Because I had a fabulous night last night and... yeah *grins in a thoroughly debauched way*

WARNING - This one is deffo a 'T' people! Some sexy stuff ahead.

Open Eyes

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Arty? May I come in?"

The teenager gave a long, suffering sigh.

"Yes," he called. "It's open."

Angeline smiled as she stepped inside. "Ah, good, you're alone. I've been wishing to speak with you about something…"

She closed the door behind her and Artemis turned fully from his work, resigning himself to at least ten minutes of unwelcome distraction.

"Now." Angeline seated herself carefully on the edge of his bed. "It's actually about a rather delicate subject matter."

"Soufflés? Lace?"

"Come now, Arty, don't be difficult."

"Then what?"

Angeline linked her hands. "Your father and I have been talking, and… well… we believe it might be high time that you found yourself… some alternative occupation besides your work."

Artemis studied his mother's rather staid features.

"Such as…?"

"A girlfriend."

Artemis twisted, swivelling his chair back towards his computers.

"Hear me out," demanded Angeline, as his fingers began to furiously type. "I have not finished."

"This discussion is futile, Mother."

"Mum. And I really don't think it is. We have already sought out some eligible suitors–"

"Mother."

"–the first of whom is arriving this Friday night."

"Gah!" Artemis pushed his chair back. "Why do you feel the need to always interfere, Mother? I am fine just as I am!"

Angeline smiled pityingly at him. "I know you think you are, Arty, but we are worried. You spend all of your life either in here or at board meetings. The only women you meet are at least ten years older than you and only interested in shares or industrial investment… Or aren't human."

"I… I shall meet women in my own time, Mother! Why should I be pushed so?"

Angeline held up her hands. "I am not pushing you," she said, "I am merely providing you with opportunities. If you do not happen to like any of them then feel free to never see them again but…" She smiled. "If something happens, it happens."

The seventeen-year-old was seething. Angeline stood up and brushed the hair back from his forehead.

"Just do this," she said softly. "For me?"

There was a moment of silence… and then Artemis sighed, heavily through his nose. Angeline squeezed his arm.

"Good boy."

"Andrea Prenderghast," read Butler, in his typical grumbling tones. "Sixteen years old. Family hails originally from England but she's spent most of her life in Sicily with her parents and both fraternal and maternal grandparents. She has eight siblings, all girls… Christ. Five dogs, nine cats, four horses, three chinchillas and a Burmese python, Monty. Convent educated. Introduced to society last season and is heiress to a flourishing wine fortune."

"Any previous convictions?" drawled Artemis, straightening the line of his cuffs.

"No, she's completely clean."

"Or has simply never been caught..."

"There you are," hissed Angeline, spotting her eldest son as he walked towards her. "Hurry, she's waiting!"

"I am five minutes early–" began Artemis before he was seized, almost violently, by his mother.

"Be nice," she ordered, slapping at his lapels and swivelling him around to yank down the back of his jacket. "Ask questions, try to keep things light and don't for God's sake bring up the mollusc thing with your brother."

Artemis opened his mouth to protest when Angeline spritzed something cool and peppermint-y between his teeth. He choked, breaking into a coughing fit, and just managed to catch sight of Butler waving him jovially goodbye before he was shoved into the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Oh," said a small, surprised voice.

Artemis was pulling frantically at his collar, his eyes streaming. He heard shoes rustle across the carpet.

"Are you quite alright?" said the voice again. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes," he gasped.

There was a clinking of glass before something hard and surprisingly warm was pressed into his palm. He swigged it gratefully, half the contents already in his mouth before he realised it was wine. Strong wine. He choked again before forcing himself to swallow.

"Thank… thank you."

"Nessun problema."

He raised his head. Andrea Prenderghast was deeply tanned with wide, nut-brown eyes and fair hair pushed back from a moon-like face. Her smile was shy but not unpleasant, and the hands which she was clasping and unclasping at the lap of her dress seemed smooth and unblemished.

"I am Artemis," he said, putting down his half-empty glass, "Artemis Fowl the Second. It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

She blushed and shook his extended hand tentatively.

"I am Andrea. But… but I suppose you already knew that."

"Would you care to sit down?"

"Yes... please."

He led her over to the couch where she settled herself, hesitantly, onto the cushions.

"Perhaps something to drink?" he asked. "I suppose you already know we have wine, but we've also got..."

He frowned. He pushed aside the three bottles of Amarone perched on the side cabinet, along with the two decanters of vintage Muscadet and an already-opened Barbaresco… but there was still not a soft drink in sight.

"I'm fine with the Barbaresco," said Andrea as Artemis mentally cursed his mother. "It is a beautiful vintage."

"Yes," growled Artemis as he grasped the bottle. "I should think it is."

He sat down primly beside her and Andrea near snatched her glass. She tipped it to her mouth and drank… and drank… and drank…

"Ah," she gasped finally, clinking the empty crystal onto a nearby table. "Yes. That is good."

Artemis's eyebrows cranked to half-mast. "Would you care for another?"

"Oh no," she said, flushing. "Not until you've finished yours."

He glanced down at his own, brimming flute. She smiled, shyly expectant.

Well, Mother, he thought. Here's to taking opportunities.

And he drained his glass, grimacing slightly as the last, lukewarm dregs cleared his pallet. He sniffed sharply and shivered.

"Another?" asked Andrea brightly.

Then Artemis's flute was snatched from his hand and, before he had even a chance to blink, was replaced by another.

"Cin Cin," said Andrea, before knocking her own glass back.

"Salute," muttered Artemis, and followed her lead.

Fifteen minutes later and Artemis was laughing harder than he'd ever laughed in his life. Everything, and he meant everything was suddenly, inexplicitly hilarious.

"And then!" he gasped "And then just plucks it up by the shell and… and…" He bent over, clutching a hand to his stomach. "And he… he sucks it out!"

Andrea took a sedate sip from her wineglass.

"How amusing."

"I know!" screamed Artemis, tears streaming down his face. "I know! Ha–!"

And he fell off the sofa.

Andrea pursed her lips and put her wine down on a low, Georgian cake table. She flicked her hair back over her shoulder, pulled off her pashmina, and stepped one foot over Artemis.

"What… What are you…?" Artemis giggled. "Your skirt is so… flouncy. It's like a giant jellyfish–"

"Hush."

"Don't hush me. Know you who don't I am?"

And he burst into another fit of mirth as Andrea sunk down onto him. Her fingers quickly undid the front of his jacket, pushing it back over his shoulders and stripping it off his arms.

"Ooh," said Artemis, as Andrea tossed the blazer back onto the couch. "Cold."

"Please stop talking."

Then her lips were on his. The Irish heir's eyes flew wide, his fingers clenching into the pile of the rug. And then her face was hovering above his.

"You kissed me," he gasped.

"Ci," she replied.

"That's… that's the first time I've ever been kissed by a human."

Her brow furrowed violently. "By a human?"

"Well–"

A thin finger pressed to his mouth.

"I really don't want to know."

And then she was kissing him again, her hands pinning his arms back to the carpet, her knees gripping his hips. His eyes shut.

This could actually be enjoyable, thought Artemis, once a rhythm is established, the sensation really is really quite–

Then her mouth slipped over his jaw bone and bit, hard, into the side of his neck. He gasped, his arms ripping up from her grip. Andrea Prenderghast sat back, brushing her hair away with one hand.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

Artemis swallowed, nodded.

"Good."

And the Fowl Heir's eyes clenched shut again as she wrenched him around, pulling him up on top.

"It was so nice of you to come," simpered Angeline Fowl, escorting a perfectly turned out Andrea to the front doors. "Please say you'll return again soon."

The Sicilian looked back over her shoulder to where Artemis was stood, his hair a crow's nest, his jacket eschew, trembling slightly, in the doorway of the second lounge.

"Yes," said Andrea, apparently flushed, timid. "I should think I probably shall."

She flashed him a brief smile, which he weakly returned, and then she was gone.

"Well!" sighed Angeline happily. "That certainly seemed a success."

Artemis didn't reply.

"But don't worry, you do not have to settle on her. There are still so many more young ladies for you to meet!"

Artemis still didn't reply.

"I shall get right on the phone now." She skipped over to him, gripping him by the shoulders and giving him a little shake. "Oh, Arty! This is so exciting!"

And it was ten minutes after his mother had left him when Artemis's knees finally gave way.

"Gertrude Lermstrader," read Butler from his file. "Seventeen years old. Lives in Berlin with her divorced father with no siblings or extended family to speak of. Current heir to the Lermstrader dog-costume empire."

"Any record of arrest?"

"She was done for possession a few months ago but she's since been through rehab in Switzerland."

"Drugs," muttered Artemis, doing up a cufflink. "Yes, drugs I can handle…"

Butler gave him a strange look.

"Come on," whispered his mother, gesturing him forward.

The teenager allowed her to smooth and yank at his clothes without protest but when she raised the mouth-spray he shot up a hand.

"No," he said, "I'd like to meet this one with a clear airway thank you."

She lowered it begrudgingly.

"Alright then," she sniffed, "but again, be nice. Missus Prenderghast said that Andrea was so impressed by you."

Artemis shuddered and stepped into the next room.

Gertrude Lermstrader was stood in front of the seven-foot fireplace, scrutinising the Edwardian carriage clock placed atop the mantle with one, spiked Doctor Martin boot propped against the hearth.

"Hello?" enquired Artemis.

"Hi," she replied in accented English, without turning around.

Artemis noticed the lit cigar in her hand.

"Are you… Gertrude?"

"Ja," she said, still not turning to face him. "And you are Artegus, right?"

"Artemis," he corrected.

"Ja, that is vot I said."

The Fowl heir frowned.

"Would you care for a drink, Gertroud?"

"Gertrude," she corrected, finally coming away from the fire place. "Do you have any Delirium?"

Artemis stared into her heavily out-lined eyes, his peripheral vision noting the matted dreadlocks and the two rings in her lip.

"No," he said levelly, "I do not. I have Port, Chianti or a chilled Recioto."

She shrugged off her jacket – beaten leather, the back patched with the Union Jack – and threw it down on the rug.

"I'll have zat zen."

"Which?"

She stubbed the cigar out in a nearby crystal bowl.

"Just mix in a bit of everyzing."

She sat on the chaise longue and pulled at her laces. Artemis felt foreboding stir in the pit of his stomach.

"What… what are you doing?"

"Vell," she yanked off the left boot and started swiftly on the right. "I don't usually do zis, not with zee males you understand, but zey ver vatching us twenty vor hours a day in zat clinic and… a voman haz needs."

She discarded her boots and started to pull at the feet of her fishnets.

"And what?" demanded Artemis, putting down the bottle he had just picked up. "And you expect me to… to...? We've barely said ten words to each other!"

Gertrude got to her feet again, yanking at her top.

"Andrea, she told me you ver very good. Very discreet. Just not to let you anyver near zee vine." Gertrude stood before him, bare but for her black, plastic knickers and what could only be described as a holster not a bra. "Now," she said. "Have you got zee johnnies or vill I need to nip to zee shop?"

Seventy minutes later and Artemis was watching his mother escort a re-dressed Gertrude out of the door, rubbing distractedly at the new, raw, purple marks on his neck and collarbone.

"Good second date?" asked Butler lightly, coming to stand beside his charge.

I shall need to research things if these meetings are to continue as they are, thought the teenager, or I shall soon be killed.

"Artemis?"

His charge started slightly. "Hmm? What? Oh, so-so." Butler's eyes glanced over Artemis's now swollen, lipstick-black lips. "The conversation was a little too… insouciant for my taste," continued the boy, "but she seemed overall to be a sensible and pleasant young woman." He winced and turned away. "Tell Marla to start running my bath, Butler. I shall be taking it early this evening."

"Yes, Artemis."

And Butler watched the boy limp away, scrutinising the large, and numerous, burn marks in the back of his left trouser leg and the few links of chain creeping out the bottom of the cuff.

"Oh God!" cried the girl beneath him, her shoulder blades burrowing grooves into the carpet as her back arched. "Oh God."

Artemis was panting heavily. It was his ninth date in as many days and Lucia Jennipher McGeoghegen was proving herself to be much more exciting than Butler's initial description had hinted at. Then again, most of them had.

Lucia clenched her hand about the back of his neck, pulling him down and forcing his breathing to stop again.

Thank you, Andrea, he thought absently. For truly beginning the opening of my eyes.

Her tongue pressed against his as his hand pulled, gripped deep into her hair. All the hidden bobby pins and slides that had once piled it up into an artful mess were strewn in the shag pile beneath their bodies, most probably lost. It was of no matter. Kira, the sixth girl, had taught him how to plait and twist things back into place. No-one would ever know.

He felt her knee push at his hip and so he acquiesced, turning until it was her beneath him.

"Jesus," gasped Lucia finally, sitting back and breathing deeply, "they–" she swallowed, "–they had told me… to expect a lot… but…"

His closed his eyes and allowed his head flop to the side. He had built quite a reputation in the last week; The Week as he liked to think of it. Apparently all of the eligible ladies of Europe were in contact some way or another and as the good news of him spread, were now queuing up to volunteer for one of Angeline Fowl's 'dates'.

Lucia lay down beside him, her neck resting on his outstretched arm. She was trembling slightly. He smiled at her.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded, swallowed.

"Good."

Then he noticed the time on the clock and slipped his arm from beneath her head.

"It is almost nine," he said. "We should neaten ourselves up."

Lucia frowned.

"Oh…" she said, as he pushed himself from the floor. "Yes."

Her hands crossed her chest as she sat up.

"Can I see you again?" she whispered ten minutes later, just as he was sliding the last pin back into place at the nape of her neck.

"Of course," he replied, tucking away a loose curl. "My mother knows your number."

"But I want your number." She turned to face him.

"M-my number?"

"Yes," she insisted. "Don't you…" She hesitated, then stood on tiptoes and placed the briefest of kisses against his jawline. "… want me to call you?"

He just looked at her.

And then the lounge door opened.

"Now, now you two!" chastised Angeline Fowl. "No frisky business! It's only your first date! Plenty of time for that later…" She smiled playfully at Artemis as she took Lucia by the shoulders and led her out. He watched her go with a furrowed brow.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Artemis jumped back almost a foot in surprise.

"Holly!" he snapped, as the laughing elf shimmered into view. "You shouldn't do that!"

"Aw, calm down," said the Captain, deactivating her wings and dropping down onto the chaise longue. "You're alright aren't you?"

"How long have you been there?" he demanded, his colour rising.

"Not long enough to get in on the action don't worry."

"What–? Action?" he blustered."Have you been spying on me?"

"Nope. Foaly has. And before you explode, he hasn't seen anything! He wouldn't do that. He's just seen a lot of girls coming in here and most of them coming out with their heart rates hitting two-hundred. It wasn't hard to put two and two together, if you excuse the unfortunate phrasing..."

Artemis clapped a hand to his face, his cheeks burning.

"Why," he managed, after several meditative breaths, "are you here?"

Holly shrugged, plucking a cherry from a nearby bowl. "No reason. Well, except to see how you and the big man were doing. I just finished with a mission near Versailles. So. How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"You don't look fine. You look… stressed."

He rubbed his hand over his face again.

"It is… nothing to concern yourself with."

"Talk to me."

"No, really, it is nothing."

He picked up his loose tie from the arm of a chair as Holly's smile faded.

Angeline was humming lightly to herself, sat on the Georgian bench of her dressing table and brushing her hair out ready for bed. Then there was a soft knock at the door and she placed her brush down.

"Come in." She turned expectantly. "Oh, Arty!"

"Hello, Mum."

He shut the door behind him.

"Come here, darling," said Angeline, gesturing to her side. "I haven't seen you since this morning. I thought you had given up all this hiding yourself away…"

Artemis's forehead creased as he was pulled into his mother's arms.

"I've been working… and thinking."

"Thinking?" She leant back and brushed her son's hair away from his brow. "Now that's a rare thing for Artemis Fowl to be doing."

He didn't return her smile.

"All these meetings, Mother… Mum… The dates… They need to end."

Angeline's expression fell. "But why? They are doing you so much good, Arty! I've never seen you so confident with women. So agreeable..."

He avoided her eyes. "But still. I cannot do them any more."

"Has something gone wrong?" she asked seriously. "Has… has one of them hurt you?"

"No," he said swiftly. "No it… it is not that."

"Then what…?"

He pulled away from the palm she had touched to his cheek.

"Please," he said, straightening. "Just promise me not to arrange any more."

Angeline nodded, letting her arm fall back to the lap of her dressing gown. "If… If that is what you wish."

"It is."

He turned away and walked back to the door. Then, with his hand resting on the handle, he paused.

"May I… may I borrow the documents from which you take their numbers, Mother? Mum?"

Angeline opened a draw of her dresser and pulled out the little, black filo fax.

"Silly, isn't it," she murmured, "that with all this technology I still like to write addresses down but there you are…"Her son accepted the outstretched book. "… some things never change."

He gave her a small, grateful smile and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Once he'd reached his own bedroom and drawn the curtains he lay back on his bed and flicked through the book.

"McFlahearty," he muttered. "McFully, McGarter… McGeoghegen."

He unlocked his phone with a quick swipe of his thumb and typed the number in. A voice answered after the third dial trill.

"Hello?" he said, putting the book down on the bed. "Yes, is that Lucia? It's Artemis. Artemis Fowl… Yes, I was… I was just wondering if you were free next Friday…?"

Yup, Arty the S.T.U.D.

What did you think of him? ;)