5 Kisses in 5 Different Places
Title: 5 Kisses in 5 Different Places
Rating: PG-17
Word Count: 5,253
Pairing: Arthur/Ariadne
Summary: Five different places Arthur has kissed Ariadne. (Neck, nose, forehead, shoulder and thigh)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything other then this idea i came up with. :)
-Neck-
“Arthur… I have to get these blue prints done…” Ariadne turned to look at Arthur, who had been successfully distracting her for ten minutes straight.
It was late; she wasn’t even sure what time it was anymore. She guessed it was later then eleven but not as early as two in the morning. She’d been stuck in the warehouse from six in the morning up until now, whatever time it may have been.
The team had gotten a case in, their first case since the Inception job three months ago, and as soon as the point man had gathered all the information and research needed, the team had split into their duties to get down to the wire. They wanted to try and get everything together in an orderly fashion, as quick as possible, so that they could plan the extraction for Sunday. Which was in two days and Ariadne had yet to fill in the blueprints for the first level.
Arthur just smiled at her, something that reminded her of the cat in Alice of Wonderland who was about to cause some mischief.
“I know you do, I’m the one that assigned them to be done by tomorrow.” He leaned forward and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.
Which she didn’t even try to object. She loved his arm around her and his hand against her side; the soft skin of his palm combining with the hard calluses on his fingers gave her a twisting sensation in the pit of her belly.
“So what?”
Arthur leaned his forehead against hers. “So I can assign you ten minute breaks.”
She laughed and urged her arms to push him away and get back to work but her brain signals weren’t reaching her muscles.
“You wouldn’t even let Eames get off his stool to stretch today but you want to give me a ten minute break?” The signals finally reached her arms and she gently detached herself from him. “Why is that?”
He smiled, his head cocking a little to the right. “Maybe that’s because I don’t want to kiss Mr. Eames.”
Ariadne smiled at his smile, his growing wider and dimpling his cheeks. She shook her head and turned to work on her blue prints.
She had never seen him so relaxed when there was work to be done. She noticed that his relationship with her over the past few months had mellowed him out a bit. Not when they were all so focused that neither of them could think of anything past shared dreaming but in little moments between them; little relaxed smiles and touches.
She had changed him, erased some of his lines and drew them so that they wavered in some places. However, not every single line was changed. Some lines were straight and were going to stay that way but she figured that was okay. She liked him in those tailored, not a crease in sight, three piece suits and it took a lot of straight, hard, lines to be a good point man. But she was happy he let her erase and redraw some…it made her feel like she was a part of his life. Or beginning to be, anyways.
She felt him approach her back, leaning himself into her a little. His hands braced himself against her desk on either side of her, so she wasn’t feeling his entire weight on her back. She shivered as he brushed her hair away from her neck, felt his nose run under her ear.
“Fine.” He murmured and untied her scarf, he kissed the hollow of her throat and she closed her eyes for a moment as he did.
He backed up as soon as his lips met her skin and smirked softly as she tripped a little, trying to lean back into his mouth and body which was no longer there.
“Get back to work; we’ll leave when you finish the blueprint.”
Ariadne turned and watched him, mouth open, as he walked back to his desk and sat on his stool; going back to work like he had never approached her at her work station.
Well she couldn’t just work now after him being a damn tease.
-Nose-
Ariadne threw the box of tissues across the room as Arthur walked into his bedroom. The box slammed against the wall next to the TV and slid down onto the dresser, disrupting the cologne bottles and paper files that rested there.
He just raised his eyebrows, not sure if he should speak when she was in such a fit of anger. “Let me guess…you didn’t sleep.”
Ariadne shifted in bed and let out something that sounded like a whine and a frustrated grunt. “No.” She sniffled. “I didn’t sleep…I didn’t breathe. I’m dying!”
Arthur set the brown paper bag on the table next to the bed and resisted rolling his eyes at her childish statements, staving off an argument about age that they’ve had before.
Sure, he was almost four years older than her. But she had carried off an inception job and pulled Cobb out of limbo in a matter of ten hours. Which, according to him, was very impressive for her age and for her experience level with shared dreaming. So they just steered clear of age conversations. He didn’t want her throwing something else, this time directing it at his head. She was in no mood.
“You have a cold,” Arthur stated, rather dryly. He picked up the tissue box and fixed his papers and bottles. He brought the box back to the nightstand and set it down. “You’re not dying. Although, I think you just won an award for most drama in the-”
“Don’t finish that sentence Arthur.”
He raised his eyebrows and stopped talking. He was used to not being afraid of a lot of things. Guns going off around him, dreamscape and reality alike, being tortured by financial buyers who wanted information that they weren’t supposed to have-hence the torturing. And even when things didn’t go according to plan on an extraction, and he was the point man, details were his job and things were supposed to go to plan. But when they didn’t, he wasn’t scared; he just calculated another plan around the mistakes and carried everything out until the job was finished.
His girlfriend having a cold, however, was something to be terrified of.
Ariadne turned her head and sneezed, letting out a roaring cough afterwords. Her hand fished for a tissue blindly, she wasn’t turning her head until she was sure she wiped away anything that resembled snot. She was embarrassed enough that she had woken up sick in Arthur’s bed and had to stay there all day, getting germs all over his perfect white sheets, which she was sure was driving him crazy. She was going to keep whatever dignity she had left.
Luckily he got the signal and handed her a tissue and she blew her nose, successfully throwing it in the trash a few inches away from the bed.
“Bless you.”
He stood and discarded his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his sky blue button down shirt. She looked up at him and wiped the water from her eyes. She sniffled and adjusted the pillows at her back and leaned against the headboard again.
“You don’t have to look so perfect all the time.” Her voice was thick and it felt like a wall of cotton was between her brain and her ears. Her head felt so cloudy.
Arthur smiled, looking down at her disheveled form. “And you don’t have to fight with me when I say eat your soup.”
She frowned as she watched him pull out a Styrofoam container of soup from the brown paper bag he had brought into the room. She scowled at him as he sat next to her hips on the bed.
He chuckled. “But you’re going to, so therefore I will keep looking perfect.” He peeled the lid off the container and stirred the soup with a plastic spoon.
She made a face at his light brown vest; it matched his pants to the T. She wasn’t sure why she was complaining about the way he dressed. She loved the three piece suits. She secretly had a thing for his vests and those sweaters he sometimes wore with a tie tucked underneath.
“I just meant…I’d like to see you in…a band tee. Or…jeans.”
He gasped, teasing her. “Jeans? The audacity…!” She shoved him and he glared at her, even though the action made her smile. “Soup here, careful with the hitting.”
Ariadne pulled the blankets up over her waist. “You’ll have to change the sheets anyways, I’ve already infected them!”
She was starting to sound pathetic, her voice wavering on whimpering and whining. She was tired, she needed to sleep. She hadn’t slept well last night and managed to get one hour between the time he left to get the soup and when he came back a few hours later.
“Still doesn’t mean I want my sheets covered in processed chicken noodle soup.”
She groaned, her head starting to pound around her temples. “Well…now that you’ve made it sound so appetizing.”
He chuckled softly and she felt his one hand, which had been stirring the soup, wrap around her forearm and stroke the skin under her elbow.
“You’ll feel better after some soup and some sleep.” He smiled a little as she sniffed. “Come on.”
Ariadne leaned up, her arms shaking like jello, and approached the spoon with a disgruntled face. Suddenly she pulled back and turned her head, sneezing again. She groaned softly as Arthur handed her another tissue. She blew her nose and threw the tissue away yet again.
“I’m getting sick of-”
“Of being sick?” He finished for her. He fed her a few spoonfuls of soup. “Imagine that. And I thought people liked being sick.”
She glared playfully at him. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated in my fuzzy minded state.”
“Duly noted.”
He was about to feed her another spoonful of soup when the doorbell rang. Arthur looked towards the bedroom door and then back to her, handing her the container of soup.
“Who’s that?” She asked, curiously as she had another spoonful.
“It’s Eames. I told him to stop by with the information on the mark’s sister he wants to impersonate.”
Ariadne groaned. “Don’t let him in here to see me. I feel and probably look like a drowned rat.”
He laughed, the electricity from it making her body shiver. He leaned down and placed a gentle, warm and fond kiss on her red, irritated nose. “You look absolutely fine.”
He stood and left his bedroom, she heard the door open and small parts of Eames and Arthur’s conversation.
She had to remember to buy him a band tee shirt to thank him for the soup.
-Forehead-
The world closed in around her, blood dripping into her eyes from the gashes on her head and forehead. She couldn’t see out of her right eye, a boot connecting with the bone. Her jaw felt slack; could a jaw be disconnected like a shoulder could? Teeth were chipped and broken; she could feel the stray pieces in her mouth and under her tongue.
Ariadne wanted to scream, wanted to move…wanted to do something. Everything had just…happened so fast. She should have listened to Arthur when he said, when he warned her, not to change the surroundings in the dream space. Eames’ subconscious jumped on her like rabid dogs. She had just wanted to see if she could create a dance hall. She had started thinking about it when Eames mentioned the mark was a professional ballroom dancer. And before she could stop herself her mind was working overtime, constructing a ballroom dance hall, ignoring Arthur’s worried and incessant scolding.
By the time she had actually heard him, he had to grab her arm and shake her, it was too late. Eames was screaming and she could hear yelling, a crowd rebelling outside the dance hall doors. They broke the door down with incredible strength and attacked.
Arthur pulled Ariadne, nearly tugging her shoulder from her socket, as they ran towards the red carpet stairs at the end of the dance hall. She didn’t even get to appreciate the beauty of her work with Eames’ subconscious wanting to beat the hell out of her…she guessed the way the place looked and how authentic it was the least of her worries.
She heard gunfire, Eames’ gun going off, hitting as many projections as he could. Not that it did much difference. Four projections out of the thirty didn’t prevent the other twenty six from grabbing Ariadne’s ankles out from under her.
“Ariadne!” Arthur shot the few that had her, but as she scrambled up the stairs to meet him, only more grabbed her.
She screamed as they dragged her down the stairs, her chin hitting off the steps. She bit her tongue and spit blood. Before she knew it she was on the hard marble floor, writhing as the projections hit, kicked, slammed, shoved and tugged her small body into impossible shapes. Into ways the human body shouldn’t have been able to twist.
She could hear Arthur yelling; hear the gunfire as the world grew fuzzy, pain surrounding her in every way possible. She heard bones crack, felt blood seep from her, pool around her shaking body.
This was far worse than dying from one simple stab wound of your bosses’ dead wife’s projection.
Ariadne gasped, air filling her lungs entirely as her body lurched forward. She nearly fell out of the lawn chair she was in until she felt two strong hands gripping her shoulders.
“Stop! Get off of me!!”
She wrenched herself out of the hands and tried to get up, ripping something from her wrist in the process. She tripped over herself, her lungs taking in too much air as she hyperventilated. She felt dizzy; faint. Her body ached of phantom pains, cuts so deep and broken bones.
Her legs gave out from under her and she landed hard onto the floor of the warehouse, moving her hands to survey her entire body for any type of injury. Anything that was out of place or hurt in any way.
“Ariadne,” Gentle. Warm. Concerned. Arthur.
He knelt beside her and took her shoulders into his hands again, gently this time so he wouldn’t scare her.
“Hey, hey…look at me.” He sighed softly as she didn’t stop fidgeting, mumbling about cuts and bruises.
“I think she’s lost her noggin, Arthur.”
He glared at Eames as he knelt beside him to survey the architect. “Unless you have something constructive to say, don’t say anything.” Arthur managed through gritted teeth.
He turned back to the quivering girl in his hands and gently squeezed her shoulders. “Ariadne, your totem. Where is it?”
She looked up at him through watery eyes. “My…my totem?”
Arthur nodded softly. “Yes. Your gold chess piece, Ari. Where is it?”
Her mouth opened, her lower lip quivered and some tears plopped down her face as she searched her red jacket for it. She pulled it out of the small pocket over her heart and showed it to him, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Arthur knew this was all normal. No one was quite right after their first experience with a very violent subconscious. She was disoriented, scared, trembling; this was all normal but he was still worried about her.
Ariadne moved her shaking hand to set her totem on the ground and tipped it. There was no delay; it hit the pavement with a solid CLUNK. She looked up at Arthur, understanding. This was reality. She hadn’t been cut, stabbed, kicked, jabbed and strangled to death by an angry mob. It had been a dream. Eames’ subconscious. Not real. Never real.
But her insides ached like she’d been hurt and her throat constricted as sobs built up in her chest. She touched Arthur’s vest just as the sobs burst from her, making her entire body shake. He gathered her into his arms, holding her close to him. She buried her face in his shoulder, some of his scent rolling off his clothes as her tears hit the fabric.
Arthur gently stroked her back as Eames ran an awkward hand through her hair, because let’s face it, he felt awful that his subconscious tore her to bits and neither him nor Arthur could have done a damn thing about it.
“I got this.” Arthur said, rather roughly. Eames just nodded, knew he was deflecting and untangled his hand from the sobbing girl’s hair. “Pack up the PASIV.”
Eames stood without a sound and moved to the other side of the room to pack up the equipment.
Arthur scooped his arm under Ariadne’s knees and picked her up. She clung to him like he himself was her totem. The feel of his shirt fabric between her hands and the weight of his body against hers convinced her that she wasn’t still dreaming; that projections weren’t waiting to get at her.
He set her down on a couch far from Eames, out of earshot and nearly out of sight. The couch was near the front door, a luxury Eames and Yusuf had bought with Satio’s money at a garage sale one day. It was soft and it was nice to have around for late nights at the warehouse. Something people could relax in or sleep on; it definitely was better than the cold, metal, lawn chairs they were sharing dreams on.
She cried for ten minutes. Ten full minutes of sobs and tears and shaking. He was genuinely worried about her. Arthur had never seen her so broken and terrified. Not to mention that Ariadne was a strong girl, she took things to the chest a lot and he had rarely seen her cry. Which was something he really found attractive about her; how strong she was. When she did cry, she had to be very upset, and even then only a few tears escaped. Two or three at most and it was cured by the pads of his thumbs wiping them away and curling up with a bowl of ice cream.
“Shhh, you’re okay.” He murmured softly as her sobs became hiccups. He leaned back against the couch and rested her head against his shoulder, nose pushing into the soft skin of his neck.
She sniffled, wiping the tear tracks from her face. She was no longer shaking. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. She just sat there in Arthur’s arms; unmoving.
He shifted a little under her and reached for his brown leather jacket on the table in front of them. Arthur gently spread the jacket over her form and wrapped his arms around her. He turned his head and planted a long kiss to her forehead, his nose dipping into her hairline. His lips gently whispered things against her skin.
She’d have nightmares tonight.
-Shoulder-
“I ordered take out.”
She frowned. “From where?”
Ariadne looked up at him as he came back into the bathroom and shut the door. He shrugged and rolled up the sleeves of his pressed shirt and sat on the closed toilet, looking over her in the bath. She was sitting in a tub full of light pink bubbles, knees up to her chest, and arms around her legs.
“From a pizza place.”
He didn’t go into detail and Ariadne watched his hands a moment as he plunged his right arm into the sudsy liquid, searching for something. His hand brushed across her outer thigh and he smirked as she rolled her eyes, playfully but still serious.
“That’s not a loofah, Arthur.”
He grinned. “Oh, I know. Thank you.”
He pulled out the loofah and squeezed most of the liquid out. He pushed all of her onto her shoulder and ran the sandpaper textured bath scrubber over her back. She sighed and closed her eyes, resting her chin on her knees.
“You don’t know any pizza place’s numbers off by heart, seeing as how the last time we had dinner at my place you insisted you should cook something-”
“I thought you enjoyed what I made you last time.” She could feel his frown even though she couldn’t see it and smiled softly to herself so she wouldn’t offend him.
“The beef wellington was amazing, don’t get me wrong, but I enjoy cheese pizza covered in grease every now and then.”
Now she could feel his head shake as he pulled back the loofah. “Arteries are screaming at you every time you eat crap like that.”
Ariadne looked up at him, smile plastered on her face. “Then why did you order it?”
He shook his head, smiling softly as he dunk the loofah and squeezed the water over her dry hair. She shook her head and ran her hands through her dark, curly locks, pushing it all the way back. Some of it stayed slicked back and other strands that weren’t fully wet yet curled along her ears.
“Because I don’t feel like cooking,” He dunked the loofah again. “And because you like it. And I couldn’t find any other food pamphlet to call from.”
She smiled softly and thought about splashing water at him…but then didn’t at the thought of getting his immaculate suit wet. She was so surprised he was sitting on the tub, stretching over to wash her in his expensive, tailored and pressed pants and shirt. Sure, he had taken the vest and outer jacket off, but she had never seen him so loose and not worried about his suit before.
“Or maybe you just secretly have a love for Alberto’s pizza and garlic knots!”
Arthur made a face combined between horror and amusement, making her laugh. “Not even funny.”
She bit her lower lip, smiling. “Maybe just a little.”
She turned her head to look back at the bubbles as Arthur ran the loofah over her shoulders and back. When he finished with the loofah, he moved a bit closer and ran a hand through her hair. She breathed in and closed her eyes again, swallowing as he did it a few more times.
“Better?” He asked softly.
She nodded and looked at him. “You should join me in here.”
“I would if I could. Someone has to be clothed to answer the door and pay the pizza delivery man.”
Ariadne breathed in and took in the scent of the lavender scented bubble bath. She picked up a few of the bubbles on her index finger and blew them into the air. They floated for a matter of seconds before falling back into the tub.
She felt his hand run through her hair again and then rest on her shoulder, his thumb running over her collar bone.
“I’m sorry you had such a rough day.”
She looked up at him and shrugged. “Wasn’t your fault.”
He winced softly and Ariadne watched as he weighed the pros and cons in his head, deciding whether or not it was his fault. Ever the point man.
“Technically…” He finally stated. “I was the one who told Eames to be rough with you, to make sure you knew how to handle a fight, whether it is from projections or in reality. But I didn’t expect…”
“Him to accidentally clock me one?”
Arthur pulled his hand back and looked away, something like anger and regret boiling in his eyes. “I should have been training you myself.”
“Arthur, we all have jobs to do. You had to handle some important point man duties.”
She wanted to touch his hand, hold his arm, or stroke the fine skin of his palm. Something comforting. But she didn’t.
“Eames wasn’t busy and I have to learn how to defend myself. Obviously I can’t block punches very well.” Her voice got softer and softer as she spoke until her last word resembled the bubble hitting the water a few moments before.
“He left a bruise.” His voice was so constricted that Ariadne was actually worried that he’d turn and punch something. She could feel the bruise pulsing on her right shoulder, the one not facing him, the one he hadn’t touched.
“Bruises heal.” She said softly, her voice hitting off the walls of her very small bathroom. She was glad she wasn’t claustrophobic. “And Eames apologized so many times that he wouldn’t leave me alone to finish blueprints. He’s still calling my cell phone with apologizes.”
Arthur cracked a very small smile at that, finally looking at her. “Turn the other way.”
She looked at him a moment, blinked, and did what she was asked. She turned in the tub and had the shoulder which was bruised face him.
He looked over the angry purple and black and blue bruise, it kissing her softly pale skin like a disease. He unclenched his fist and gently slid his open palm over the skin, his fingers dragging across and around her collar bone.
Arthur leaned down and kissed her shoulder, feather light. His hand wrapped around her arm and stroked her skin. He kissed the bruise three times before the doorbell rang and he had to get up to get the door.
When he came back, Ariadne successfully pulled him into the tub with her. Clothes on and all. He didn’t even notice them getting ruined.
-Thigh-
“The penthouse in The Beverly Hilton Hotel,”
She turned to grin at Arthur and then turned back to kick off her heels and run into the bedroom to jump on the biggest bed she had ever seen. She laid flat on her back, her dark purple evening gown dressing flowing around her. She couldn’t believe she had slept in this dress for a full eight hours. She guessed that’s what happened out of default when the mark went to charity events non-stop.
“Can you think of a better way to end a successful extraction?”
She heard Arthur slowly enter the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m just glad everything went according to plan. It was touch and go for a while there.”
She nearly rolled her eyes; he was still in point man mode. All details, all structure and schedule. He couldn’t even appreciate the beautiful room and view they had while he was still thinking about the job; even though it was finished.
“Come on, Arthur.” She wanted to say ‘lighten up’ but the words never came.
She looked up at him but he sat there unmoving, and he obviously hadn’t heard her. She sighed and undid her hair from the tight bun it had been in, her hair fell into loose, sexy, curls as it tumbled out of the constraints of pony tail holders and bobby pins.
Ariadne sat up and bit her lip, looking around the bedroom. The walls were a cream color, paintings of Van Gough flowers hanging on the far right and left walls. Her hands ran along the silk sheets of the bed and she honestly couldn’t wait to try and sleep tonight. There was nothing more comforting then a huge bed that felt like you were laying on clouds and silk sheets.
She shook her head and started to get up from the bed. “Well, if you’re not going to loosen up, I’ll go find Eames. I think he said he’s going to be at the pool with a bottle of red wine so…if you need me, I’ll be-”
She squealed as an arm wrapped around her waist and jerked her back onto the bed. This time he laid down with her and kept his arm firmly wrapped around her form, holding her into place.
“You…will be doing no such thing.”
She laughed softy as his other hand played with one of her soft curls. “Oh, I’m not?”
He shook his head and undid his bowtie of his suit. He slid it free and then unbuttoned his white button down shirt halfway with one hand.
“Least I know how to get your attention.”
“I think your dress did that for you.” He commented and stood up to remove his outer jacket. He slid his button down off as well and discarded them on the chair near the bed.
Arthur crawled back onto the bed after removing his shoes, lying on his side. He wrapped the same arm around her waist and she savored his warm skin against her. She could feel it past the material of her dress. She could feel it in the joints of her bones, the bits and pieces of her muscle, even in the steady pumping of her blood through her body.
“So you like my dress?” She asked softly and he smiled a slow, lazy smile, like he was tired.
Which she wouldn’t doubt. They’d been awake at least for twenty four hours and even though they’d slept eight hours through shared dreaming, they didn’t really catch any rest from that.
His fingers curled against her stomach, feeling the material. Her stomach jumped, partly because she was ticklish, the other part because of something inside her. Deep and low, heated and throbbing.
“You look beautiful in it, there’s no doubt about that.”
She felt suddenly nervous; even though this wasn’t the first time she had ever been with him intimately. She felt childish and young. She looked away from his face, fidgeting ever so slightly.
“I uhm, I didn’t like how long it was. I was afraid I was going to get the dress caught in my heels and trip.” She was rambling. Oh god, she was rambling.
If Arthur noticed he didn’t comment. He just slid his hand down to her legs and gently pulled the dress up over knees.
“Short enough?”
She swallowed. She never thought a two worded question could be so loaded with underlying meaning.
Arthur watched her carefully and tugged the dress up a little higher, the beginning of her thighs showing. If she wanted him to stop, he would, no questions asked, no judging, nothing changing between them. He’d still curl up in bed with her, kiss her goodnight and be there in the morning, their bodies intertwined from sleeping so close.
But her eyes held no fear; awkwardness and youth maybe, but no fear. She wasn’t scared of him, so he tugged higher until her all of thighs were exposed, as pale and gorgeous as a meadow covered in snow.
He looked into her eyes, asked her a question with them and waited patiently. She nodded yes without thinking, without even really knowing what the question was. She watched him move, his legs straddling her calves. He leaned down and his lips brushed against her skin, light and hot, his breath raising the hair on the back of her neck.
He parted her thighs, just a little, just enough to sneak a kiss against her inner right thigh. The kiss burned her skin, made a mark that no one could see but her. A mark she’d be able to feel, she mused, for a long time.
Arthur placed a twin kiss on her other thigh, his hands gently gripping the ends of the dress as he dragged it up, up, up, over her stomach.
His lips curled into a soft smile as his nose circled a mole before planting another kiss.
She hadn’t worn any underwear.
Rating: PG-17
Word Count: 5,253
Pairing: Arthur/Ariadne
Summary: Five different places Arthur has kissed Ariadne. (Neck, nose, forehead, shoulder and thigh)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything other then this idea i came up with. :)
-Neck-
“Arthur… I have to get these blue prints done…” Ariadne turned to look at Arthur, who had been successfully distracting her for ten minutes straight.
It was late; she wasn’t even sure what time it was anymore. She guessed it was later then eleven but not as early as two in the morning. She’d been stuck in the warehouse from six in the morning up until now, whatever time it may have been.
The team had gotten a case in, their first case since the Inception job three months ago, and as soon as the point man had gathered all the information and research needed, the team had split into their duties to get down to the wire. They wanted to try and get everything together in an orderly fashion, as quick as possible, so that they could plan the extraction for Sunday. Which was in two days and Ariadne had yet to fill in the blueprints for the first level.
Arthur just smiled at her, something that reminded her of the cat in Alice of Wonderland who was about to cause some mischief.
“I know you do, I’m the one that assigned them to be done by tomorrow.” He leaned forward and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.
Which she didn’t even try to object. She loved his arm around her and his hand against her side; the soft skin of his palm combining with the hard calluses on his fingers gave her a twisting sensation in the pit of her belly.
“So what?”
Arthur leaned his forehead against hers. “So I can assign you ten minute breaks.”
She laughed and urged her arms to push him away and get back to work but her brain signals weren’t reaching her muscles.
“You wouldn’t even let Eames get off his stool to stretch today but you want to give me a ten minute break?” The signals finally reached her arms and she gently detached herself from him. “Why is that?”
He smiled, his head cocking a little to the right. “Maybe that’s because I don’t want to kiss Mr. Eames.”
Ariadne smiled at his smile, his growing wider and dimpling his cheeks. She shook her head and turned to work on her blue prints.
She had never seen him so relaxed when there was work to be done. She noticed that his relationship with her over the past few months had mellowed him out a bit. Not when they were all so focused that neither of them could think of anything past shared dreaming but in little moments between them; little relaxed smiles and touches.
She had changed him, erased some of his lines and drew them so that they wavered in some places. However, not every single line was changed. Some lines were straight and were going to stay that way but she figured that was okay. She liked him in those tailored, not a crease in sight, three piece suits and it took a lot of straight, hard, lines to be a good point man. But she was happy he let her erase and redraw some…it made her feel like she was a part of his life. Or beginning to be, anyways.
She felt him approach her back, leaning himself into her a little. His hands braced himself against her desk on either side of her, so she wasn’t feeling his entire weight on her back. She shivered as he brushed her hair away from her neck, felt his nose run under her ear.
“Fine.” He murmured and untied her scarf, he kissed the hollow of her throat and she closed her eyes for a moment as he did.
He backed up as soon as his lips met her skin and smirked softly as she tripped a little, trying to lean back into his mouth and body which was no longer there.
“Get back to work; we’ll leave when you finish the blueprint.”
Ariadne turned and watched him, mouth open, as he walked back to his desk and sat on his stool; going back to work like he had never approached her at her work station.
Well she couldn’t just work now after him being a damn tease.
-Nose-
Ariadne threw the box of tissues across the room as Arthur walked into his bedroom. The box slammed against the wall next to the TV and slid down onto the dresser, disrupting the cologne bottles and paper files that rested there.
He just raised his eyebrows, not sure if he should speak when she was in such a fit of anger. “Let me guess…you didn’t sleep.”
Ariadne shifted in bed and let out something that sounded like a whine and a frustrated grunt. “No.” She sniffled. “I didn’t sleep…I didn’t breathe. I’m dying!”
Arthur set the brown paper bag on the table next to the bed and resisted rolling his eyes at her childish statements, staving off an argument about age that they’ve had before.
Sure, he was almost four years older than her. But she had carried off an inception job and pulled Cobb out of limbo in a matter of ten hours. Which, according to him, was very impressive for her age and for her experience level with shared dreaming. So they just steered clear of age conversations. He didn’t want her throwing something else, this time directing it at his head. She was in no mood.
“You have a cold,” Arthur stated, rather dryly. He picked up the tissue box and fixed his papers and bottles. He brought the box back to the nightstand and set it down. “You’re not dying. Although, I think you just won an award for most drama in the-”
“Don’t finish that sentence Arthur.”
He raised his eyebrows and stopped talking. He was used to not being afraid of a lot of things. Guns going off around him, dreamscape and reality alike, being tortured by financial buyers who wanted information that they weren’t supposed to have-hence the torturing. And even when things didn’t go according to plan on an extraction, and he was the point man, details were his job and things were supposed to go to plan. But when they didn’t, he wasn’t scared; he just calculated another plan around the mistakes and carried everything out until the job was finished.
His girlfriend having a cold, however, was something to be terrified of.
Ariadne turned her head and sneezed, letting out a roaring cough afterwords. Her hand fished for a tissue blindly, she wasn’t turning her head until she was sure she wiped away anything that resembled snot. She was embarrassed enough that she had woken up sick in Arthur’s bed and had to stay there all day, getting germs all over his perfect white sheets, which she was sure was driving him crazy. She was going to keep whatever dignity she had left.
Luckily he got the signal and handed her a tissue and she blew her nose, successfully throwing it in the trash a few inches away from the bed.
“Bless you.”
He stood and discarded his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his sky blue button down shirt. She looked up at him and wiped the water from her eyes. She sniffled and adjusted the pillows at her back and leaned against the headboard again.
“You don’t have to look so perfect all the time.” Her voice was thick and it felt like a wall of cotton was between her brain and her ears. Her head felt so cloudy.
Arthur smiled, looking down at her disheveled form. “And you don’t have to fight with me when I say eat your soup.”
She frowned as she watched him pull out a Styrofoam container of soup from the brown paper bag he had brought into the room. She scowled at him as he sat next to her hips on the bed.
He chuckled. “But you’re going to, so therefore I will keep looking perfect.” He peeled the lid off the container and stirred the soup with a plastic spoon.
She made a face at his light brown vest; it matched his pants to the T. She wasn’t sure why she was complaining about the way he dressed. She loved the three piece suits. She secretly had a thing for his vests and those sweaters he sometimes wore with a tie tucked underneath.
“I just meant…I’d like to see you in…a band tee. Or…jeans.”
He gasped, teasing her. “Jeans? The audacity…!” She shoved him and he glared at her, even though the action made her smile. “Soup here, careful with the hitting.”
Ariadne pulled the blankets up over her waist. “You’ll have to change the sheets anyways, I’ve already infected them!”
She was starting to sound pathetic, her voice wavering on whimpering and whining. She was tired, she needed to sleep. She hadn’t slept well last night and managed to get one hour between the time he left to get the soup and when he came back a few hours later.
“Still doesn’t mean I want my sheets covered in processed chicken noodle soup.”
She groaned, her head starting to pound around her temples. “Well…now that you’ve made it sound so appetizing.”
He chuckled softly and she felt his one hand, which had been stirring the soup, wrap around her forearm and stroke the skin under her elbow.
“You’ll feel better after some soup and some sleep.” He smiled a little as she sniffed. “Come on.”
Ariadne leaned up, her arms shaking like jello, and approached the spoon with a disgruntled face. Suddenly she pulled back and turned her head, sneezing again. She groaned softly as Arthur handed her another tissue. She blew her nose and threw the tissue away yet again.
“I’m getting sick of-”
“Of being sick?” He finished for her. He fed her a few spoonfuls of soup. “Imagine that. And I thought people liked being sick.”
She glared playfully at him. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated in my fuzzy minded state.”
“Duly noted.”
He was about to feed her another spoonful of soup when the doorbell rang. Arthur looked towards the bedroom door and then back to her, handing her the container of soup.
“Who’s that?” She asked, curiously as she had another spoonful.
“It’s Eames. I told him to stop by with the information on the mark’s sister he wants to impersonate.”
Ariadne groaned. “Don’t let him in here to see me. I feel and probably look like a drowned rat.”
He laughed, the electricity from it making her body shiver. He leaned down and placed a gentle, warm and fond kiss on her red, irritated nose. “You look absolutely fine.”
He stood and left his bedroom, she heard the door open and small parts of Eames and Arthur’s conversation.
She had to remember to buy him a band tee shirt to thank him for the soup.
-Forehead-
The world closed in around her, blood dripping into her eyes from the gashes on her head and forehead. She couldn’t see out of her right eye, a boot connecting with the bone. Her jaw felt slack; could a jaw be disconnected like a shoulder could? Teeth were chipped and broken; she could feel the stray pieces in her mouth and under her tongue.
Ariadne wanted to scream, wanted to move…wanted to do something. Everything had just…happened so fast. She should have listened to Arthur when he said, when he warned her, not to change the surroundings in the dream space. Eames’ subconscious jumped on her like rabid dogs. She had just wanted to see if she could create a dance hall. She had started thinking about it when Eames mentioned the mark was a professional ballroom dancer. And before she could stop herself her mind was working overtime, constructing a ballroom dance hall, ignoring Arthur’s worried and incessant scolding.
By the time she had actually heard him, he had to grab her arm and shake her, it was too late. Eames was screaming and she could hear yelling, a crowd rebelling outside the dance hall doors. They broke the door down with incredible strength and attacked.
Arthur pulled Ariadne, nearly tugging her shoulder from her socket, as they ran towards the red carpet stairs at the end of the dance hall. She didn’t even get to appreciate the beauty of her work with Eames’ subconscious wanting to beat the hell out of her…she guessed the way the place looked and how authentic it was the least of her worries.
She heard gunfire, Eames’ gun going off, hitting as many projections as he could. Not that it did much difference. Four projections out of the thirty didn’t prevent the other twenty six from grabbing Ariadne’s ankles out from under her.
“Ariadne!” Arthur shot the few that had her, but as she scrambled up the stairs to meet him, only more grabbed her.
She screamed as they dragged her down the stairs, her chin hitting off the steps. She bit her tongue and spit blood. Before she knew it she was on the hard marble floor, writhing as the projections hit, kicked, slammed, shoved and tugged her small body into impossible shapes. Into ways the human body shouldn’t have been able to twist.
She could hear Arthur yelling; hear the gunfire as the world grew fuzzy, pain surrounding her in every way possible. She heard bones crack, felt blood seep from her, pool around her shaking body.
This was far worse than dying from one simple stab wound of your bosses’ dead wife’s projection.
Ariadne gasped, air filling her lungs entirely as her body lurched forward. She nearly fell out of the lawn chair she was in until she felt two strong hands gripping her shoulders.
“Stop! Get off of me!!”
She wrenched herself out of the hands and tried to get up, ripping something from her wrist in the process. She tripped over herself, her lungs taking in too much air as she hyperventilated. She felt dizzy; faint. Her body ached of phantom pains, cuts so deep and broken bones.
Her legs gave out from under her and she landed hard onto the floor of the warehouse, moving her hands to survey her entire body for any type of injury. Anything that was out of place or hurt in any way.
“Ariadne,” Gentle. Warm. Concerned. Arthur.
He knelt beside her and took her shoulders into his hands again, gently this time so he wouldn’t scare her.
“Hey, hey…look at me.” He sighed softly as she didn’t stop fidgeting, mumbling about cuts and bruises.
“I think she’s lost her noggin, Arthur.”
He glared at Eames as he knelt beside him to survey the architect. “Unless you have something constructive to say, don’t say anything.” Arthur managed through gritted teeth.
He turned back to the quivering girl in his hands and gently squeezed her shoulders. “Ariadne, your totem. Where is it?”
She looked up at him through watery eyes. “My…my totem?”
Arthur nodded softly. “Yes. Your gold chess piece, Ari. Where is it?”
Her mouth opened, her lower lip quivered and some tears plopped down her face as she searched her red jacket for it. She pulled it out of the small pocket over her heart and showed it to him, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Arthur knew this was all normal. No one was quite right after their first experience with a very violent subconscious. She was disoriented, scared, trembling; this was all normal but he was still worried about her.
Ariadne moved her shaking hand to set her totem on the ground and tipped it. There was no delay; it hit the pavement with a solid CLUNK. She looked up at Arthur, understanding. This was reality. She hadn’t been cut, stabbed, kicked, jabbed and strangled to death by an angry mob. It had been a dream. Eames’ subconscious. Not real. Never real.
But her insides ached like she’d been hurt and her throat constricted as sobs built up in her chest. She touched Arthur’s vest just as the sobs burst from her, making her entire body shake. He gathered her into his arms, holding her close to him. She buried her face in his shoulder, some of his scent rolling off his clothes as her tears hit the fabric.
Arthur gently stroked her back as Eames ran an awkward hand through her hair, because let’s face it, he felt awful that his subconscious tore her to bits and neither him nor Arthur could have done a damn thing about it.
“I got this.” Arthur said, rather roughly. Eames just nodded, knew he was deflecting and untangled his hand from the sobbing girl’s hair. “Pack up the PASIV.”
Eames stood without a sound and moved to the other side of the room to pack up the equipment.
Arthur scooped his arm under Ariadne’s knees and picked her up. She clung to him like he himself was her totem. The feel of his shirt fabric between her hands and the weight of his body against hers convinced her that she wasn’t still dreaming; that projections weren’t waiting to get at her.
He set her down on a couch far from Eames, out of earshot and nearly out of sight. The couch was near the front door, a luxury Eames and Yusuf had bought with Satio’s money at a garage sale one day. It was soft and it was nice to have around for late nights at the warehouse. Something people could relax in or sleep on; it definitely was better than the cold, metal, lawn chairs they were sharing dreams on.
She cried for ten minutes. Ten full minutes of sobs and tears and shaking. He was genuinely worried about her. Arthur had never seen her so broken and terrified. Not to mention that Ariadne was a strong girl, she took things to the chest a lot and he had rarely seen her cry. Which was something he really found attractive about her; how strong she was. When she did cry, she had to be very upset, and even then only a few tears escaped. Two or three at most and it was cured by the pads of his thumbs wiping them away and curling up with a bowl of ice cream.
“Shhh, you’re okay.” He murmured softly as her sobs became hiccups. He leaned back against the couch and rested her head against his shoulder, nose pushing into the soft skin of his neck.
She sniffled, wiping the tear tracks from her face. She was no longer shaking. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. She just sat there in Arthur’s arms; unmoving.
He shifted a little under her and reached for his brown leather jacket on the table in front of them. Arthur gently spread the jacket over her form and wrapped his arms around her. He turned his head and planted a long kiss to her forehead, his nose dipping into her hairline. His lips gently whispered things against her skin.
She’d have nightmares tonight.
-Shoulder-
“I ordered take out.”
She frowned. “From where?”
Ariadne looked up at him as he came back into the bathroom and shut the door. He shrugged and rolled up the sleeves of his pressed shirt and sat on the closed toilet, looking over her in the bath. She was sitting in a tub full of light pink bubbles, knees up to her chest, and arms around her legs.
“From a pizza place.”
He didn’t go into detail and Ariadne watched his hands a moment as he plunged his right arm into the sudsy liquid, searching for something. His hand brushed across her outer thigh and he smirked as she rolled her eyes, playfully but still serious.
“That’s not a loofah, Arthur.”
He grinned. “Oh, I know. Thank you.”
He pulled out the loofah and squeezed most of the liquid out. He pushed all of her onto her shoulder and ran the sandpaper textured bath scrubber over her back. She sighed and closed her eyes, resting her chin on her knees.
“You don’t know any pizza place’s numbers off by heart, seeing as how the last time we had dinner at my place you insisted you should cook something-”
“I thought you enjoyed what I made you last time.” She could feel his frown even though she couldn’t see it and smiled softly to herself so she wouldn’t offend him.
“The beef wellington was amazing, don’t get me wrong, but I enjoy cheese pizza covered in grease every now and then.”
Now she could feel his head shake as he pulled back the loofah. “Arteries are screaming at you every time you eat crap like that.”
Ariadne looked up at him, smile plastered on her face. “Then why did you order it?”
He shook his head, smiling softly as he dunk the loofah and squeezed the water over her dry hair. She shook her head and ran her hands through her dark, curly locks, pushing it all the way back. Some of it stayed slicked back and other strands that weren’t fully wet yet curled along her ears.
“Because I don’t feel like cooking,” He dunked the loofah again. “And because you like it. And I couldn’t find any other food pamphlet to call from.”
She smiled softly and thought about splashing water at him…but then didn’t at the thought of getting his immaculate suit wet. She was so surprised he was sitting on the tub, stretching over to wash her in his expensive, tailored and pressed pants and shirt. Sure, he had taken the vest and outer jacket off, but she had never seen him so loose and not worried about his suit before.
“Or maybe you just secretly have a love for Alberto’s pizza and garlic knots!”
Arthur made a face combined between horror and amusement, making her laugh. “Not even funny.”
She bit her lower lip, smiling. “Maybe just a little.”
She turned her head to look back at the bubbles as Arthur ran the loofah over her shoulders and back. When he finished with the loofah, he moved a bit closer and ran a hand through her hair. She breathed in and closed her eyes again, swallowing as he did it a few more times.
“Better?” He asked softly.
She nodded and looked at him. “You should join me in here.”
“I would if I could. Someone has to be clothed to answer the door and pay the pizza delivery man.”
Ariadne breathed in and took in the scent of the lavender scented bubble bath. She picked up a few of the bubbles on her index finger and blew them into the air. They floated for a matter of seconds before falling back into the tub.
She felt his hand run through her hair again and then rest on her shoulder, his thumb running over her collar bone.
“I’m sorry you had such a rough day.”
She looked up at him and shrugged. “Wasn’t your fault.”
He winced softly and Ariadne watched as he weighed the pros and cons in his head, deciding whether or not it was his fault. Ever the point man.
“Technically…” He finally stated. “I was the one who told Eames to be rough with you, to make sure you knew how to handle a fight, whether it is from projections or in reality. But I didn’t expect…”
“Him to accidentally clock me one?”
Arthur pulled his hand back and looked away, something like anger and regret boiling in his eyes. “I should have been training you myself.”
“Arthur, we all have jobs to do. You had to handle some important point man duties.”
She wanted to touch his hand, hold his arm, or stroke the fine skin of his palm. Something comforting. But she didn’t.
“Eames wasn’t busy and I have to learn how to defend myself. Obviously I can’t block punches very well.” Her voice got softer and softer as she spoke until her last word resembled the bubble hitting the water a few moments before.
“He left a bruise.” His voice was so constricted that Ariadne was actually worried that he’d turn and punch something. She could feel the bruise pulsing on her right shoulder, the one not facing him, the one he hadn’t touched.
“Bruises heal.” She said softly, her voice hitting off the walls of her very small bathroom. She was glad she wasn’t claustrophobic. “And Eames apologized so many times that he wouldn’t leave me alone to finish blueprints. He’s still calling my cell phone with apologizes.”
Arthur cracked a very small smile at that, finally looking at her. “Turn the other way.”
She looked at him a moment, blinked, and did what she was asked. She turned in the tub and had the shoulder which was bruised face him.
He looked over the angry purple and black and blue bruise, it kissing her softly pale skin like a disease. He unclenched his fist and gently slid his open palm over the skin, his fingers dragging across and around her collar bone.
Arthur leaned down and kissed her shoulder, feather light. His hand wrapped around her arm and stroked her skin. He kissed the bruise three times before the doorbell rang and he had to get up to get the door.
When he came back, Ariadne successfully pulled him into the tub with her. Clothes on and all. He didn’t even notice them getting ruined.
-Thigh-
“The penthouse in The Beverly Hilton Hotel,”
She turned to grin at Arthur and then turned back to kick off her heels and run into the bedroom to jump on the biggest bed she had ever seen. She laid flat on her back, her dark purple evening gown dressing flowing around her. She couldn’t believe she had slept in this dress for a full eight hours. She guessed that’s what happened out of default when the mark went to charity events non-stop.
“Can you think of a better way to end a successful extraction?”
She heard Arthur slowly enter the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m just glad everything went according to plan. It was touch and go for a while there.”
She nearly rolled her eyes; he was still in point man mode. All details, all structure and schedule. He couldn’t even appreciate the beautiful room and view they had while he was still thinking about the job; even though it was finished.
“Come on, Arthur.” She wanted to say ‘lighten up’ but the words never came.
She looked up at him but he sat there unmoving, and he obviously hadn’t heard her. She sighed and undid her hair from the tight bun it had been in, her hair fell into loose, sexy, curls as it tumbled out of the constraints of pony tail holders and bobby pins.
Ariadne sat up and bit her lip, looking around the bedroom. The walls were a cream color, paintings of Van Gough flowers hanging on the far right and left walls. Her hands ran along the silk sheets of the bed and she honestly couldn’t wait to try and sleep tonight. There was nothing more comforting then a huge bed that felt like you were laying on clouds and silk sheets.
She shook her head and started to get up from the bed. “Well, if you’re not going to loosen up, I’ll go find Eames. I think he said he’s going to be at the pool with a bottle of red wine so…if you need me, I’ll be-”
She squealed as an arm wrapped around her waist and jerked her back onto the bed. This time he laid down with her and kept his arm firmly wrapped around her form, holding her into place.
“You…will be doing no such thing.”
She laughed softy as his other hand played with one of her soft curls. “Oh, I’m not?”
He shook his head and undid his bowtie of his suit. He slid it free and then unbuttoned his white button down shirt halfway with one hand.
“Least I know how to get your attention.”
“I think your dress did that for you.” He commented and stood up to remove his outer jacket. He slid his button down off as well and discarded them on the chair near the bed.
Arthur crawled back onto the bed after removing his shoes, lying on his side. He wrapped the same arm around her waist and she savored his warm skin against her. She could feel it past the material of her dress. She could feel it in the joints of her bones, the bits and pieces of her muscle, even in the steady pumping of her blood through her body.
“So you like my dress?” She asked softly and he smiled a slow, lazy smile, like he was tired.
Which she wouldn’t doubt. They’d been awake at least for twenty four hours and even though they’d slept eight hours through shared dreaming, they didn’t really catch any rest from that.
His fingers curled against her stomach, feeling the material. Her stomach jumped, partly because she was ticklish, the other part because of something inside her. Deep and low, heated and throbbing.
“You look beautiful in it, there’s no doubt about that.”
She felt suddenly nervous; even though this wasn’t the first time she had ever been with him intimately. She felt childish and young. She looked away from his face, fidgeting ever so slightly.
“I uhm, I didn’t like how long it was. I was afraid I was going to get the dress caught in my heels and trip.” She was rambling. Oh god, she was rambling.
If Arthur noticed he didn’t comment. He just slid his hand down to her legs and gently pulled the dress up over knees.
“Short enough?”
She swallowed. She never thought a two worded question could be so loaded with underlying meaning.
Arthur watched her carefully and tugged the dress up a little higher, the beginning of her thighs showing. If she wanted him to stop, he would, no questions asked, no judging, nothing changing between them. He’d still curl up in bed with her, kiss her goodnight and be there in the morning, their bodies intertwined from sleeping so close.
But her eyes held no fear; awkwardness and youth maybe, but no fear. She wasn’t scared of him, so he tugged higher until her all of thighs were exposed, as pale and gorgeous as a meadow covered in snow.
He looked into her eyes, asked her a question with them and waited patiently. She nodded yes without thinking, without even really knowing what the question was. She watched him move, his legs straddling her calves. He leaned down and his lips brushed against her skin, light and hot, his breath raising the hair on the back of her neck.
He parted her thighs, just a little, just enough to sneak a kiss against her inner right thigh. The kiss burned her skin, made a mark that no one could see but her. A mark she’d be able to feel, she mused, for a long time.
Arthur placed a twin kiss on her other thigh, his hands gently gripping the ends of the dress as he dragged it up, up, up, over her stomach.
His lips curled into a soft smile as his nose circled a mole before planting another kiss.
She hadn’t worn any underwear.