Every afternoon, Arthur, with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his earplugs in (but no music playing; he wasn't an idiot), took the three mile walk from St Edmund's College to the apartment the team was renting. After a few blocks, he always lit a cigarette, after making sure no one from college was following him. He didn't want to be a bad influence.
For the past two weeks, Arthur had been posing as a Year 13 student at St Edmund's, trying to get close to their mark, seventeen year-old Michael Shore. How Arthur's life had gone from performing extractions on multi-millionaire CEOs to extracting from pimply-faced teenagers, Arthur wasn't sure, but it was probably Cobb's fault. In the past few weeks, Arthur hadn't made a single friend (pathetic), had been asked to a dance by one of the girls from the girl's college down the street (awkward), and had been groped by his History teacher (predictable). This was shaping up to be the worst job ever, and that was including the Cobol job. And the Fischer job. And that job where he'd pretended to be Cobb's boyfriend, and Cobb had gotten drunk and handsy.
He did like the uniform, though. Pressed brown slacks, navy sweater, white Oxford, and yellow- and brown-striped tie. Arthur could even wear his favourite shoes with it.
The first day Arthur had shown up at the apartment and joined the others for a meeting, still wearing his uniform, Eames had just... stared at him.
"What?" Arthur asked grouchily.
Eames poked him in the head with his pointer finger, hard. "Honestly, I don't know if I want to cuddle you or fu-- Ow!" he yelped, when Cobb kicked him. "You don't even know what I was going to say!"
"I know it was going to be inappropriate," said Cobb, grimly.
Arthur sniffed and turned the page in his moleskine. He touched his pen to his tongue -- Eames' eyes flickered to his mouth -- and then wrote, 'Eames: uniform?'. He wrote it right under, 'Eames: slim-fit pants?,' and, 'Eames: lollipops?'
"Excuse me," Arthur said, standing. His pants had bunched around his thighs, and he smoothed them down with his hands. Eames' eyes followed. "I have to do my homework."
On the fourth day, he was deep into his French homework when there came a knock on his door. Before he could answer, though, Eames swaggered in, the usual smirk on his face. He hadn't been at the meeting that afternoon, and now he was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans Arthur had never seen before. He looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days. He looked good; Arthur turned the page of his book disdainfully.
The lock clicked loudly when Eames turned it. Arthur swallowed thickly. "What do you want, Eames?"
"I wondered if you needed help with your homework," Eames replied casually, as if he said this to Arthur all the time.
Arthur was sitting on his bed with his books around him, and his legs stretched out; Eames plunked down next to him, close enough for their shoulders to brush. Rolling his eyes, Arthur dropped all but the book he was using onto the floor, before Eames could knock them over.
"Show me what you're working on," Eames said, his voice quiet but firm.
"French," Arthur replied, gesturing to the workbook on his lap.
"Let's have a look."
"Why?" Arthur started to ask, but Eames slid one hand under the book and curled it around Arthur's thigh as he bent his head, as if he really was studying the page. His hand was big and thick, easily spanning the width of Arthur's thigh, and Arthur's breath stuck in his throat.
"'Give the present subjunctive of the verb vouloir,'" he read, stroking Arthur's outer thigh with his thumb. Arthur's leg twitched before he could help it.
"Eames, what are you doing?" Arthur asked. He was glad to hear his voice was steady. He didn't know what kind of game Eames was playing, but it wasn't funny.
On the other hand, at least Arthur finally had confirmation Eames was attracted to him.
"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" Eames asked, still studying the book. His hand stayed exactly where it was.
Arthur was thrown. "Of course I have," he said, frowning. "I'm twenty-nine."
Eames raised his head and gave him a pointed look, and a lightbulb went off in Arthur's head.
"Oh, come on," Arthur groaned. He gestured to his uniform. "After all this time, this is what--?"
"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" Eames repeated, slower this time, like Arthur was the freak here.
"No, I'm seventeen, and I've never had a boyfriend," Arthur said tonelessly.
The hand on his thigh tightened and released, and Eames' face went a little pink. Arthur stared, fascinated. It was terribly unprofessional, and Cobb was in the next room, probably doing real work, and Arthur had a lot of homework to finish -- but Arthur was hard from Eames touching him, and Eames right there in a flimsy t-shirt and jeans, the edges of his tattoos curling around his thick upper arms, peaking out from underneath his loose collar that emphasised the width of his chest. The jeans were tight enough for Arthur to see Eames was hard, too, and Arthur's mouth watered at the thought of it.
"I have to do this," he said, shaking himself out of it. This wasn't what he wanted, to indulge Eames in his school boy kink, during the early stages of a job. It was so undignified. He pushed Eames' hand off his thigh; Eames let him, like he had suddenly become boneless.
"Of course," Eames replied. "I'll supervise, if you don't mind."
Arthur snorted. "Right." He picked up his pencil and began to recite to himself as he wrote: "Je veuille--"
He jumped when Eames traced the shell of his ear with his fingertips, sending his pencil flying across the page. Gritting his teeth, Arthur continued, "Tu veuilles, il/elle/on veuille, nous--" He sucked in a sharp breath when Eames' fingers trailed down his cheek. "nous voulions, vous vouliez--" Eames' thumb traced Arthur's lower lip. "--ils/elles veuillent."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Arthur threw his book to the floor, turned his head, and kissed Eames, fisting his hand in Eames' t-shirt and shoving his tongue in Eames' mouth. He felt Eames' hands come up to cup his face as they kissed, frantic and wet, Eames' teeth gently scraping Arthur's lower lip. The bite sent a jolt down Arthur's spine. When Eames pulled away abruptly, Arthur's mouth followed his.
"What?" Arthur asked, dazed. He blinked his eyes open.
"We should go slow," Eames said, his voice surprisingly tender. "We don't have to rush things. Your parents won't be back for ages."
Arthur's real parents wouldn't have left him alone with a man like Eames in a million years, but Arthur replied, flatly, "Oh yeah, you know Mom and Dad, they're so neglectful."
He tried to grab Eames again, but Eames moved out of his grasp. "You didn't change out of your uniform," Eames murmured instead, loosening Arthur's tie. He was sloppy at it, his fingers rubbing Arthur's throat. "You don't change out of it until you go to bed, do you."
"Maybe I like it," Arthur replied, as Eames tossed his tie to the floor and began working on his sweater.
After pulling Arthur's sweater up over his head and throwing that somewhere, Eames ran his palm down Arthur's sternum, now only covered in his Oxford. "Aren't you good," he said, almost to himself.
A shiver ran down Arthur's back, and suddenly he got it, the fantasy. He didn't know what had changed, but now he wanted it too; he wanted Eames to tell him what a good boy he was, and he wanted Eames to fuck him like he'd never been fucked before. It was hot, Eames, so scruffy and strong, and Arthur in his clean uniform.
Arthur licked his lips. "I'm not always good."
He could tell when Eames got it, too; Eames blinked at him for a moment before the corners of his eyes creased, like he was trying not to smile.
"Up," Eames instructed.
A little confused, Arthur started to push himself up onto his knees, but Eames wrapped his arms around his chest before he could make any real effort. Eames scooted forward and pulled Arthur over his lap, and Arthur bracketed his legs around Eames' waist and pushed their hips together; he bit back a gasp as Eames shuddered. Eames's torso seemed huge between his thighs, and Arthur could feel the strength in the legs beneath him.
While Eames stroked his cheek, Arthur ran his hands over the tight muscles in his arms. "I lied," he told Eames, staring at his stubbled chin.
"About what, sweetheart?" Eames asked softly. His wide palms cupped Arthur's ass.
"I'm actually sixteen," Arthur said, feeling himself really getting into it now. "I've never even kissed anyone before."
With a sharp inhale of breath, Eames rocked up into him. "Well, we'll have to fix that, won't we."
This time, Eames kissed him harder, pushing his tongue into Arthur's mouth and moving it in long, firm strokes. Arthur clutched at him and moaned as Eames ran his tongue along the roof of Arthur's mouth, his teeth, digging his fingers into Arthur's ass and lifting him slightly. Light-headed, Arthur kissed him back until it slowed down into something gentler, and Eames pulled back and rested their foreheads together.
"That was quite a first kiss," Arthur said dryly. He kissed along Eames' jawline.
"Sorry, got carried away there," Eames panted, tightening an arm around him.
As Eames traced his mouth with his fingers again, Arthur said, "I've never given a blowjob, either."
"Would you like me to teach you?" Eames asked.
Arthur looked down into Eames' eyes. "If you don't mind."
The next thing he knew, he was being heaved off Eames' lap and back onto the mattress. Eames slouched against the headboard and started taking off his pants, and Arthur draped himself over Eames' thighs -- which were much bigger than Arthur's, and hairier -- helping Eames pull his pants down and his cock out. His cock was red and dripping, and it look like a nice mouthful. Arthur started moving toward it before he remembered their game, and he had to take a few deep breaths before he could force out: "What do I do?"
Part of his question was genuine; Arthur hadn't been with an uncut guy before. As if sensing this, Eames took Arthur's hand and wrapped it around his cock -- and Arthur almost rolled his eyes, because that much was obvious -- showing him the loose foreskin. Arthur stroked him for a bit, Eames rocking up into it. He liked the way Eames felt in his hand, and he slid his free hand under Eames' shirt to touch his abs, his waist.
"Yeah, you're good at this, aren't you, love?" Eames asked, his voice rough.
They stroked him together like that, for a few minutes. But Arthur didn't realise he was licking his lips over and over until Eames said, "You want more, don't you? Go on, lick the head."
Arthur did, and that made Eames squirm, so he did it again and again. He tugged on the bit of foreskin on the underside of Eames' cock, and Eames grunted loudly. It was sort of ridiculous, because Arthur had given plenty of head in his time, but the way Eames seemed into it was making all the blood in Arthur's body drain to his cock.
"How's this?" he asked, glancing up at Eames' face. "Good?"
"Brilliant," Eames assured him; Arthur's chest felt warm at that. "Now, can you put the head in your mouth?"
"I think so," Arthur lied, and sucked down Eames' cock. He tried to look hesitant, but Eames tasted good, and the hitching in Eames' breath was sending sparks directly to Arthur's dick. He did that for a while, sucking and stroking, pulling off to lick Eames' prick and then going back down again, while pressing his own hips into the bed to try to relieve the pressure building inside him. His pants were going to be soaked.
"Mmm, yeah, like that," Eames sighed. He combed his fingers through Arthur's hair, tightening his grip whenever Arthur would play with his foreskin. "Suck on it, just like that. Take it as deep as you can."
Arthur could take it pretty far in, but he thought maybe Eames wanted to keep playing the virgin. He wanted to touch himself, or to beg Eames to touch him; he was burning up, and his own cock was leaking so much he knew these pants were going to be ruined.
But he was okay, and he would've lasted longer if Eames hadn't said, "I can tell you like this. You like having a cock in your mouth. Look at you, so eager for it, so--" and something inside Arthur snapped.
He pulled off and pressed his cheek against Eames' thigh. "Fuck, Eames," he bit out, "I'm going to-- you need to--"
"Alright, darling," Eames soothed, directing Arthur back down. Arthur lapped at his cock and then started sucking again. But Eames thumbed his mouth and said, "Hold still. Can you do that for me? Open your mouth," and he started fucking Arthur's face, holding him still with his hand in Arthur's hair.
Arthur felt himself relax, and he took it, his brain shorting out. It felt like Eames' hands -- one in his hair, the other pressed along the backs of Arthur's shoulder blades -- were the only things keeping him from collapsing. Then, thank God, Eames was coming. Arthur swallowed it down until there was nothing left, and when Eames let go of him, he reached into his pants to stoke himself. "Let me," Eames said, easily rolling Arthur onto his back. Arthur's head was swimming, and he felt Eames tug his pants down over his thighs, and then his cock was in the wet heat of Eames' mouth. He came, gasping, when Eames slid his fingers down to rub against his entrance.
He lay on the bed, panting like a race horse, Eames stretched out next to time.
"Holy fuck," said Eames.
"I never thought I'd say this," Arthur said, his voice hoarse, "but thank you for being such a pervert."
"You are very welcome," Eames replied.
On the sixth day, Cobb wasn't there when Arthur got back to the apartment, and Eames pressed Arthur into the couch and 'taught' him how to jerk them off together, whispering filth in Arthur's ear while Arthur moaned and writhed under him. Arthur got come all over his sweater. The ninth day, Eames sat behind Arthur and jacked him off while making him do his math homework; on the eleventh day, when Arthur was supposed to be reading a book for English, he slid into Eames' lap and sucked on Eames' fingers while Eames touched him through his pants. It made Arthur feel powerful, the way Eames reacted to him when he wore the uniform and played along with whatever scenario Eames came up with that day, the way Eames couldn't get enough of him.
They had regular sex as well, in between, and Cobb was starting to give them suspicious looks. Eames always made sure to go back to his own room in the morning when Arthur left for school, but he doubted they were fooling anyone. Especially since Arthur was walking around with a permanent case of stubble-burn.
Today, as soon as his last class ended, Arthur pushed through the crowd of boys standing in the doorway, holding his messenger bag up so as not to hit anyone. He was only a few metres out of the front gate when someone said, "Archie, oi!"
Arthur was the only 'Archibald' in their class. He slowed his walk, startled, as three boys from his year hurried to catch up with him. One was Michael Shore. Another boy was in a few of his classes, but he didn't recognise the last. He hoped they weren't here to beat him up. For one thing, he didn't want to have to beat the hell out of a bunch of kids. For another, all three of them were already bigger than him, even at seventeen; Arthur felt a twinge of annoyance.
"Hey," he said wearily as they flanked him.
"I always see you walkin' this way," said the boy from his classes -- Jason, Arthur wanted to call him. "How'd you do on the English test?"
"'A'," Arthur replied, wondering where this was going.
Michael tsk-ed. "Man, I would've passed, but I mixed up Claude Frollo and the, um, the captain--"
"Phoebus de Chateaupers," Arthur replied.
"That Maths test was rubbish though, innit?" grumbled the boy he didn't know.
The three of them launched into a bitch-fest over their math test, and then their math grade, which then turned into a discussion of how their teacher was a prick who was failing everyone on purpose. (Almost everyone; Arthur was doing fine.) Arthur nodded and uh-huh-ed where it seemed appropriate. He still wasn't sure why they were walking with him.
They'd walked almost a mile before Michael finally said, "So you smoke?"
Caught off-guard, Arthur said, "Uh, what?"
"I've seen you out here smoking. Can I bum a fag?"
"Us too," the boy Arthur didn't know said.
Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "The legal smoking age is eighteen."
"Yeah, and?" Michael asked.
"And, none of you are eighteen," Arthur replied.
Jason squinted at him. "You're not eighteen."
Arthur was saved from having to reply to that when an unfamiliar car parked next to the curb. But it was a very familiar voice that said, "There you are. I thought I'd give you a ride today."
Arthur closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten. When he opened them, all three boys were openly gaping at the red Lotus Elise Eames was so casually sitting in. Leaning out the window, Eames was wearing a pair of aviators and a lecherous smirk; Arthur's cock stirred.
He walked up to the car. "What're you doing here?"
"I was in the neighbourhood," Eames said smoothly. His smirk didn't wane.
"This your friend, Archie?" Jason asked suspiciously.
"No, he's my tutor," Arthur said.
He knew it sounded bad as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was worse when Eames chose that moment to reach out the window and circle his fingers around Arthur's wrist. His forefinger and thumb touched, and Arthur could feel himself flushing. All three teens stared at Arthur, their eyebrows climbing up their foreheads. Well, there went Arthur's reputation.
Finally, Michael looked Eames. "Got any fags?"
Arthur refused to be a part of Eames giving an entire pack of cigarettes to three seventeen year-olds, so he walked around the car and climbed in the passenger side. He shoved his messenger bag on the floor by his feet. There was a, "Cheers, man," and then a series of, "See ya, Archie"'s, and Eames rolled up the window.
After they took off down the road, in the direction of the apartment, Arthur said, "Now I'm going to be known as that gay kid banging his skeevy tutor."
"Probably," Eames agreed. "On the other hand, you'll also be known as the kid with the older boyfriend who can buy fags."
Arthur mulled over that. "Maybe I'll be able to befriend Michael after all," he mused. He would need to try talking to Michael again tomorrow, maybe during lunch.
It was less than five minutes before they were pulling into the car park across from their building. Eames parked the car in the far corner, under a tree that blocked it from the housing complex on the other side, and killed the engine, but he didn't get out.
Arthur reached over and plucked the aviators off Eames' nose. "Thanks for picking me up from school, Mr Eames," he said.
"Oh, it was no bother," Eames leered. "I know exactly how you can thank me."
Arthur looked around the tiny sports car. "How are we going to fuck in here?"
"Very carefully," Eames replied. He pulled a lever and his seat went back a good ten inches, until he was almost flat on his back. "Now come here."
Arthur climbed over the gear shift and slung a leg over Eames' lap. He braced his hands on Eames' shoulders, and Eames tugged him down by his tie and kissed the corner of his mouth.
"How was school today?" Eames asked.
"I got 'A's on my English test and my Math quiz," Arthur answered. "So I guess Mom and Dad won't fire you."
Eames chuckled at that.
Arthur undid the first few buttons on Eames' shirt so he could kiss the dip of Eames' throat and work his way up over his scratchy neck. He stayed in Eames' lap while they kissed for a while, and the air in the car started to heat up. Eventually, Eames pulled back with a wicked expression in his face.
"Want to go for a ride, little boy?" Eames practically purred.
He pushed his hips up, pressing their cocks together, and Arthur knew exactly what kind of ride he was talking about. A line of sweat dripped down Arthur's temple. It wasn't easy, or graceful, getting his pants off, but he tossed them into the passanger seat before straddling Eames again. He started to take off his jumper, but Eames stopped him with a, "No, keep it on."
They kissed for a while, grinding their hips together, Arthur's dick leaking all over Eames' ugly orange button-down. Eames touched him everywhere but his ass, and eventually, irritated, Arthur grabbed Eames' hand and put it where he wanted.
"I was promised fucking," Arthur growled, biting Eames' earlobe.
"So eager," Eames said. He fished a condom and a bottle of lube out of the glove compartment. "I want this to be good for you. Has anyone ever fingered you before?"
"No," Arthur lied, feeling excitement hum through him. "But I've done it to myself, when I've jerked off."
Eames' breath caught. "Okay," he said, strangled, popping the top of the lube and slicking up his fingers.
Arthur sat up a bit as Eames slid one finger down and circled his hole, causing goosebumps to prickle on his arms.
"How's this?" Eames asked, sliding his finger in, only to the first knuckle.
Arthur tried to remember what it felt like the first time he'd done this. "Strange," he replied, "but good. Keep going."
Eames fingered him carefully with just one finger for some time, like Arthur really was a virgin. It would have been frustrating if it wasn't also oddly nice. Finally, he pushed in a second finger; Arthur moaned at the burn, rocking back into it. He dropped kisses on Eames' cheeks, his chin, his lips, while Eames fingered him open, his other arm curved around Arthur's waist.
When Eames' fingers began rubbing against Arthur's prostate, Arthur groaned and pushed back into it. "Eames, that's enough, I'm ready."
"I don't think you are," Eames said. He added a third finger and kept bumping exactly where Arthur needed it, until Arthur started shivering all over. "Tell me how it feels, sweetheart."
"What?" Arthur asked, dazed. "It feels-- I can't--"
"Tell me," Eames said firmly. "Do you want me to tell you how it feels for me? You're so tight and smooth. I can't wait to get inside you. The first time you walked in the room with your perfectly clean uniform, looking like this, so young, I wanted to dirty you up. You're such a good boy, aren't you, Arthur? You always listen to your parents and make the best grades, but what you really want is a man to hold you down and make you beg for it."
He ran the pad of his thumb over Arthur's mouth. "Isn't that right, little boy? My good boy."
Every word went straight to Arthur's cock. "I'm going to come," he gasped dizzily, burying his face in the crook of Eames' neck.
"Not yet," Eames instructed. He pulled his fingers out, and Arthur twitched at the loss, but then Arthur was being pulled up by his armpits so Eames could work his own pants open and get his cock out. Arthur looked down and saw Eames' cock, bright red and hard, and he licked his lips. He watched as Eames jerked himself a few times before rolling on the condom.
"What should I do?" Arthur asked huskily, making his voice quiver. Eames visibly swallowed. "Show me how."
They'd fucked twice already, once in Arthur's bedroom, and once in the shower. But never as part of their game. It felt good like this, pretending he didn't know how to do this, letting Eames arrange him how he wanted so the angle was better, and then it felt even better when Eames told him, "Take a deep breath, and then breathe out and push down, alright?"
Arthur nodded and did just that. He let out a choked cry that was only half-fake when the head of Eames' cock popped through the first ring of muscle, and then he sank down bit by bit until Eames was fully seated in him. He watched as Eames' face turned red, his forehead dampening with sweat.
"Okay?" Eames asked, his voice ragged.
Arthur loved this. He loved the feeling of being stretched and full until he almost couldn't breathe, and strangely, he really loved doing with this Eames, who was filthy and disgusting and everything that Arthur wanted right now. He liked watching the faces Eames made when he was close, the way his mouth hung open and his brows drew together while he called Arthur's name over and over, like Arthur was the greatest fuck he'd ever had.
"Yeah," he replied, swiveling his his experimentally. Knowing exactly the response he was going to get, he added, wryly, "You're big."
Eames grinned up at him wolfishly. His hands tightened on Arthur's hips. Arthur wanted to play the overwhelmed, over-stimulated virgin, but once he started rocking he lost control. Eames was so deep inside him, and it just felt so good, lifting himself up and slamming back down with enough force that the top of his head banged against the ceiling with every thrust. Eames growled deep in his throat, raising his hips to match so that his cock dragged along Arthur's prostate as he rode him. It only took a few strokes of his cock before he came like that, Eames' big hands splayed across the small of his back, his calves pressed tightly around Eames' waist.
He stopped to catch his breath. The top of his head was really starting to hurt now, but his entire body felt relaxed and tingly.
"Arthur," Eames said desperately, digging his fingers into Arthur's back, "Arthur, I'm almost, you need to--"
"Okay," Arthur murmured, dropping forward onto his elbows. Eames pushed at him until he raised his ass in the air, and Eames thrust up into him twice, three times, four times, and then he came, crying out.
They lay there on the seat, sweating and gasping for breath, Arthur's come drying on Eames' shirt. Sated, Arthur slumped against Eames' chest and didn't even mind when Eames started playing with his hair. He did mind, however, when Eames sat up, turned on the car, and then threw the condom out the window.
"That's disgusting," Arthur said.
"You're disgusting," Eames countered.
"I thought I was clean, remember?" asked Arthur.
"How much longer do you think you'll be at college?" Eames asked, tugging at Arthur's collar.
"At least another month. But," he added, laying his palm on Eames' chest, "I paid for all these clothes, so I'll be taking them with me."
He looked up to find Eames grinning crookedly at him. "I can't imagine what you'll do with an entire wardrobe of uniforms."
Arthur smiled back. "I think I'll find something."