Manchester Academy of Excellence is a prison ground at times.

Going on three years here and Eames is still making eyes at the old librarian to get out of overdue book fines. Doesn't matter that he knows the book is lost somewhere in his dorm room and he just can't be arsed to find it-- this school charges enough money to fund a small third world country from his parents alone; Christ knows they can afford to buy a new copy of An Enemy of the People.

Technically, he shouldn't be out and about right now, so he ducks under the windows of the East wing (wouldn't do to have wandering eyes and wagging tongues tattle on his hard earned free period) and heads toward the Theatre. He can't even walk around campus the way he used to, regardless of his third year status. Ever since the administration figured out his creative scheduling in second year (first period math conflicting with a class that did not technically exist-- no one can dispute that his handwriting is, at the very least, versatile ) they haven't exactly been lenient with his truancy. Technically, he should be in psychology right now, but his scores in that class are high enough spending most of his time out of it that he wouldn't want to jinx it with regular attendance.

Or, that's the story he's sticking with.

Eames tugs his coat up against the morning chill, wishing he'd swallowed his pride and shrugged into the sweater-vest. The thing never fails to make it look like he's got a paunch to rival his father's; if there's anything Eames would rather avoid, its that self-fulfilling prophecy. It looks nice on the girls, their breasts pressed against the cloth and the buttons undone in that tantalizing V, and even some of the boys manage to make the thing look worth the trouble of taking off just to get to the tie underneath, but Eames is too broad across and too stubborn to wear one in turn.

Cold and not looking where he's going, Eames rounds the corner with the thought of the warm theatre in his head. 

The Parenting Meme
[ x ]  masterchemist 
[ x ]  littlspecificty  & preforging 
[ x ]  a_gold_bishop 

[ x ] Arthur and Eames go to Italy for a job.
[ x ] Eames meets Daniel, Arthur's twin.

The direct continuation of this thread.


Drifting in that tenuous place between sleep and wakefulness, Eames does the first thing anyone as relaxed and comfortable as he is right now would do: tries to will his body back to sleep.

It’s a losing battle though, as is always the case once you’ve realized you’re making the climb into the waking world, and the ratio of sleep to wakefulness tips unsatisfactorily in the latter direction, leaving the impression of the former only in your limbs. A tease, if there ever was one.

Deciding being awake doesn’t necessarily mean he has to be up, Eames buries his head further into the lush down of the hotel pillow, drawing his knees up-

And cracking an eye open when they come into contact with another pair of shins. Arthur’s shins, to be specific.

It takes a moment, to remember why this is reality and that, if he wants to keep the image of the other (hair mussed, face lax and pressed into the pillow, arm bent under his pillow and breathing through his mouth) for just a little longer, he should probably reign in the urge to jump out of bed and find his totem. If it isn't reality, his subconscious is getting reprehensibly good at this.

Licking his lips, Eames can't help but smile. Its an irrational response to the situation as a whole; Arthur sleeping across from him, the knowledge that they'd basically played hookey to fuck and then sleep (and Eames has no idea where the clock is but he's not jostling the bed to try and find out how long they've been asleep for), the way Arthur'd opened his legs for him, so at ease with what he wanted from Eames, prepared like a bleeding boy scout with slick and rubbers-

Eyes going wide and cringing, Eames pulls the covers up just slightly to get a look at himself.

There's good news and bad news. The good news is: Eames does not have a rubber dried to his dick. Additionally, Arthur is just as pleasantly naked as he remembers- very good news indeed. Which means he is not in for an embarrassing walk to the bathroom and the painful process of soaking and tugging a crusty rubber off of his delicate bits. The bad news is, of course, if the rubber isn't on his dick, and he distinctly remembers falling asleep practically on top of the point man with it still on, then either Arthur took it off (which would be a bit embarrassing) or it is currently lost in the bed somewhere (which Arthur is not going to like, but is still kind of funny).

Well, Eames figures, letting the covers fall closed over them again, I'm sure there are worse things to lose in bed with a beautiful, naked man.

[ x ]   That isn't going to be easy.
[ x ]   * reprogramming figuring out his new mobile *
[ x ]   * trying to snap a photo *  Oi!
[ x ]   jely beans arthur? rly?
[ x ]   cant or wont? theres a diference
[ x ]   Precisely. So what is the problem?
[ x ]   {{Arthur's Plan}}
[ x ]

{ we're almost there, but not quite official yet }

is_on_point
[ x ]   * reprogramming figuring out his new mobile *
[ x ]   I didn't think you were serious.
[ x ]   Precisely. So what is the problem?
[ x ]

falsity
[ x ]   It wouldn't be the first time.
[ x ]   Certainly took your time, didn't you.
[ x ]

[ x ]   I don't understand what you want...
[ x ]   That isn't going to be easy
[ x ]   * debating texting *   hey u still up?
[ x ]   * reprogramming figuring out his new mobile *
[ x ]   I'm just saying what they're thinking. ({    older established   })
[ x ]   Well. There's always the third option.
[ x ]