eames! What happened?”
“Donny, Joe and two other J.V.’s got upset when they found out who Eames was,”
Dom explained, panting hard. He cocked his head over to the boys on the ground
where multiple people were checking up on them. “They’re close friends of
Nash.”
Arthur clenched his sore fist, feeling as though sweet victory had been
delivered. He was only half-listening to Dom explain to Mal, because all he
could do was stare at Eames, his eyes darting towards the gash over the Brit’s
right eyebrow and the one on his chin. It looked bad, but Eames was oddly calm
as if he’d been doing this sort of thing all the time.
The Englishman was staring back at him, a tiny, almost painfully hopeful smile
on his face.
“Looks like you’ve saved my arse this time.”
Arthur laughed, rapidly overcome with emotion. Ugly sobbing tears were so ready
to burst through his tear ducts that he had to look away.
“We need to clean your wounds,” Mal said, her maternal instincts kicking in.
She got close to inspect the nasty injuries. “Might even have to go to the
hospital.”
“Bollocks! I’ve had nastier brawls, believe me.”
“What the fuck?” came Yusuf’s accented voice from the crowd that had formed
around them all. He was floaty on weed and prescription drugs, but Arthur could
tell his high was being blown.
“Where’s your first aid kit, Yusuf?” Mal asked frantically, her eyes wide and
worried.
“I don’t have none of that shit. We got like two band-aids left. That’s not
gonna help him.”
“I’ve got one at home. I can run and get it,” Arthur offered, already beginning
to jog away.
“I’ll come with you,” Eames said, following right behind.
Arthur eyed him, his brain screaming ‘no, that’s a terrible fucking idea’ but
then his heart rejoiced at the opportunity. He looked over to his old friends
Mal and Dom, both seemingly content on not saying anything on the matter. The
thinly framed boy finally sighed, nodding before turning to push his way
through the crowd with Eames closely behind.
--
Instead of walking, Eames drove them back to the house. He was completely
wasted, but it was only a few blocks so Arthur wasn’t worried. They didn’t
speak much; Eames mostly hissed and groaned in pain the entire way there.
Arthur asked him for details on how the fight broke out, but it was pretty much
as Dom explained it. Once they’d found out who Eames was, they pretty much
immediately ganged up on him. Arthur’s hatred for them and the rest of the
football players only was soothed by the throbbing in his hand, because it
reminded him how amazing it felt to kick someone’s ass.
Arthur was sucker punched with shameless nostalgia while he rode in the Trans
Am. He wished the circumstances were different and that Eames wasn’t so bloody
right now because he wanted to kiss that bastard so bad.
--
“Sit down,” Arthur instructed Eames, pointing towards the toilet as he swiftly
dug through the medicine cabinet for the first-aid kit. He quickly kicked the
door closed when he heard Johnny’s feet bounding up the staircase. The dog
whined outside the door pitifully. A few months out of the cage had spoiled him
rotten it seemed.
“Shut up Johnny!” Arthur yelled, kicking the door hard, silencing the animal.
He found the first-aid kit and plopped it down on the sink.
“Poor pooch,” Eames said, sighing.
“Poor you,” Arthur leaned close and investigated the man’s gashes. He turned on
the faucet and washed his hands with a bar of soap. With cool fingers, he
reached over and pressed gently near the bloody injury over Eames’ eyebrow,
wincing when more blood dripped down, prompting Eames to shut his eye. “These
are minor wounds, but they may scar.” Arthur leaned over to the nearby shelf
above the toilet and fetched a clean washcloth, running it under cool water
before wiping the blood from the other man’s eye.
Eames chuckled, “Since when did you become a nurse?”
“Since my mom got tired of cleaning Anthony’s wounds whenever he got into
fights, which was often,” He stepped back to assess the full damage. “Take your
shirt off.”
Eames grunted as he stood up, moaning in pain as he eased the thin tank top
over his head. His thick, highly developed body was still beautiful and his
tattoos just as interesting as the first time Arthur traced his fingers across
them. The memory sent a twinge of lust through the younger man’s body, but he
shook it away; there were more important matters at hand.  
“That’s going in the trash,” Arthur snatched the dirty shirt away, pressing it
into the trash can beside the toilet. He eased past the man and pushed open the
shower curtain. He leaned inside and turned the water on, twisting the knob
towards the blue ‘C’ for cold. Arthur held out his hand, testing the
temperature. “You’re gonna stand under this for awhile until the gashes stop
bleeding.”
The boy finally turned around, surprised to see Eames already naked, his pants
pooled at his feet. His eyes darted straight down to the man’s golden pubic
hair, scanning downward to drink in the sight of Eames’ uncut penis. A cheeky
grin was plastered on the roughed up man’s face. It almost made Arthur smile
back. Almost.
“Thank you Doctor McCallister,” Eames said, pressing past Arthur to hop under
the cold water.
Arthur grinned, opening the first-aid kit. “No problem, Charles.” He looked
back at Eames darkly, a laugh on the edge of falling out.
Eames hooded his eyes and yanked the curtains shut.
Arthur hummed, amused with himself. Okay, so he’d missed Eames. Missed him
quite a lot. There was no shame in being happy that he was around him again,
regardless of the circumstances, right? He sat down finally on the toilet seat,
a wave of dizziness spinning him briefly as he listened to the water splatter
across Eames’ body. He’d be glad when his drunkenness finally passed.
“Christ this stings!” Eames shouted, hissing.
“Once you rinse them clean I’ll put some ointment on you and bandage them. They
won’t sting after that.”
“Always thought ointment was an odd word. Ointment. Ohh-iinnt-ment. See? It’s
strange. It’s like a word a posh piglet would say if it could speak.”
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. “Looks as though you haven’t changed at
all.”
The water stopped and then the curtains were pulled back, revealing Eames’
shiny and dripping wet body, a boyish smile on his face. Arthur so desperately
wanted to continue falling for this charm, but a little bug kept reminding him,
“This is the guy that didn’t want to have a relationship with you.” He swiftly
snatched his gaze away from a single droplet of water that had begun to roll
down Eames’ washboard abs, sliding further until it stopped at the curly
beginning of his bush.   
“What did you expect to change in two months?” Eames asked, standing fully nude
in front of the younger man like it was nothing.
Arthur folded his arms, “Apparently you can change your mind. Mal told me you
were going to EMU in the fall.” He quickly stood up, grabbed a towel for Eames
and tossed it into his face. “Dry”
“That was supposed to be a surprise,” Eames mumbled, ducking his gaze almost
sheepishly as he dried himself with the large towel.
“Well, it was.” Arthur fiddled around with the first-aid kit, grabbing the
ointment as Eames dried himself off.
“But I’d intended to come and tell you myself,” Eames elaborated, dragging the
towel between his legs to dry his balls and between his thighs.
“Why would you wanna go and do a thing like that?” Arthur pointed to the
toilet. “Sit.”
Eames obeyed, tossing the towel onto the nearby drying rack before sitting.
“Because.”
Arthur moved forward, pressing his right leg so close that his shin almost
touched Eames’ cock, not that he was taking note of that fact, of course. He
twisted the cap off the tube of ointment and squeezed a healthy glob of cool
cream onto his finger. He rubbed a bit onto the cut over the Englishman’s
eyebrow. He noticed the swelling on Eames’ left cheek, reminding himself to
fetch the ice pack from the freezer later.
“‘Because’ isn’t a sufficient answer Mr. Eames.” Arthur moved on to the really
nasty cut on the man’s chin. “Chin up.” The cut was worse than the eyebrow
gash, but it still didn’t look as though he’d need stitches.
“Because,” Eames said, his voice low. “You were right.” Arthur felt large hands
on his thighs, not squeezing, or pressing, just ghosting. “And I’ve missed
you.” He rocked his hips to push the hands away.
“Hands off! You had your chance, remember?” Arthur said, actually more bitter
than he wanted to be. He had trouble understanding how he wanted Eames to flirt
with him, simultaneously resenting him for the act.
“I do,” Eames said, staring Arthur in the eye, suddenly freezing the teenager.
The man tested another feel, his left hand sliding up the back of Arthur’s
thigh, stopping where his ass began to curve.
“Did you even miss me?” Arthur found himself asking, feeling childish, but
nonetheless wanting to hear the answer.
“Of course! I missed you every day after. You have absolutely no idea how hard
it was to come visit Mal and not come here afterwards. Some days I’d park down
the street and hope to catch you walking.”
Arthur paused, emotion making his face hot. He could feel the angry tears
stinging behind his eyes. “You’re so selfish, you know that?” Arthur walked
away, tossing the tube of ointment into the first-aid kit, fetching a butterfly
closure bandage for the man’s eyebrow and a large band-aid for his chin.
“I know. I was afraid, Artie,” Eames said sadly as Arthur returned to him,
holding still as the boy applied the bandages. “I was stupid and afraid.”
“So what happened? What changed your mind?” Arthur asked with a shade of
vexation behind his voice. He had a right to be pissed, though he still
struggled with this regrettable desire to drop to his knees and suck Eames off,
right then and there.
Eames grabbed him by the hips, holding him still. “When you said goodbye and
called me out on my bullshit. It was because of you that I even bothered
applying to another university. Well, that and Ariadne wouldn’t let me live it
down. I think she was more upset about it than you.”
Arthur clenched his jaw, hating how Eames’ hands slid down and clenched at his
ass cheeks, making his cock twitch.
“So what’s this?” Arthur asked, his voice shaky as he let Eames touch him. He
cock only grew harder in his pants.
Eames stood up and pulled Arthur close against his naked body. “I want to try
again.”
Arthur shivered against the man’s bare skin, his hands automatically resting on
Eames’ hips. “But, I thought you didn’t want this?” He didn’t know he was
breathing so hard until he felt how laborious it was to speak.
“I’ve always wanted it. I just... I thought I was protecting you, but really I
was hiding. I was running away from actually dealing with things straight away.
This entire time I’ve been treating you like a child when really I’ve got loads
to learn still.”
Arthur suddenly felt his self control breaking down. His hands were sliding up
the man’s smooth back, growing sick with raw lust for Eames’ body. Arthur’s
cock ached in his jeans, and ached even more when Eames’ own growing erection
was pressed against him. “Eames,” Arthur protested weakly, pushing away. “What
if you change your mind. I can’t do this all over again.”
“I won’t.”
“How can I trust you?”
“You probably shouldn’t.”
“Fuck!” Arthur groaned as Eames unbuckled his belt and shoved his pants half
way down.
“Arthur,” Eames called out, pressing their foreheads together, the other man’s
lips so fucking close that Arthur could feel the heat from them. “I want to try
us again. I wanted to come and tell you ages ago that I applied to EMU and that
I wasn’t afraid anymore, but I was just too ashamed and felt as though I didn’t
deserve another chance. So if you choose to dump me to the curb... I would
understand.”
“Shut the fuck up and kiss me already, you asshole.”
They crashed together, sloppy, hungry kisses that left Arthur’s mouth red and
wet. Arthur moaned against the man’s mouth when Eames grabbed hold of his cock,
jerking him quickly. Eames felt so solid and warm against him, so hot and
irresistible. The man’s cock stood fully at attention, already drizzling with
pre-cum. Arthur had never seen anyone so leaky. He reached out and grabbed at
the thick penis, stroking it, sliding Eames’ foreskin back and forth.
“Oh, christ!” Eames gasped into Arthur’s mouth, pressing harder forward to
completely claim Arthur’s mouth. His hot slippery tongue searched the boy,
flickering across his teeth and under his tongue. “I’ve wanted this for too
long.”
Arthur could taste the blood on Eames’ cut lip. Something about that made him
even hotter for the Englishman. He bit the plump bottom lip, suckling on it
before moving over to claim the man’s stubble covered neck. He sucked hard on
the skin there, humming around the suction as he remembered the hickey Eames
had given him, wanting to repay the favor.
Eames jerked him harder and quicker, the teenager’s cock growing rock hard
under the man’s careful hand.
“Fuck, you’re so hard darling,” Eames panted, extremely turned on by how badly
Arthur wanted this.
Arthur sucked harder on the same spot he’d been working on before flushing
their bodies together, the sudden onset of orgasm attacking him. “Eames, oh god
I’m gonna come.”
“Not yet,” Eames whispered, letting go. But it was too late.
Arthur pushed away, stumbling backwards until his back hit the wall with a
heavy thud. “Oh, fuck!” He moaned, his voice high pitched as he began to spurt.
Arthur’s legs wobbled, then he dropped to his knees, too weak to support his
own weight. He sat on the back of his heels, unable to control the thrusting of
his hips as he spurted, a thrust forward for each shot of cum. He moaned
deliciously, biting his lips and caressing his inner thighs with sweaty palms
as he rode the best orgasm he’d had in months.
Eames stared at him, slack jawed in amazement. “Looks like that one’s been
stored up for quite some time,” he said breathlessly.
Arthur panted, rubbing his back against the wall like a cat in heat. “Fuck!
Let’s... let’s go to the bedroom.”
The Englishman looked down at the cum stained floor. “Erm... suppose we should
cleaned up first?”
Arthur followed his gaze and laughed, groaning as he got to his feet and
reached up to comb his hands through his lover’s hair. “Yeah, we should
probably do that.”
They laughed and Arthur could feel the moment click his life into place like
the last jigsaw puzzle piece.
--
The two of them cleaned up Arthur’s cum off the floor and took quick warm
showers before the younger man had his back on his mattress, his legs in the
air and his arms around Eames’ neck. The Englishman had just slicked his cock
with his own spit and was digging deep into Arthur, plunging in and out slowly
at first.
“When will your father return?” Eames whispered as he pumped into the smaller
boy, his necklace dangling and sliding coolly across Arthur’s chest.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be out all night,” Arthur breathed out, pulling his lover
down for a kiss on the man’s thick lips.
Eames’ kisses were juicy and soul-stirring. What the man could do with his
tongue was amazing. Arthur let Eames fuck his mouth with his tongue and fuck
him with his cock simultaneously, performing both acts as if he did it all the
time.
Eames swallowed the boy’s gasp when he jabbed deep, keeping himself buried all
the way to the hilt. Arthur’s eyes were wide as saucers, his mouth open,
emitting a small, whistle-like high pitched gasp that made Eames’ cock throb.
“Fuck, I love it when you scream,” Eames breathed, placing kisses along
Arthur’s jawline, leaving it peppered with dabs of wetness. He pulled out,
leaving his mushroom tip in. He slammed back in, prompting a wince from Arthur,
but then an encouraging roll of his hips.
“Good?”
“Fuck yes. Don’t stop!”
Eames chuckled, two kisses on the young man’s lips and then on his forehead.
“No need to be greedy, I’m all yours.”
Arthur moved his hands down to Englishman’s back, scratching the entire way
down. He looked Eames in the eye, serious. “Fuck me, you bastard!”
The muscular man picked Arthur up from the bed, stepping out onto the floor as
he carried him. Arthur wrapped his arms around his older lover and then his
legs. Eames held him by the ass cheeks, splitting them wide so that Arthur’s
tight entrance was more accessible. He pressed up into the boy, fucking him in
midair.
He pumped and pumped, loving how Arthur shivered in desperate desire. The boy’s
ass was so snug and tight around Eames’ cock, trying at pulling a much desired
orgasm from him. They both kissed as Eames slid in and out of Arthur, fucking
him quickly, but then slowly, but speeding up again. Eames’ arms grew tired so
he laid Arthur on the bed, but never disconnected. He fucked him properly now,
deep and unrelenting. He grunted lowly and went really wild on Arthur’s hole.
His thrusts became sporadic and his grip on Arthur’s hips became so tight that
the boy began to cry out in pain.
The cries only encouraged Eames, prompting him to go faster and faster until
his last thrust sent him over the edge, emptying all of himself into Arthur.
Eames collapsed atop Arthur, staring down at the boy. Both of them were slick
with sweat, panting and mesmerized by the pleasure vibrating through them.
“I love you,” Eames said as he caught his breath, staring Arthur directly in
the eyes, never faltering.
“Do you fucking mean it this time?” Arthur replied, breathless.
“I meant it the first time.” Eames placed a sickeningly gentle kiss on Arthur’s
lips.
Arthur crashed their lips together, wrapping his arms around the larger man’s
broad shoulders, loving how solid and safe he felt in his arms.
“I love you too.”
Eames smiled, suddenly so happy he could die.
--
After a cursory clean up with a most likely dirty towel that Arthur had found
on the floor, the two boys laid up in the warm mattress with nothing on but
their underwear. Arthur held Eames in his arms, the man’s stubble rough on his
smooth, boyish chest. He didn’t care though. The teenager combed his hands
through Eames’ hair, placing a kiss atop his head because he’d seen it in a
movie once.
Arthur reached into the nightstand beside his bed and fished out a notebook pad
and pen.
“What are you doing?” Eames mumbled against his chest, tilting his head upwards
so that he could see what Arthur was up to.
“Writing a letter to Anthony.”
“Why?”
“Because I promised I’d start writing to him again when I was completely happy.
He hates sad letters.”
Eames smiled and hugged his young lover close, falling asleep against the boy
as Arthur scribbled his letter out, revealing to his older brother all the ways
life had turned out grand for him. He didn’t know what was going to happen
after this, but he knew that he’d live life with Eames to the fullest, right
down to the mere seconds.
 
                                    The End
End Notes
     I started this story basically in December and somehow was able to
     finish it. In what began as a small side-project, something I didn’t
     imagine being more than 20k words, turned into this behemoth.
     Thank you to my main beta (and roommate) Alex who stayed up many late
     nights listening to my hairbrained ideas, made sure to catch me when
     I started writing lazily, and didn’t mind when I changed the ending
     the night before the fic was due.
     I want to thank my good friend Ylith for fangirling with me, being a
     sex scene beta reader and doing power writing sessions with me at
     2am.
     I would like to thank my Nagron family who have travelled over to the
     Inception fandom with me. You people continue to motivate and inspire
     me and you always make me believe in myself. Thank you. (Special
     Nagron family thanks to Leesha for doing a bit of beta reading for me
     <3)
     And lastly, but certainly not least, thank you to wendyloulou for
     creating great digital_fanart for my fic. Also, thanks for acting as
     my second beta! Really helpful towards the end <3. Thanks for putting
     up with my pickiness and my inability to finish my story earlier than
     I said I would. :)
     And thank you fandom for reading this!
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