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It’s Arthur’s last year of high school, and he’s got a scant month left before graduation. Eames is in town mooching off their parents for the month, and trying to convince their father that it wasn’t the stupidest thing he’s ever done to drop out of college and start painting for money. Arthur stays out of the conversation. He’s just happy to see his big brother again.
At night, Arthur lets Eames slip into bed with him, right between his legs, and fuck him with slow, quiet thrusts. They have to be quiet, which is hard for both of them, especially with the dirty things Eames tends to whisper in Arthur’s ear, things Arthur’s never heard someone say out loud, not even in porn. Their parents are just down the hall, and Arthur’s got school in the morning, but Arthur hasn’t seen Eames since Christmas so he lets the older boy have his way. Just for tonight, he thinks, but it doesn’t even sound like truth in his head.
Years ago, Eames had said he’d house Arthur after school, take care of him so they could both live easily. So Arthur wouldn’t have to work. Now, Eames can’t hold a job down and he’s confessed to Arthur that most of the money he makes comes from selling forgeries. Not just paintings—legal papers as well. Casino chips, driver’s licenses, whatever someone wanted. He was a conman, and Arthur hated him for it. He hated that Eames couldn’t make an honest living- didn’t WANT to make an honest living, and he hated that he loved Eames so much it physically hurt to think they couldn’t be together forever.
In the morning, while Eames slept, Arthur showered. He stared at the remnants of last night: the white, goopy fluid of Eames’ cum and the cheap lubricant they’d hastily used, the mix of both dribbling down his thigh in a shameful mess. If Eames were awake and in the shower with him, he’d think it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Arthur doesn’t know what to think about it. Or how to feel.
Two weeks go by like nothing. Arthur’s days are full, from student council meetings to yearbook club members hounding him for pictures and quotes, Arthur barely has any time to himself. Eames spends all day hanging around the house playing video games or helping his mother-in-law cook and clean. He tags along with Arthur when he can, and they drive around the town in complete silence like there’s something to say but neither of them want to voice the words. Eames’ hand rests on Arthur’s thigh, or his knee, until they get out of the car and then they’re brothers again. There are a couple of times when Arthur wants to ask why it is they even do this to each other, but then he lets it go, figures he’s just exhausted from lack of sleep and stressed from everything going on in his life.
There’s a party on Friday night, the last Friday of school, and Eames tags along. There’ll be a lot of college kids there anyway, and Eames is dying to have a little fun.
Baked off his ass, Eames sits on one of the couches in the living room and people-watches while Arthur nurses a cup of beer and attempts to make conversation with each person for at least a moment or two. In a few weeks he’ll be moving and he won’t see most of these people ever again. Most of them he didn’t know, some of them he didn’t like, but all of them were a part of his life in some way or another.
Arthur sits down next to Eames and sighs. “I don’t want to be here all night. Are you almost ready to go?”
Eames doesn’t have time to answer before someone behind the couch is asking after Arthur. They both crane their necks around to see a mousy brunette with a small pink mouth holding a brightly packaged box in her hands.
“Arthur, can I talk to you for a moment?” she asks.
“Yeah of course.” Arthur gets up and follows her, leaving his beer behind.
Eames watches them as they step away towards the mantle where the girl hands Arthur the box. From his position, Eames can’t see what’s inside, but he does see Arthur’s shy smile, the way the two of them duck their heads and laugh. He gives her a one-armed hug and they kiss. Not just a quick peck, but a lingering meet of the mouths that has Eames looking away.
A moment later and Arthur is back on the couch, his lips tinted a shade of pink that was not there before. In his lap sits a box, and inside is some sort of snow globe. Eames takes a puff of his joint and asks, “What’s that then?”
Arthur dimples as he answers, “We made these in art class a couple years ago. Mine got knocked off a table and shattered. This is hers.”
As smoke curls out of Eames mouth, he hums his acknowledgement.
“Let’s get out of here,” Arthur says. Eames follows.
It’s dark out, almost one in the morning. Arthur isn’t anywhere near tipsy, and drives them out, past their house, in the part of town that’s all trees. The highway is nearby, but this is all forest, and Arthur keeps going. They’re near a river now, and they pass campers, RV’s, tents. Eames watches from the passenger seat, not caring where they’re going, only enjoying the ride itself.
There’s a bridge then, and a deep river below. Arthur pulls over, shifts into park, but doesn’t turn off the car. He looks over at Eames, and they look at each other, and then Arthur smiles. He leans in and kisses Eames, tasting the sticky sweet of illegal dank as their tongues sweep over each other lazily. Eames’ hand is at Arthur’s neck, and they’re breathing heavily now, neither wanting to break the kiss long enough to take a proper breath.
When they finally part, Eames is grinning. “What’s this about then? You didn’t have to drive me all the way out here to snog.”
Arthur laughs. “I didn’t. Come on.”
Arthur turns off the car and opens the door. It’s a cool night out, but his hooded jacket is more than enough to keep him warm. The lingering warmth of the beer, and the heat of the kiss he’d just shared with his step-brother, those helped too.
The bridge isn’t terribly long, and the sound of the water rushing below is close. Almost at the middle of the bridge, Arthur stops and leans on the railing. He looks over at the river, admiring the glint of the moon on the rushing current, and then there’s Eames’ body at his back, lining up perfectly to his with their difference in height and all.
Eames kisses the back of Arthur’s neck. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, and it’s very quiet. Between them, everything feels delicate, like they’re both on a tightrope and someone’s got a knife pressed threateningly to the braided cords. “Or do I have to guess.”
With Eames at his back, affection evident in every kiss and caress, Arthur almost felt like nothing could go wrong.
“I’m going to Penn State, Eames. I’m getting the hell out of this town, and I’m doing something with my life,” Arthur says, and it might have come out sounding a little more malicious than he’d ended. He wasn’t angry at Eames, after all. Behind him, Eames has gone still, listening, and Arthur pushes on. “If I could, I’d stay eighteen forever. So we could stay like this forever. Just you and me, here, on this bridge. Lovers, not brothers.”
Arthur grabs hold of the railing then, and steps up onto it. Eames watches, silent, as Arthur stands tall, his feet balanced unsteadily on the bars so he can spread his arms out like a bird about to take flight. His shins press into the upper bars and his legs shake.
“Arthur?” Eames asks, unsure where this going. He’s moved his hand to Arthur’s waist, fingers at the front of Arthur’s hip to steady his brother.
“Come on, Eames,” goads Arthur, and his right hand comes down to pet the older boy’s hair. “What are we doing? Isn’t this wrong, you and me? It’ll never be right. No matter how many years pass, no matter how many laws change, they’ll never let us be together.”
Eames, a little nervous now, asks Arthur to get down. Trying for playful, he says, “A double suicide is romantic, I’ll give you that. But it’s cowardly, Arthur. I never pegged you for a coward.”
Arthur’s arms drop to his sides. He sighs heavily, and leans back into Eames, but doesn’t step down. There’s still a tired smile on his lips as he speaks to the sky. “It’s dumb. I saw it in a movie once, the whole double suicide thing. Very Romeo and Juliet. Very stupid. But it was romantic.”
With a bitter laugh, Eames slips his fingers under Arthur’s coat, under the shirt underneath, so he can feel the beat of Arthur’s heart for himself. Arthur’s hand covers his, and they stay like that for a moment. It’s just the two of them, and the wind, and Arthur’s heartbeat, a shared lifeline between them, a reminder of mortality. A reminder that this wasn’t a movie, or a story, rather it was real life and that meant there were real consequences to brash decisions such as killing yourself to be with your lover forever.
“If it’s romance you want,” Eames purrs. “I can take you out to dinner before I suck you off next time.”
Arthur rolls his eyes and looks down at Eames, who’s grinning back up at him. “You’re a jackass, Eames. Remind me again why I’m so in love with you?”
Eames accepts Arthur into his arms as the younger boy drops down from the ledge, and they kiss again. Between kisses, Eames muses. “I’m not sure, Darling. Could be my unparalleled wit.”
Kiss.
“Or my tattoos. I know you love those.”
Kiss.
“Or. It could be my huge cock that you just love to take up your pretty little arse.”
“That one,” Arthur decides with a laugh. “That’s it. Thanks for reminding me.”
They kiss, slowly at first, and then hard. Their breath turns to steam between their mouths, and with Eames’ hands all over him, it doesn’t take long for Arthur to get hard.
“Come back to the car, Arthur. We can stay like this for tonight. And you can be my parkway king. Tomorrow we can figure out the rest.”
In the car, with Eames’ head in his lap, Arthur figures that maybe his entire life doesn’t have to be decided right now. He knows what college he’s going to, he knows what his major is going to be, he knows what he wants to do with his life. And despite all the variables that'll surely come between, Arthur knows that he’ll always love Eames.