A/N: I own neither 'Inception' nor 'Glee', but I am terribly gay, so that's got to count for something, right? Anyway, this was supposed to be a smaller project than it's turned out to be. I'm tempted to say it will be a three-part piece, but, depending on what you folks think of it, I might do more. So, three parts until the end of 'Never Been Kissed', Dream-Team style. The rest of the plotlines won't really be followed (not enough Inception Cast to cover the twelve-member Glee Club) but Eamthur centric. Which is Klaine centric, if you see it that way ... Okay, buzz off now. Why are you reading this? Read the damn story! I mean, enjoy!
Teenage DrEAMES
Summary: Cobb and Mal are the power couple, Ariadne's a cheerleader for the sneaky Coach Fischer, Arthur is the awkward gay kid that the jocks kick around, and Mr. Saito just wants to prepare the kids for Sectionals; this is all typical for New Perceptions, the Cobol High Glee Club. That is, until Arthur sneaks into Mombasa Preparatory and watches the dreamy lead singer of The Forgers perform. NBK x Incep!
Arthur was having a no good, very bad day.
"Why don't you make yourself useful, go spy on The Forkers or something?"
"The Forgers."
"Whatever … Then you can wear all the feather boas you want! You'll fit right in." Nash laughed at his own joke, slinking further into his lousy posture as he tossed a football across the room.
Arthur fought the urge to grind his teeth, sick to death of the stupid little antics of his fellow high school students. Not only was he the only one to do any work around here, but this time, they wouldn't even let him do it.
Why couldn't Mr. Saito have let him into the girls team?
He shook himself. As things stood, that had not happened. He could never have guy friends, much less a boyfriend, could not afford Armani suits or that new Vivienne Westwood peacoat, and could not be on the goddamn girls team; he had to cope with reality as it was.
Most days, he hated reality.
The reality of the current situation, though, was that they weren't taking his help, and though he was tempted look to Dom for support, he knew the other boy's policy was one of non-interference, being quarterback and all for the Cobol Engineers Football Team, which didn't exactly favor Arthur. Dom was in enough trouble with them already. Instead, he did what made even those more amicable with him call him a stick-in-the-mud; he took the teasing oh-so literally. After all, it was a perfectly valid way of finding an excuse to leave, and one such as himself had to become particularly adept at clawing one's way out of sticky situations.
Straightening to insure his posture remained impeccable, he snatched his anally perfect diagram off the stand and raised a challenging eyebrow at them all. "Fine," he stated curtly, and strode out.
Who needed them anyway?
Then, in a castle far away ...
"That's another hundred you owe me, mate!"
The cheery voice, laden with an often-sultry English accent, echoed up the ornate stairwell of Mombasa Academy. The institution was a vast study in antiquity, charming for the first month but archaic and oppressive for all the rest. The boy found the uniform to be the same way, frequently discarding his tie much to his teachers' chagrin. At the current moment, as he hung off the banister heedless of the rest of the bustling student population, it was folded to hang slightly from his breast pocket, a mockery of the gentleman's handkerchief. Instead, his collar was open and unbuttoned. When and if he got to class, the blazer would likely be discarded to the back of his seat and sleeves rolled to his elbows; if he was going to work so hard for his shapely, beefy arms, he would damn well find a way to show them off, along with his roguish smile. The female staff didn't mind.
Last year, these antics had been troublesome to teachers. More than troublesome, he had frequently been admonished for them. By now, however, they seemed to have given up; other students still had trim looks demanded of them, but pretty much every teacher in the school knew of Eames, knew him not to be the clueless rebel he had often seemed, and didn't bother him. He was still an annoyance, but tolerable.
Despite what it seemed, he was much better behaved at this school than he had been at the rest. He had yet to get in a single fight; though some resented his near-celebrity status, the boys of the school flocked to him in the corridors for everything from just a fist bump to strained pleas for girl advice. Which he dispensed liberally. (He didn't have to like that sex to understand what attracted them. The rest of the students knew that.) He had put The Forgers on the map for the first time since the late 1800's, and maintained one of the highest GPAs in their Honors Program, in which he was taking almost all college courses, even if he missed an average of three schooldays a month for no discernable reason whatsoever.
Basically, Eames attended because he didn't have anything better to do. That, and he never missed a Forgers' practice.
"Gambling is not allowed, Mr. Eames," the MILF English teacher chided with a smile.
Her hips swayed and skirts whispered in a way that had most boys panting, but Eames just leaned on an elbow and nodded with a smile of his own. "Yes, Ms. DeLacey." They had an understanding, one that involved her leaving her classroom door unlocked after hours so he and his boys could use it nefariously. Anything from poker games to sex happened in there, out of the watchful eyes of the dorm directors, and as long as it was always cleaned up after, this could continue. He happened to know she liked the intrigue and danger of it all, the same way she liked the hallway whispers about the shape of her derrière.
"Oh, and this might be yours."
She flipped a poker chip to him and he caught it, rubbing it between his fingers. "Thanks, miss."
Before they knew he was gay, they thought he was shagging their English teacher. From the meaningful looks, it was pretty obvious why.
A head of dark curly hair had Eames taking off like a shot, throwing an arm around Yusuf's shoulders before his best friend could escape him. "Yusuf, my man, you unbeliever! I told you it was quite possible, made more so by my charm …"
"What are you on about, Eames?" The heavy eastern accent that complimented the nerdy personality had previously made this boy invisible. Then Eames had become his best friend, simply by a chance early meeting and being paired in Chem Lab; they both respected a good intellect. Yusuf's rep hadn't quite done a 180, but pretty damn close.
"Miss Perry, dear. The Big K. P. Pop sensation? Whipped cream? Ringing any bells?"
"You did not. The idea took?" Yusuf looked aghast and pleased at once.
"Well, I made it appear self-generated, led them in the direction of that kind of pop, threw out a few ideas. You know, classic manipulation."
"You dog!" Yusuf shoved the laughing Eames. "You actually got them to accept your arrangement of 'Teenage Dream'?"
"Yesterday's hour and a half rehearsing it supports the affirmative," he nodded, casually examining his fingers as though he had not achieved the first performance of a song by a female and modern artist in the history of their Glee Club. Or, you know, whatever.
"You are going to clean up!" Yusuf cheered. "And bloody hell, so am I!" Yusuf pulled his compatriot into a brief hug of celebration, now assured that all the bets to the contrary were going to pay off.
"Of course we are, mate; have I ever led you wrong?"
He gave the other's shoulder a familiar squeeze before dashing off to his first class as to not have to hear the answering list of how many times he had.
Another Forger he dimly recognized passed him on his way. "Surprise performance in the commons today. Pass it on."
"What?" He squawked. "So soon?"
"The boys are excited about it!" He called back. "Estrogen's a new thing in this school!"
Eames laughed, muttering "Well, girls just want to have fun, right?"
A/N: Thank you for reading! Review if so inclined/inspired, love. Ideas are always welcome.