Thieves Like Us
Title: Thieves Like Us
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur, Ariadne/(Brief)OMC
Summary: It seemed to Ariadne that Arthur periodically dropped by Paris just to fuck her and fuck with her head.
Rating: Nc-17
Word count: 1156
I wrote this back in March for a request on Inception_Kink but it seems I never posted it.
Ariadne can burn and raise worlds now, she is so much more than what she was.Arthur drops into Paris, standing outside her class while everyone files out, going to their next class or to study, to grab a snack before another lecture. When she sees him, he lifts a wry eyebrow and walks away without checking to see if she is following.
He takes her with him for a job in Marrakesh.
For the extraction, she designs a two level dream that is a mobius strip. They drop into the dream, designed to mimic a bustling modern city walking past a block from New York, sky scrapers from Beijing and Dubai. She’s excited and animated, explaining it to Arthur, showing him how the dream becomes infinite and loops back around, how the whole dream plane twists back in on itself and around again, and he goes quiet and still, his eyes dark.
He fucks her after in her hotel room, the windows open letting in the night air and Ariadne clenching the sheets in her hands as she comes hard for the third time that night. They lay on the bed after, wrung out and exhausted, their sweat dampening the sheets.
He tells her after when he is getting dressed, “I’ve never seen anyone that can do what you do.”
She shakes her head watching him leave, unsure still.
“Never.” Arthur reasserts and finishes pulling his tie into a perfect half Windsor.
---------------------------------------------------------
The job goes off without a hitch and she leaves Morocco without receiving a single backward glance from Arthur when he briefly kisses her goodbye at her gate.
Her phone rings periodically with a text from him, work related, consulting details but never anything more.
When he is in Paris, he swings by and spends a night or two with her, making her come apart and then leaving in the morning, a goodbye kiss on her lips.
It’s exactly what either of them would call a relationship.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She doesn’t hear from Arthur for a while, but she knows he isn’t missing or dead, Eames being generous enough to tell her after a few weeks of worrying and reaching for her phone and tapping in a message she considers and then sighs and deletes without sending.
She takes another job, a straightforward two level corporate extraction that leaves her listless and bored, too easy for her now, and too clear cut.
Her fingers itching to do the impossible again.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ariadne begins to see a boy from her architectural history class.
Bertrand is nice, with light colored hair and clear blue eyes. He asks her out and she considers saying no when she noticed that he has a dimple in one cheek when he grinned, reminding her of someone else.
He takes calls from his mother in Lyon on Sunday afternoons. His kisses are pleasant and uncomplicated, she never tries to read more into a smile he gives her, or when he reaches for her hand when they walk together to class. It feels nice. He asks softly, earnestly, before he unhooks her bra or kisses her breasts, before he slides a hand down her jeans. He’s very attentive, very focused, and affectionate. Normal.
He’s just, he’s easy.
He isn’t Arthur.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“How are you?” he asks.
She huffs into the phone, “Fine.”
“Ariadne are you mad at me?” Arthur asks, bemused.
“No.”
“Dinner then?” He asks, “I know you’ve been dying to go to Frenchie.”
She pauses and drums her fingers idly on her side table, glancing at the photo strip of pictures of her and Bertrand from a photobooth in Montmartre.
He’s kissing her on the cheek while she stares directly into the lens of the camera.
“Sure.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The restaurant is in a difficult to find alley, but Arthur is already there when she walks up, his jacket slung over his arm, an easy grin on his face.
He moves in to kiss her in greeting, but Ariadne turns her head, and he catches the corner of her mouth instead.
He leans back, a quizzical if amused look on his face. “Come on.” he says a hand on her back.
When she tells Arthur about Betrand he laughs softly.
“Don’t mock.”
“Nice? Normal?” he asks, not jealous at all, “is that what you want?”
So later he pretends for her. Kisses her with his mouth and eyes closed, looks into her eyes when he slips his hands underneath her shirt, just softly resting his dry palms on her waist, not moving them any farther up or down like he normally would.
He’s almost sweet.
But it’s not what she wants.
“Please.” she says pulling his hands away, “just fucking stop this.”
“What do you want then?” He asks harshly, pushing her down onto her couch.
“Not that.” Ariadne gasps out.
“Is this what you want?” he asks when he shoves her skirt up, and her underwear off.
“Yes” she hisses against his mouth when he pushes his fingers inside of her, just shy of painful and too much too soon.
“Yes.” she hisses again when he enters her, finally gripping her too tight and thrusting too hard.
She finds little bruises later on the sides of her hips, perfect impressions of Arthur's thumbs, and she presses against them to feel the sting.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“There’s a job.” Arthur says.
“There’s always a job.” She sighs and stirs her coffee.
Arthur shakes his head, ‘This is different. It’s another attempt at inception. I need you for this one.”
Ariadne looks at him sharply.
“I’ve seen you growing bored.”
“You were watching me?” she asks pissed but not surprised.
Arthur ignores this and continues “I know how you're atrophying, wasted here." he snorts and says, "I can see it right now, in how you’re trying to content yourself with a normal life, with Bertrand.” he says a mocking twist of his lips.
“Fuck you.” Ariadne says and stands leaving the cafe.
She’s in her bedroom when he comes back, seated on the floor, her clothing spread around her in and out of her drawers and suitcase.
“You’ve ruined me.” Ariadne says looking up at him finally.
Arthur shakes his head, “For what? Ruined you for this?” he says gesturing around her at the studio apartment, the dirty dishes in the sink, the hamper of laundry she has yet to fold. He crouches on the ground in front of her.
“Ive seen you raise worlds from dust.” He tilts her head with his palm so she can’t turn away, and so that she hears this, “I've seen you build impossible things.”
Ariadne says nothing but just stares at him with dark eyes.
“You couldn't be normal now, even if you tried, even if you wanted to.”
Arthur takes a breath and continues, “So, I am asking you, come with me, and we will build worlds, we will raze them to the ground, and we will do it all over again.”
When Arthur holds his hand out she takes it without a second thought.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur, Ariadne/(Brief)OMC
Summary: It seemed to Ariadne that Arthur periodically dropped by Paris just to fuck her and fuck with her head.
Rating: Nc-17
Word count: 1156
I wrote this back in March for a request on Inception_Kink but it seems I never posted it.
Ariadne can burn and raise worlds now, she is so much more than what she was.Arthur drops into Paris, standing outside her class while everyone files out, going to their next class or to study, to grab a snack before another lecture. When she sees him, he lifts a wry eyebrow and walks away without checking to see if she is following.
He takes her with him for a job in Marrakesh.
For the extraction, she designs a two level dream that is a mobius strip. They drop into the dream, designed to mimic a bustling modern city walking past a block from New York, sky scrapers from Beijing and Dubai. She’s excited and animated, explaining it to Arthur, showing him how the dream becomes infinite and loops back around, how the whole dream plane twists back in on itself and around again, and he goes quiet and still, his eyes dark.
He fucks her after in her hotel room, the windows open letting in the night air and Ariadne clenching the sheets in her hands as she comes hard for the third time that night. They lay on the bed after, wrung out and exhausted, their sweat dampening the sheets.
He tells her after when he is getting dressed, “I’ve never seen anyone that can do what you do.”
She shakes her head watching him leave, unsure still.
“Never.” Arthur reasserts and finishes pulling his tie into a perfect half Windsor.
---------------------------------------------------------
The job goes off without a hitch and she leaves Morocco without receiving a single backward glance from Arthur when he briefly kisses her goodbye at her gate.
Her phone rings periodically with a text from him, work related, consulting details but never anything more.
When he is in Paris, he swings by and spends a night or two with her, making her come apart and then leaving in the morning, a goodbye kiss on her lips.
It’s exactly what either of them would call a relationship.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She doesn’t hear from Arthur for a while, but she knows he isn’t missing or dead, Eames being generous enough to tell her after a few weeks of worrying and reaching for her phone and tapping in a message she considers and then sighs and deletes without sending.
She takes another job, a straightforward two level corporate extraction that leaves her listless and bored, too easy for her now, and too clear cut.
Her fingers itching to do the impossible again.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ariadne begins to see a boy from her architectural history class.
Bertrand is nice, with light colored hair and clear blue eyes. He asks her out and she considers saying no when she noticed that he has a dimple in one cheek when he grinned, reminding her of someone else.
He takes calls from his mother in Lyon on Sunday afternoons. His kisses are pleasant and uncomplicated, she never tries to read more into a smile he gives her, or when he reaches for her hand when they walk together to class. It feels nice. He asks softly, earnestly, before he unhooks her bra or kisses her breasts, before he slides a hand down her jeans. He’s very attentive, very focused, and affectionate. Normal.
He’s just, he’s easy.
He isn’t Arthur.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“How are you?” he asks.
She huffs into the phone, “Fine.”
“Ariadne are you mad at me?” Arthur asks, bemused.
“No.”
“Dinner then?” He asks, “I know you’ve been dying to go to Frenchie.”
She pauses and drums her fingers idly on her side table, glancing at the photo strip of pictures of her and Bertrand from a photobooth in Montmartre.
He’s kissing her on the cheek while she stares directly into the lens of the camera.
“Sure.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The restaurant is in a difficult to find alley, but Arthur is already there when she walks up, his jacket slung over his arm, an easy grin on his face.
He moves in to kiss her in greeting, but Ariadne turns her head, and he catches the corner of her mouth instead.
He leans back, a quizzical if amused look on his face. “Come on.” he says a hand on her back.
When she tells Arthur about Betrand he laughs softly.
“Don’t mock.”
“Nice? Normal?” he asks, not jealous at all, “is that what you want?”
So later he pretends for her. Kisses her with his mouth and eyes closed, looks into her eyes when he slips his hands underneath her shirt, just softly resting his dry palms on her waist, not moving them any farther up or down like he normally would.
He’s almost sweet.
But it’s not what she wants.
“Please.” she says pulling his hands away, “just fucking stop this.”
“What do you want then?” He asks harshly, pushing her down onto her couch.
“Not that.” Ariadne gasps out.
“Is this what you want?” he asks when he shoves her skirt up, and her underwear off.
“Yes” she hisses against his mouth when he pushes his fingers inside of her, just shy of painful and too much too soon.
“Yes.” she hisses again when he enters her, finally gripping her too tight and thrusting too hard.
She finds little bruises later on the sides of her hips, perfect impressions of Arthur's thumbs, and she presses against them to feel the sting.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“There’s a job.” Arthur says.
“There’s always a job.” She sighs and stirs her coffee.
Arthur shakes his head, ‘This is different. It’s another attempt at inception. I need you for this one.”
Ariadne looks at him sharply.
“I’ve seen you growing bored.”
“You were watching me?” she asks pissed but not surprised.
Arthur ignores this and continues “I know how you're atrophying, wasted here." he snorts and says, "I can see it right now, in how you’re trying to content yourself with a normal life, with Bertrand.” he says a mocking twist of his lips.
“Fuck you.” Ariadne says and stands leaving the cafe.
She’s in her bedroom when he comes back, seated on the floor, her clothing spread around her in and out of her drawers and suitcase.
“You’ve ruined me.” Ariadne says looking up at him finally.
Arthur shakes his head, “For what? Ruined you for this?” he says gesturing around her at the studio apartment, the dirty dishes in the sink, the hamper of laundry she has yet to fold. He crouches on the ground in front of her.
“Ive seen you raise worlds from dust.” He tilts her head with his palm so she can’t turn away, and so that she hears this, “I've seen you build impossible things.”
Ariadne says nothing but just stares at him with dark eyes.
“You couldn't be normal now, even if you tried, even if you wanted to.”
Arthur takes a breath and continues, “So, I am asking you, come with me, and we will build worlds, we will raze them to the ground, and we will do it all over again.”
When Arthur holds his hand out she takes it without a second thought.