cleaning up the writing queue
Mar. 20th, 2011 08:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_ragnarokJust a tiny bb!math!students A&E snippet that I wrote as a belated birthday gift for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shaded_sun.
All the Sines Were There
Eames has no idea how he got into AP math, frankly. He's crap at maths, and he says so when Arthur asks him.
"It doesn't work like that," Arthur says with a small frown. They're both sprawled over Eames' bed, with is entirely a delightful turn of events.
Arthur's holding a list of trigonometric identities, which is... less than delightful.
"You can't just," Arthur says with a small frustrated gesture that Eames notes, "go into the exam and suddenly, bang, you know everything. Math is structured, Eames."
"Is this the pyramid conversation?" Eames feigns a yawn. "We've had that thrice already in the first two weeks. Do give me something better to listen to, darling."
"Don't call me that," Arthur says. But while his lips may say no, the tips of his ears are turning bright pink, and how is Eames to resist that?
It's the same logic that calls him to trace lines down the back of Arthur's neck, playfully trailing the tip of his capped pen right down to the beginning of Arthur's stiffly starched collar. Eames always tells himself not to read too much into how much straighter Arthur sits whenever he does that, that the tantalizing bulge in the front of Arthur's trousers comes only from the tightness of the cut. That the faint flush Arthur wears, walking to the headboard, is for Mal, their teacher, she of the charming accent and lovely long fingers. Not for Eames.
God. Arthur's hand is right next to his. Why did Eames have to think of fingers right now?
"Give me the double-angle formula," Arthur says, shifting closer.
"Arthur," Eames whines. "Honestly. Give me one incidence in actual life where this would be useful."
"Uh, in our test next week?" Arthur says.
"All right then, two reasons." But Arthur is wholly hardened to Eames' pleas. He's been tutoring him long enough to know he can go on until Eames reverts into out-and-out begging.
"Formula or nothing, Eames," Arthur says, and in a softer voice, "come on. I know you know it."
Eames scribbles something on the scrap of paper he works with - has no idea if it's right, doesn't care to pay too close attention. Arthur looks at it. "That should be a minus here," he says.
Eames lies back and groans. "Bloody signs. I swear they're out to get me personally."
Arthur's line now should be something sanctimonious and annoying about taking care and re-checking your answers. Instead, Arthur crawls closer and in a conspiratorial whisper says, "Me too."
"Do they," Eames says. He wants to turn to his side - his face is close to Arthur's, too close. Eames can feel Arthur's breath on his lips, and God, doesn't that just stir the worse kind of reaction out of him.
"You seem to be losing concentration, Mr. Eames," Arthur says, but he doesn't back away. He's looking Eames square in the eye. "Your pupils are all dilated."
Then he traces a thumb over Eames' eyebrow, and Eames doesn't dare move.
"Maybe," Arthur says, barely a whisper, "you should get it out of the way. Whatever it is distracting you."
That is the worst line in all the history of bad lines, and Eames couldn't possibly care less. Arthur's kissing him. Suaveness can go hang from a tree.
It's a comfortable little nest they're lying in, regardless of all the paper and pens and Arthur's bloody writing block. Eames twists and pulls Arthur with him until they're not lying on anything that might poke or otherwise inconvenience them.
It feels right, like this, Arthur's mouth on his, a pure white rush that makes Eames remember how he passed that bloody test to begin with, that sudden Sod it all moment followed by a dazzlingly bright image of what things meant. Names and notations, bugger those, for two hours Eames could see how everything fit, and it all made such perfect beautiful sense that Eames didn't have the heart to just forget all about it and put it away.
He realizes Arthur's been saying something. "What was it?" Eames doesn't particularly care, actually, as long as it doesn't preclude further kissing.
"I said," Arthur says, entirely too far away right now, "here. Try to solve this now."
Which is a stupid, pointless act of cockteasing, and Eames would say so except that he looks at the bloody question and it solves itself in his head, just like that. He motions until Arthur gives him the pen, scribbling it all down and presenting it to Arthur.
"Just like I thought," Arthur says, far too pleased with himself for Eames' peace of mind. "You overthink it, Eames. You just needed to focus on something else for a minute."
Eames raises his eyebrows. "Oh, was that why you stuck your tongue in my throat?"
Arthur smiles, the full happy smile that makes Eames want to lick his cheeks where the dimples come out. "Among other reasons."
"I'll give you reasons," Eames says, pulling Arthur back down against the mattress.
"Eames." Arthur squirms under it. "Eames, the assignment."
"In a minute," Eames says, raking Arthur's shirt up and kissing his warm, smooth stomach. "Just give me a moment or two."
"Procrastination will get you - " Arthur makes a faint noise when Eames peels down his zipper.
"Hm? What was that? Couldn't hear you." Eames looks up at Arthur, grinning like a loon.
"Well, I was going to say nowhere," Arthur says weakly as Eames licks at him through his underwear. "But maybe I should have said an orgasm."
"That's better," Eames says agreeably, and sets to see if he can make Arthur come without taking his underwear off, which apparently he can.
shaded_sun.All the Sines Were There
Eames has no idea how he got into AP math, frankly. He's crap at maths, and he says so when Arthur asks him.
"It doesn't work like that," Arthur says with a small frown. They're both sprawled over Eames' bed, with is entirely a delightful turn of events.
Arthur's holding a list of trigonometric identities, which is... less than delightful.
"You can't just," Arthur says with a small frustrated gesture that Eames notes, "go into the exam and suddenly, bang, you know everything. Math is structured, Eames."
"Is this the pyramid conversation?" Eames feigns a yawn. "We've had that thrice already in the first two weeks. Do give me something better to listen to, darling."
"Don't call me that," Arthur says. But while his lips may say no, the tips of his ears are turning bright pink, and how is Eames to resist that?
It's the same logic that calls him to trace lines down the back of Arthur's neck, playfully trailing the tip of his capped pen right down to the beginning of Arthur's stiffly starched collar. Eames always tells himself not to read too much into how much straighter Arthur sits whenever he does that, that the tantalizing bulge in the front of Arthur's trousers comes only from the tightness of the cut. That the faint flush Arthur wears, walking to the headboard, is for Mal, their teacher, she of the charming accent and lovely long fingers. Not for Eames.
God. Arthur's hand is right next to his. Why did Eames have to think of fingers right now?
"Give me the double-angle formula," Arthur says, shifting closer.
"Arthur," Eames whines. "Honestly. Give me one incidence in actual life where this would be useful."
"Uh, in our test next week?" Arthur says.
"All right then, two reasons." But Arthur is wholly hardened to Eames' pleas. He's been tutoring him long enough to know he can go on until Eames reverts into out-and-out begging.
"Formula or nothing, Eames," Arthur says, and in a softer voice, "come on. I know you know it."
Eames scribbles something on the scrap of paper he works with - has no idea if it's right, doesn't care to pay too close attention. Arthur looks at it. "That should be a minus here," he says.
Eames lies back and groans. "Bloody signs. I swear they're out to get me personally."
Arthur's line now should be something sanctimonious and annoying about taking care and re-checking your answers. Instead, Arthur crawls closer and in a conspiratorial whisper says, "Me too."
"Do they," Eames says. He wants to turn to his side - his face is close to Arthur's, too close. Eames can feel Arthur's breath on his lips, and God, doesn't that just stir the worse kind of reaction out of him.
"You seem to be losing concentration, Mr. Eames," Arthur says, but he doesn't back away. He's looking Eames square in the eye. "Your pupils are all dilated."
Then he traces a thumb over Eames' eyebrow, and Eames doesn't dare move.
"Maybe," Arthur says, barely a whisper, "you should get it out of the way. Whatever it is distracting you."
That is the worst line in all the history of bad lines, and Eames couldn't possibly care less. Arthur's kissing him. Suaveness can go hang from a tree.
It's a comfortable little nest they're lying in, regardless of all the paper and pens and Arthur's bloody writing block. Eames twists and pulls Arthur with him until they're not lying on anything that might poke or otherwise inconvenience them.
It feels right, like this, Arthur's mouth on his, a pure white rush that makes Eames remember how he passed that bloody test to begin with, that sudden Sod it all moment followed by a dazzlingly bright image of what things meant. Names and notations, bugger those, for two hours Eames could see how everything fit, and it all made such perfect beautiful sense that Eames didn't have the heart to just forget all about it and put it away.
He realizes Arthur's been saying something. "What was it?" Eames doesn't particularly care, actually, as long as it doesn't preclude further kissing.
"I said," Arthur says, entirely too far away right now, "here. Try to solve this now."
Which is a stupid, pointless act of cockteasing, and Eames would say so except that he looks at the bloody question and it solves itself in his head, just like that. He motions until Arthur gives him the pen, scribbling it all down and presenting it to Arthur.
"Just like I thought," Arthur says, far too pleased with himself for Eames' peace of mind. "You overthink it, Eames. You just needed to focus on something else for a minute."
Eames raises his eyebrows. "Oh, was that why you stuck your tongue in my throat?"
Arthur smiles, the full happy smile that makes Eames want to lick his cheeks where the dimples come out. "Among other reasons."
"I'll give you reasons," Eames says, pulling Arthur back down against the mattress.
"Eames." Arthur squirms under it. "Eames, the assignment."
"In a minute," Eames says, raking Arthur's shirt up and kissing his warm, smooth stomach. "Just give me a moment or two."
"Procrastination will get you - " Arthur makes a faint noise when Eames peels down his zipper.
"Hm? What was that? Couldn't hear you." Eames looks up at Arthur, grinning like a loon.
"Well, I was going to say nowhere," Arthur says weakly as Eames licks at him through his underwear. "But maybe I should have said an orgasm."
"That's better," Eames says agreeably, and sets to see if he can make Arthur come without taking his underwear off, which apparently he can.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 06:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-22 06:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 06:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-22 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 07:04 pm (UTC)maybe I would be able to focus on piratefic if Arthur tried this method on me.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 07:10 pm (UTC)a) I just noticed and groaned at the cut tag
b) so you deserve this icon
no subject
Date: 2011-03-22 06:53 pm (UTC)(thank you! <3)
no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 07:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-22 06:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 09:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-22 06:55 pm (UTC)cuddlingtutoring each other UNTIL THE END OF TIME. <3no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 10:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-22 06:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-25 12:28 am (UTC)Aw, Arthur's ears getting all pink at Eames' endearments is cute.
"Honestly. Give me one incidence in actual life where this would be useful." Hehe, this made me laugh so much; I can totally empathise with Arthur! I heard this for years at high school. If only Eames could have been the one to say it, then I wouldn't have minded AT ALL! ;D
"Maybe," Arthur says, barely a whisper, "you should get it out of the way. Whatever it is distracting you."
SLSDHFLHAHFLFLSFLH. YES. SUCH DISTRACTIONS NEED TO BE INDULGED IN.
for two hours Eames could see how everything fit, and it all made such perfect beautiful sense that Eames didn't have the heart to just forget all about it and put it away.
So pretty. Elegant maths = ♥.
"I said," Arthur says, entirely too far away right now, "here. Try to solve this now."
EAMES JUST NEEDS TO SNOG ARTHUR TO BE ABLE TO DO HIS MATHS WORK! Why can't I have this work in real life? Why? Of course, perhaps I need an Arthur of my own with such magical properties? ;) And to give me suitable encouragement, of course.
"That's better," Eames says agreeably, and sets to see if he can make Arthur come without taking his underwear off, which apparently he can.
*____* Lovely ending.
DANA, YOU ARE AWESOMELY AMAZING AND DESERVE ALL THE KUDOS FOR THIS!
♥♥♥
Thanks for this brilliant birthday present! You have Arthur and Eames as bbs and actually doing maths and then almost!porn and it is just perfect. :DDDDDno subject
Date: 2011-03-25 11:55 pm (UTC)MATH IS USEFUL... but mostly for more math. :D which doesn't make it any less awesome.
Why can't I have this work in real life? Why?
I ask myself this on a daily basis. :D
Effie asked for MOAR of this, and I think I might do it if I have the time, like, fully-fledged AU where A wants to be an astrophysicist and E is all nonchalant until you get him going about the golden ratio and Mal is the teacher EVERYONE crushes on. Y.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-26 06:17 am (UTC)A long fic would be awesome. Hehe, E loving the golden ratio. :D This would be great. If you ever need to bounce ideas around, you know where I am. ;)