Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/525192.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Inception_(2010)
  Relationship:
      Arthur/Eames_(Inception)
  Character:
      Arthur_(Inception), Eames_(Inception), Ariadne_(Inception)
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Underage_Sex, Age_Difference, Masturbation, Alternate
      Universe
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-09-30 Chapters: 1/? Words: 4078
****** It's Coming from the Soul ******
by ohfreckle
Summary
     Seventeen year-old Arthur visits a night club for the first time and
     falls in lust at first sight with Eames, the resident king of disco
     dancing. Eames is several years older than Arthur, with a job he
     hates but can't afford to lose. Trying to resist Arthur is one of the
     hardest things he's ever done, and that's really just the beginning.
      
     He’s built, with wide shoulders and thick arms, but what makes
     Arthur’s mouth go dry is his chest. The guy is wearing the most
     hideous paisley shirt Arthur has ever seen, purple with yellow
     swirls, but it stretches so tightly over his chest that Arthur can
     see the outline of his pecs and nipples. Half of the buttons are
     undone, revealing dark blond chest hair and what seem to be the black
     lines of a tattoo.
      
     Arthur hates himself a little, but he will gladly forgive any crimes
     against fashion if they hide a body like this.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
“And so it is a crucial as ever to understand theory.”
Arthur stares blearily at the board, trying to decipher the messy chicken
scrawl on it and link it to what Fitch — Mr. Fitch — is droning on about.
Whoever spread lies that Fitch’s English Literature and Composition course
would be informative and challenging never sat through a whole hour of agony
like this or must be a teenage girl with a crush. For an older guy he’s not too
bad, Arthur muses, the sad puppy look probably works like a charm on chicks.
The blank page staring back at him from his notebook makes him want to bang his
head on the table. He doodles a rage face in the upper left corner, adds a
second one for good measure. Maybe it’ll help if the page isn’t so empty
anymore.
Of course it doesn’t, which means he’ll have to borrow Ariadne’s notes. Again,
and they don’t come cheap. Ari is his best friend, but she drives a mean
bargain.
Right on cue, his phone vibrates in his pocket. Arthur looks over to her with a
baleful look, ignoring Barton's rude hand gesture right next to him. Ari just
flashes him a shit-eating grin and makes a shooing motion with her hand. Her
fingers are covered with her too long sleeves, so it looks more as if she's
waving a floppy snake at him.
He stealthily tries to get his phone from his pocket, but Fitch seems to be
half-asleep already from his own lecture and content to talk to his desk.
y r u so tired, did u watch porn all nite?
Fuck off.Arthur thinks that's a perfectly polite reply for that.
I WAS AT BABYLON WHILE YOU WERE JERKING OFF!
NO WAY!!!
Arthur gapes over at Ari, once again ignoring Barton who's flicking his tongue
at him. She grins at him like the cat that got the cream and he's on her as
soon as the bell rings.
“I hate you and you're not my friend anymore,” Arthur says. He crosses his arms
and stares at her accusingly.
“Aha, so you did jerk off,” she snickers at him. Arthur does't even dignify
that with a reply, just gives her a look that says 'duh, I'm seventeen.'
“Robert knows this guy who sells fake ID's, like really great ones. The guy at
door didn't even bat an eye at it.”
They are the last ones to file out of the of the room, making their way to the
cafeteria slowly, content with their own company for now.
“You went to Babylon with Robert Fischer and didn't tell me.”
Now Arthur is really a bit pissed. Robert is with Arthur on the running team
and has the most gorgeous blue eyes Arthur has ever seen. Arthur and Ariadne
both have a bit of a crush on him, but hell, everybody has a crush on Robert
Fischer and yeah, Arthur probably thought once or twice about him last night
while he was jerking off.
“I'm sorry. He only asked me yesterday and then I had to go and find something
to wear and... Oh shit, I’m sorry, Arthur.”
Ariadne deflates a little, but not so much that she isn't still vibrating with
excitement. It's hard to stay mad at her like that and she's his best friend,
so Arthur still opens the door to the cafeteria for her like a gentleman and
even leaves the last chocolate chip muffin for her and takes one of the
slightly soggy blueberry ones for himself with his coffee.
“It wasn't even that great,” Ari says when they're finally seated, picking at
her muffin with her fingers. There's glittery purple nail polish on her
fingers, Arthur notices with a small grin. Ariadne only fiddles with things
when she's lying, so Arthur knows that it was totally awesome.
“They had a theme night, Disco Fever, and there were mostly older people,” she
says, talking to her double shot latte and not quite meeting Arthur’s eyes.
Something is definitely up and Arthur wants to tell her to spill already, but
getting Ari to talk when she’s not in the mood is like pulling teeth.
“It's a night club, Ari, so I guess most people were at least twenty- one,” he
says patiently.
“Do you want to hear it or not,” Ari asks tartly. Her words are slightly
muffled, with her chewing on what seems to be half of her muffin. She looks
like a hamster and Arthur muses that it's a sign of true friendship to let
somebody see you look stupid like that.
“Anyways,” she says, swallowing with some difficulty. She gestures wildly with
the hand that’s holding her muffin, flinging crumbs everywhere.
“It was really awesome. Most people were dressed and dancing like in the
seventies, you know, with really complicated steps and such. And I danced with
this guy who everybody seemed to know. Oh my god, Arthur,” she says
breathlessly, “he was so hot I almost fainted, all big muscles and broad
shoulders and he had a British accent and called me pretty little darling.”
“I bet Robert was really pleased to see you almost faint in Mr. Darcy's manly
arms,” Arthur teases her with a grin. Ariadne blushes furiously, her whole face
turning bright red.
“He got kind of jealousandthenhekissedme,” she squeaks, covering her mouth with
her hands that are once again covered by her sleeves. She looks at Arthur with
wide eyes.
Oh.
Arthur feels his chest constrict with a sudden rush of jealousy and
disappointment. He never made a move, but there are rumors that Robert is
actually bi and he had hoped that maybe...
“That’s— that’s awesome, congrats” he says, swallowing hard.
“This is totally going to be weird now, isn't it,” Ariadne says with an unhappy
frown.
“No,” Arthur sighs heavily. “Look, Ari, give me a day or two and I’ll get over
it. I’ll try, ok. Just don’t make out with him in front of me.” He takes a sip
from his now lukewarm coffee and grimaces. “You could have at least called or
texted me after.”
It’s fascinating, really, the way Ariadne can blush even harder. “We made out
in his car, and then—”
“Then you totally forgot your best friend, yeah, I get it,” Arthur interrupts
her, but it’s mostly to rile her up. He’s glad to see her happy and excited,
even if the thing with Robert sucks. “But I’ll let you make it up to me with
your notes from today.”
“My awesome notes are worth a lot more than a missed call, jerk. But I may be
persuaded to give them to you if you come with me next week.”
“To Babylon, I mean,” she clarifies when Arthur blinks at her
uncomprehendingly.
“I thought it was boring with all these old people,” Arthur smirks. “And what
about your new beau?”
“I want you to dance with me. I really loved that disco thing and I’m dying to
try it again, but Robert thinks it’s girly.”
“So you’re coming to me. Ari, even I am not that gay.”
“Oh, Arthur,” Ariadne says, “if I didn’t know already, one look at your ass in
those jeans would tell me you’re even a lot gayer than that.” She grins and
steals the rest of his muffin. “And I already have your fake ID.”
***
“Hey dad, I wonder —”
Arthur’s father doesn’t even interrupt his phone call when Arthur stops by at
his office on Friday afternoon. He just raises an eyebrow in question and
mouths What at him.
“I need money,” Arthur says tonelessly.
He takes the wallet his father slides over the desk at him and turns it in his
hands. Fuck it, he thinks and after a brief moment of consideration Arthur
counts out five crisp one hundred dollar bills before giving it back. His
father already isn’t paying attention to him anymore and Arthur knows he won’t
check how much he took later, either.
He presses his lips together tightly and leaves without saying goodbye,
slamming the door so loudly it actually rattles one of the heavily framed
pictures on the wall in the waiting area. He’s irrationally angry, at his
father for not even asking if there’s something he needs, but mostly at himself
that he still lets himself be hurt by his father’s indifference.
Hedwig, his father’s assistant, shoots him a disapproving look before he leaves
through the front door that says “Arthur Goldberg sr. & Associates” in golden
letters. It doesn’t bother Arthur, he actually couldn’t care less what the old
bat thinks of him and his manners. But he hates the underlying pity in it, for
poor little Arthur who grew up without a mother and a father who is only
willing to invest money into him but is emotionally unavailable.
His asshole father can’t even spare two hours to come and see him run for the
school team, but 500 dollars mean nothing to him as long as they keep Arthur
out of his hair.
Arthur takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. He’s learned to live with
the fact that he’s only an inconvenience for his father. He spent most his
childhood with Ari’s family who live just down the street. He still visits them
several times a week, of course to see Ariadne and because her mom insists that
growing boys need proper food. But mostly he’s been taking care of himself for
the last two years now. The end of the school year and college can’t come soon
enough.
***
Arthur spends all the money, every last cent of it. He gets a couple of vests
and shirts and a waistcoat that makes his ass look great, at least that’s what
the sales guy tells him. A pick-me-up like that is just what Arthur needs and
the guys seems to have good taste, so he asks him to show him some outfits for
a disco night.
“Well, if you were a bit older and would go to something like, let’s say, Disco
Fever at Babylon, for you I’d suggest something understated and classy.”
The guy is honest to god waggling his eyebrows at him. If Arthur is so
transparent that even a total stranger can look right through his bullshit, how
the hell is that fake ID supposed to fool a professional bouncer who probably
sees twenty of those every night. Shit.
He decides on tight black dress pants with a high waist and a fitted red
vintage shirt with a flared butterfly collar. Arthur has no idea how he’s
supposed to dance in that, even breathing will be difficult, but he has to
admit he looks pretty hot.
“See ya tonight, honey,” the sales guy winks at him when he shows Arthur to the
door.
This is so not going to work.
***
Actually, it does work surprisingly well.
Arthur slicks his hair back to make himself look a little older and the bouncer
doesn’t even take a second look at his and Ari’s IDs. He’ll have to give
Fischer credit, the guy knows where to get the good stuff.
The club is already packed. Disco balls in all sizes are hanging from a ceiling
that looks like a starlit night sky, lit up by rotating lights in every color
of the rainbow. Half of the dance floor is made of underlit tiles flashing in
different primary colors. Arthur thinks it looks pretty much like every other
night club he has seen in movies and on tv, so he guesses it’s the people who
give the place its undoubtedly special atmosphere.
Ariadne wasn’t kidding, everyone in here looks like they stepped fresh out of a
movie from the seventies. Most women wear flared skirts and dresses that are
swinging around their knees and high heeled sandals Arthur has only ever seen
on Dancing with the Stars. Sneaking a look at Ariadne shows that she fits in
perfectly, wearing a chocolate brown skirt and a pair of those killer heels in
gold. Arthur almost pities her, her feet must feel like hell after a few hours
in these.
Arthur’s own outfit seems to be the standard for guys, varying mostly by shirt
colors and patterns. Some men are even wearing suits and surprisingly it
doesn’t look as weird as Arthur would have expected.
“Isn’t it awesome? Say it’s awesome, come on.” Ariadne is beaming, her face
already flushed with excitement. Arthur can tell she’s dying to join the
dancers on the dance floor. Eying them wearily, the thought alone makes him
sweat. He suddenly gets why Robert begged out of this.
There’s some kind of line dance going on, involving a complicated choreography
of steps, finger pointing and hip wiggling. Four steps back, four forward,
Arthur counts, a half turn with their butts sticking out, clap and kick your
feet. Or was it kick and clap?
Arthur groans inwardly and resolves to accept his humiliation like a man.
Ariadne is already tugging at his arm and dragging him to the dance floor,
informing him that they simply cannot miss Diana Ross’ ‚I’m Coming Out‘.
“Did you actually research this?” Arthur boggles at her sudden knowledge of
disco songs. The look Ari shoots him tells him exactly what she thinks of him
for neglecting his own research, so he just resignedly follows her like a lamb
to the slaughter.
Once in line he’s busy to not make a complete fool out of himself. He always
thought he had good rhythm and was a passable dancer, but this— this is hard
work and something else entirely than the dancing he knows from raves and
parties.
He’s so engrossed in getting his steps right that he completely misses the
sudden stop in motion and bumps into the body next to him. “Fucking kids,” the
guy hisses after taking one look at him, and Ariadne, who is supposed to come
to his rescue like a maid in golden heels or some shit like that, she just
snickers at him. Arthur needs better friends.
He lets himself be dragged back into the crowd where everybody seems to
assemble around the underlit area of the dance floor, waiting for something
special to happen.
Special is the understatement of the year.
The guy coming onto the dance floor, posing for a moment with his hands on his
hips— oh God, Arthur feels his face flush hotly.
He’s built, with wide shoulders and thick arms, but what makes Arthur’s mouth
go dry is his chest. The guy is wearing the most hideous paisley shirt Arthur
has ever seen, purple with yellow swirls, but it stretches so tightly over his
chest that Arthur can see the outline of his pecs and nipples. Half of the
buttons are undone, revealing dark blond chest hair and what seem to be the
black lines of a tattoo.
Arthur hates himself a little, but he will gladly forgive any crimes against
fashion if they hide a body like this.
“Oh my god, that’s Eames,” Ariadne breathes. She’s gripping Arthur’s arm
excitedly and gestures to the dance floor. Like there’s a single person who
isn’t already looking there.
“You know that guy?” Arthur asks, without taking his eyes from Eames. Arthur
feels the tiniest bit bad for objectifying him, but really, it’s his own fault
for looking like Arthur’s every wet dream.
“He’s Mr. Darcy,” Ari says, sounding smug and pleased with herself. Arthur
doesn’t have to look at her to know that she’s smirking at him.
Arthur lets his eyes travel higher and now he gets what Ari meant with feeling
like fainting. Eames is gorgeous, with almost obscenely full lips and smiling
eyes and even the side part in his slicked hair strangely fits him instead of
looking like the rightful disaster it is. The hair makes it hard to guess his
age, but he’s older than Arthur by at least by a couple of years, in his mid-
twenties maybe.
Eames is putting on a solo show, moving like no man with that kind of body type
has any right to move. He struts over the floor in long strides until he comes
to a halt in the middle with his legs slightly apart and a hip cocked to the
side. The way he moves his hands down slowly over his hips is positively
filthy. Arthur feels himself grow hard and barely swallows a groan of
embarrassment. There is no way his pants will hide anything.
Thankfully nobody pays him any attention. Everybody’s eyes are on Eames, the
crowd clapping along to the song, the singer wailing You Should Be Dancingin a
perfect falsetto.
Eames smiles and beams at the crowd. He’s clearly soaking up the attention,
thrusting and rotating his hips in a sensuous roll while doing four perfectly
coordinated disco points. Everything looks effortless and easy, but even as
somebody who knows shit about dancing Arthur can tell that it takes a lot of
effort and practice to make it look like that.
Again there’s a sudden shift in the crowd, everybody moving back onto the dance
floor when the song changes. Eames is swallowed in the throng of people, and
Arthur is actually a little glad for it because it gives him a moment to
compose himself before he faces Ariadne.
She’s already dancing next to him, looking down at his crotch with a pointed
look and a smirk on her face before she takes his hand and puts a hand on his
shoulder. Arthur turns her around in a move he sees a lot of other couples
using and snaps a defiant “What” when she just keeps grinning at him with that
knowing look.
“Nothing, I’ve just never seen you flustered like that.”
“Jesus, Ari, you were right, ok. He’s so hot I want to jump him and offer my
virginity to him right here on the floor. Please don’t humiliate me any further
by pointing out the painfully obvious.”
“Ok, I’ll keep my mouth shut and won’t tell you that he’s dancing right next to
you and making out with a hot brunette.”
Of course Arthur looks and yeah, there’s Eames. He’s holding a really hot girl
with curly brown hair close, dancing mostly on the spot. Arthur must be a
masochist, because he keeps looking, the way those full lips slide over her
mouth, kissing her wet and deep. For the second time in a week Arthur feels
that pang of disappointment. It’s just his luck that he always gets hot for the
wrong guys.
Luckily there’s a tap on Arthur’s shoulders before he can give in and wallow in
misery and self-pity, and it’s actually the guy from the boutique.
“There you are, honey, fancy meeting you here. And you even brought a lovely
friend.”
Ariadne introduces herself, smiling widely when the guy gallantly kisses her
hand. She shoots Arthur a curious glance, but he shakes his head at her,
mouthing later. That guy really is something. He’s wearing black pants, a
completely unbuttoned animal print shirt tucked inside and his nails are
sporting a matching manicure.
“Charmed to meet you, Ariadne. I’m Todd, by the way. I never got around to
introduce myself properly to Arthur.” He slings his arms over both their
shoulders, leading them towards the bar. “So, can I buy you younglings a drink?
Only one of course, because obviously you are really too young to drink, and
believe me, the barkeeper here is a lot less gullible than dear Bob at the
door.”
Arthur leans back against the bar with a beer in his hand, observing another
line dance on the dance floor. He never gave much thought to dancing, but he’s
strangely intrigued by the way they all look so formal and casual at the same
time. Todd is telling stories about his customers that have Ari in fits of
laughter and would probably amuse Arthur, too, if he weren’t so distracted.
He’s glad for the brief respite of having to entertain Ariadne and searches the
dancers for Eames, but without any luck.
Todd eventually leaves them, joining the dancers, but not without a second
drink for Ariadne, something fruity and colorful. Arthur declines because he
still has to drive them both home. Time flies by even without alcohol, spent
mostly with dancing until Arthur feels sweaty and gross and Ariadne bitches
about her hurting feet. They walk to Arthur’s car with Ariadne barefoot and
Arthur carrying her shoes for her, and by the time he stops his car in front of
her house she’s way past her curfew.
“I really had a lot of fun tonight,” Ari says before she leaves the car,
leaning over to kiss his cheek. “You’re the bestest best friend a girl can
have.”
“You’re drunk,” Arthur laughs fondly. “Go to sleep. I have practice tomorrow —
today, but I’ll come over on Sunday.” Ari gives him a little wave, wobbling on
her feet as she walks to the house and by the time Arthur notices that she left
her shoes she’s already inside.
***
His own home is completely dark when Arthur pulls into the driveway. It could
mean that his father is staying at the studio he keeps in town for the nights
he works even later than usual. Or it could mean that he’s home and didn’t
bother to leave a light on for Arthur, or, what’s even more likely, that he
didn’t even notice that Arthur was gone at all.
The house is big, too big for just two people, so Arthur has a small set of
rooms for himself on the upper floor. He doesn’t bother to turn on the light,
the glow from the street lamps enough for him to undress. He folds his clothes
and puts them on top of the hamper before he flops down on his bed in just his
boxers.
Arthur is tired, really tired and his feet hurt, but sleep won’t come. He keeps
seeing Eames’ face, the way he moved his hips, his cock outlined perfectly in a
pair of dress pants much like Arthur’s own. He groans quietly and slips a hand
inside his boxers, curling his hand around his already half-hard cock.
He imagines sliding the shirt from those wide shoulders, running his hands over
the hair on Eames’ chest. He wonders if it would be soft or coarse under his
hands, how it would feel if he licked over it, trying to chase those lines of
ink with his tongue. It’s a tribal tattoo, he thinks, something intricate and
beautiful that curls around Eames’ pebbled nipples. Arthur gasps, fisting
himself harder. He’s fully hard now and leaking copiously, his precome enough
to make the strokes of his hand slick and easy. He pictures himself sliding to
his knees, pulling down the zipper of Eames’ fly and meeting only skin and dark
blond curls. Eames would take his cock out, take himself in one hand and cup
Arthur’s head with the other, encouraging him silently to suck him.
Arthur’s breath hitches. He’s in that place right before sleep that makes him
desperately horny but also takes a long time for him to come. He keeps drifting
off, but the need to come is too strong to just let it go. He plants his feet
on the bed and pushes up into his own fist, his fingers tight and slick, and
yeah, that’s better.
He’d suckle the tip of Eames’ cock, teasing just the crown with his tongue
until Eames would moan and push him to take more, would make him slide his lips
down the thick shaft. Arthur brings his hand up and sucks on his fingers,
imagines the way his lips would stretch so much wider around Eames’ girth. God,
the taste of him— Arthur gasps quietly. He’s almost there, needs just a little
bit more. He slides his now slick fingers between his legs and rubs them over
his opening, teasing strokes that make him slide his feet wider and push up
harder into his hand. He rubs his thumb over that place just below the crown of
his cock and imagines it’s Eames finger that’s breaching him, stretching him
until his eyes water with the burn of it.
Arthur comes hard and sudden, soaking his hand and boxers to thoughts of Eames
coming on his face, moaning his name with the last letter drawn out, a deep
growl that sounds like Arthurrrr.
End Notes
     In case you couldn't guess, this is heavily inspired by the movie
     Saturday Night Fever. It's been sitting as a WIP on my hard drive for
     a year now and while I cleaned it up to post it as an abandoned
     snippet, I decided that I actually love this story too much to let it
     go. So here it is, a full fledged work in progress that will contain
     a lot of angst, pining and sex. Not necessarily in that order.
     Many thanks to eternalsojourn and anatsuno for their encouragement <3
     Visual references for Eames' solo dance: John_Travolta_in_Saturday
     Night_Fever and Chris_Hemsworth_on_Dancing_With_the_Stars.
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