Rating: PG
Word Count: About 2000
Warnings: Mentions of homophobia
Pairings or Characters: Arthur/Eames
Genre: fluff, drama
Summary: Arthur goes to Eames when he doesn't know what to do.
Author's Note: This is a Teenage!AU (because there aren't enough of those in this fandom already) and that's pretty much it. Established relationship. This can be read as aone-shot, but I'm sorta kinda planning a sequel or two.
Eames blearily opens his eyes, pawing for his loudly buzzing cell. He squints at the bright screen, vision blurry, and then furrows his brow in confusion. Why the fuck is Arthur calling him at four in the morning? On a school night, no less.
"'Lo?" He clears his throat and without waiting for a response asks, "Arthur, what the fuck?"
The silence makes him sit up, his stomach starting to twist up. "Arthur?"
"Hey Eames."
Arthur's voice is shaky and hoarse, and Eames can feel his stomach twisting even tighter. "Love, what's happened?"
There's a long moment of silence that only remains uninterrupted for the fact that Eames isn't quite awake yet. Right as Eames is about to say something, anything, to get Arthur talking, he hears stilted laughter thats more like soft huffs than anything else. "Your window is locked, and I didn't want to scare you by banging on it."
Eames rolls off his bed immediately, landing gracelessly on his hands and knees before stumbling over to his first-floor window. He ends the call and pulls aside the curtain to open the window. His fingers are clumsy, and when the window finally opens there's a blast of cold air on his naked chest, but it doesn't matter because Arthur is standing there with his phone still to his ear and a duffel bag at his feet.
"Mind if I pop in?"
His tone is light, and Arthur has always been a good actor, but Eames pays close enough attention to notice the waver and that Arthur's eyes are red-rimmed. Arthur hangs up the phone and hands Eames the duffel bag, before climbing through the window and then closing it and the curtain behind him. It's a second before he turns to face Eames, looking helpless.
Eames drops the bag on the floor and grabs Arthur's elbow, guiding him to the bed to sit down. Eames wraps his arm around Arthur's shoulders, and waits.
"My parents threw me out."
Eames is stunned speechless for a second, before finding his words. "What? Why?" He'd known Arthur didn't get along with his parents, but Eames had no idea it had gotten so bad.
Arthur looks grief-stricken as he says, "I came out to them." He stares at his feet for a second before turning to Eames and resting his forehead on Eames' shoulder.
Eames, however, is frozen. "They threw you out for that? You're seventeen, for Christ's sake, they expect you to take care of yourself?"
Arthur sighs and flops onto his back, what little of his energy seeming to have deserted him. "I think I realized they didn't care if I did okay or not when my-" he struggled for a second "-when she called me a God-less Sodomite."
Eames is so angry for a second he thinks he sees red. He lays back next to Arthur instead of planning murder and grimaces at the harsh tone Arthur had adopted when he'd repeated what his own mother had said.
Arthur sits up to kick off his shoes and take off his jacket, and lies back down on his side so that he's facing Eames' cheek. "I just... I don't understand how anyone can tell that to their child and not see what they're doing wrong."
Eames, who had turned his head to face Arthur, rolls onto his side and fixes Arthur with the most honest face he's ever had. "We'll figure something out. You can move in here. Hell, my dad and my brothers seem to like you better than me at times," he says, trying to cheer Arthur up a bit.
The ghost of a smile flits across Arthur's face, and Eames feels better. "You really think your dad would let me move in here?"
Eames reaches out to stroke a hand along Arthur's hip in an attempt to reassure him. "Him and I've talked of it, actually. He made a joke about you living here, and I asked if he would actually let you.
Arthur seems slightly awed by this. "And he said he would? Was he serious?"
Eames nods, still tracing patterns on Arthur's hip where his hand had snuck underneath Arthur's t-shirt. Arthur slowly raises a hand to Eames' jaw, and leans forward to kiss him slowly, gently. "You don't have to do this. I can find somewhere else-"
Eames interrupts him with a kiss. "I want to. I love you."
Arthur smiles, a real one that takes over his face sweet and slow. "I love you too."
Eames wraps his arms around Arthur, and pulls him even closer. "I'm sorry you have shitty parents, darling."
Arthur nuzzles into Eames' neck, softly whispering, "Me too."
They lie there for what feels like forever before Eames gently pulls away and opens Arthur's bag. Arthur watches him, curious but trusting, until Eames emerges with a pair of sweatpants not unlike what Eames himself had on. Eames studies them for a moment, before his eyes widen. "Are these mine?" he asks, sounding almost indignant.
Arthur just stands and raises his eyebrows before stepping out of his jeans. Eames stares unabashedly, and grins when Arthur blushes and rolls amused eyes. When Arthur has pulled on the sweatpants Eames steps forward and gently rests his hands on Arthur's sides, right below his ribs. Arthur's arms instantly slide around Eames' neck and they kiss, Eames gently nipping on Arthur's lower lip. Eames' arms wrap around Arthur's middle, and then they're standing in the middle of Eames' room room partaking in what is possibly the tightest hug either of them has ever experienced. Eames feels hot dampness slicking up his bare shoulder as Arthur silently cries for his lost home, and his lost family. Eames is gently brushing fingers through Arthur's hair, and if, when Eames buries his face in Arthur's soft hair, it gets a little hard to breathe, then neither of them are going to bring it up.
An hour later finds them in Eames' bed, tangled close under the thick quilt. Arthur feels Eames brushing a kiss to his forehead and murmurs, "Go to sleep, Mr. Eames."
Eames smiles at the title and wraps his arm around Arthur's back, gently stroking the skin there. Watching Arthur, who's breathing had finally slowed and steadied, he felt like the luckiest seventeen year-old on the planet. He brushed a kiss against Arthur's high cheekbone and thought, I love you more than anything, before finally following Arthur into a peaceful slumber.