Coming Home, Ariadne/Eames. NC-17.
Oh, look, more porn from me. We're not surprised, are we? No, not at all... ;)
Title: Coming Home
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Ariadne/Eames
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. Woe. But look at how I make his toys dance!
Spoilers/Warnings: Post-movie. For the inception_kink meme prompt: Jeffrey Foucault, "Train to Jackson" (prompted lyrics are the epigraph)
Summary: It would be a supremely bad idea to fall in love with a forger. They were everywhere and nowhere, everyone and no one. Too bad Ariadne and Eames don't exactly follow the rules.
I cut and run I ran until I stumbled
I struck out alone a rolling stone
Forty days came up and down
I chased the river to the source
I met a girl on a pale horse
She pressed her fingers up against my lips
And I fell down dead and gone
Jeffrey Foucault, "Train to Jackson"
It would be a supremely bad idea to fall in love with a forger. They were everywhere and nowhere, everyone and no one. They existed in layers, yet somehow couldn't quite seem real. At least, that was what Arthur had said when Ariadne asked him what forgers were like when Cobb had said he was looking for one. It was hard not to notice Eames when he arrived to join the team, hard to ignore the pithy remarks and subtle digs he made at Arthur. She looked at the two of them, trying to figure out what the hell was going on between them. When Eames caught her staring, she flushed and looked away. His smirks were too much to handle at the time, and she had work to do.
It didn't surprise Ariadne in the slightest when he kept her number. She went back to Paris and fell back into her old life as a student, even if it didn't feel quite as fulfilling as before. There was so much more out there, an entire world she hadn't known about before. Eames called her a few months after the Fischer job. "Love, I'm in Paris and no one to share it with. Meet me at the Quartier Latin?"
"It's a big place," Ariadne said, a half smile on her face. She lived in the area, and he likely knew that.
"I'll meet you at that little patisserie you go to in the morning."
"Have you been stalking me?"
"I've been availing myself of our point man's meticulous research," Eames replied with an easy laugh. "Is that a yes?"
"It's not a no," Ariadne said cautiously.
"Lovely. I'll meet you for lunch. Wear red. It looks lovely on you."
Ariadne stared at the phone in her hand and wondered if she had lost her damn mind. But she wore a red button down blouse over faded jeans and sandals and headed to the corner patisserie she usually stopped in. Eames was there, lounging in one of the sidewalk tables. He waved her over. "No scarf?" he commented, eyebrow raised.
She plopped down in a chair gracelessly. "Is there a point to this?"
"I can't meet up with a friend for coffee and brunch?" he asked archly instead of answering.
We're not friends, she almost said. But she would have liked to be, it must say something if he counted her a friend after several weeks of acquaintance. "How have you been doing?" she asked instead, hoping she didn't sound churlish.
He grinned and sipped his coffee. "Well, working here and there. It's not exactly a regular business, you understand. Freelance never is." He laughed at the look on her face. "I promise you, there's nothing untoward in this. Jesus, Arthur gets that same look on his face sometimes."
"What's with you and him, anyway?" she asked, eyebrow arched.
"Good times. Bad times. The usual when you've known someone for far too long." He leaned forward with a playful leer. "Whatever were you thinking it would be, pet? Did you think there was some kind of sordid history between the two of us? Frantic shagging up against the wall--"
Ariadne covered his lips with her fingers to get him to stop talking. She was startled by how soft they were, how much she wanted to feel them against her own lips. With a smile, he brought her fingertips into his mouth and ran his tongue over the pad of them. "Eames..."
He caught her wrist in his hand, fingers curling gently around her racing pulse. "Or perhaps you just wanted to be sure there was no jealous lover in the wings?"
She could feel herself flush deeply. "Maybe." Ariadne had no idea why she admitted it, but the delighted smile on his face was blinding. "What?"
"Your flat is nearby. Why don't you give me a tour?"
"Just like that?" she asked, incredulous.
"Just like that."
She should have been furious. She should have smacked him or told him off. She should have told him she wasn't easy and she wasn't simply going to fall into bed with him. He was good looking and sent shivers down her spine and she had fantasies, but dammit, she was better than that. She was more than just a little plaything.
Ariadne instead found herself letting him into her apartment. It was tiny and cluttered with books and drawings and draft papers. None of that mattered when Eames' mouth covered hers in a hot kiss that seared her to her very bones. Somehow clothes were shed and scattered, and his stubbled jaw scraped its way along hers as he licked his way along her neck. He kissed her pulse point, moved down further still to swirl his tongue around her nipple. She clutched at his head to keep him there, but a wandering hand found the juncture of her thighs. Ariadne was damp already, and Eames chuckled at her breast. His fingers traced her folds and found her clit. Back and forth across the sensitive nub, drawing startled gasps of pleasure out of her. When she came around his fingers, he dropped to his knees and licked a trail up her thigh to take her clit between his lips. He sucked on it as she cried out, fingers tangled in his hair and her head thrown back in ecstasy. He pulled her down on top of him after he make her come with lips and tongue and fingers. He grinned up at her, body splayed on the floor. His lips glistened with her juices and his cock jutted upward proudly.
She sank down on top of him and rocked against him. She held onto his hips tight as he reached up to thumb her taut nipples. Teasing her mercilessly as she rode him hard, Eames licked his lips lasciviously and watched her closely. There was a flush across her skin, her lips were parted and her eyes slid shut so that she could revel in the feel of him inside of her.
She was beautiful and all his. That was wonderful.
Sometime later that night, after another three rounds on the couch and bed, Ariadne fell into an exhausted sleep. Eames stroked her hair as she snuggled close. "Love you," she murmured sleepily, pressing a kiss to his chest. He froze, stunned by the words. She snuggled in closer, limbs twined around his, and all he could think was fuck and holy shit and bloody fucking hell. It was supposed to be a fun, playful little shag. It wasn't supposed to be any kind of meaningful shit. He didn't do that very well.
He was tired and edging close to sleep. His clothes were in the next room. She was warm and snuggly and soft in all the right places. He would leave after a nap. It would be better that way.
Only, she woke up first. And cooked breakfast.
It was the smell of eggs that woke him up. Ariadne was dressed in his shirt and nothing else, the shirttails hanging down almost to her knees. She looked entirely too adorable and fuckable for words, and suddenly Eames couldn't breathe. He knew he should leave before this became any more complicated than it had just gotten, but he couldn't bring himself to move, either. She looked up as he puttered into her kitchen, stark naked and not ashamed. Ariadne looked up with a smile on her face and then turned her attention back to the eggs. "I figured I should at least feed you. You know, get your strength back up."
Eames lofted an eyebrow at her. "Oh? You have some kind of nefarious plan for me, love?"
"More of last night, hopefully," she said, looking up with a twinkle in her eyes. "I feel wonderful."
"Look, Ariadne..."
She turned off the burner and pressed her fingers against his lips. "It's all right," she said, voice soft and understanding. "This is fun, isn't it?" She withdrew her fingers and started dishing out the eggs. "When the wind changes, you go off into a different direction. It's the way of things, isn't it? Like a human tumbleweed?"
Her voice was casual, but Eames could see the effort it was taking her to appear so nonchalant. It bothered him. He suddenly felt like a heel, and that didn't happen very often. If ever. He came closer to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "I'm not a good man, love."
"I know," she said in a soft voice. She put down everything and brought her hands up to touch his arms across her chest. "I do know that."
"So what do you want?"
His voice was quiet and as honest as she had ever heard it. "Whatever I can have," she said, turning around in his arms. "If you need to leave, you need to leave. But I'd like you to stay as long as you can."
"I respect you too much to lie, love," Eames said, cupping her face in his hands. "Would you prefer if I did?"
"Just eat breakfast," she murmured, pulling away. "You're so full of bullshit sometimes, you know that?" she said irritably as he began to eat.
"Of course I do," Eames replied easily. "What do you take me for?"
"A forger," Ariadne answered. She ate another bite of the eggs. "One that thinks that's all he is."
He pointed at her with his fork. "You're the wine and roses type. The kind of girl that settles down and has a mess of babies and is respectable and shite. You're the kind of girl that blokes take home to Mum for approval. You're the kind of girl that does the thing expected of you."
"I took you home and fucked you last night," Ariadne said blandly. She managed not to smile when Eames nearly choked on his next mouthful. "I'd say that's pretty unexpected of me. And I don't want that respectable shite."
He made a moue of distaste. "Love, don't do the Brit slang. It doesn't sound right out of your mouth."
Ariadne had the urge to throw something at his head. She settled for sticking her tongue out at him. "I thought it would be obvious enough that I don't want the ordinary. Would an ordinary person do the Fischer job?"
Eames polished off the last of the eggs. "Point," he allowed.
She pushed her plate aside and went to his side. She hopped up into his lap, straddling him. Eames' eyes widened a fraction, and he was very still beneath her. "Stop trying to be gallant, Eames. That's not what I'm looking for."
"Then what is it, eh?"
She kissed him in answer, hot and open, her tongue sliding into his mouth and her fingers clutching at his shoulders for balance. "I promise not to break your heart," she said with a wry twist of her lips when she pulled back.
"My own isn't what I'm concerned about, love."
Ariadne slid her hand along the back of his neck. "Then we're fine. This lasts however long it lasts."
Eames had thought that he knew what her kisses were like by now. This one surprised him. It felt like home somehow, like this was happening exactly the way it should. He slid his hands along the curve of her back, feeling the play of her muscles as she shifted against him. It wasn't much of a surprise when he started getting aroused again. "You look good in my shirt," he said against her mouth. "You look better out of it."
Ariadne smiled. "Duly noted. Do something about it."
Eames laughed and set to work. First things first. He didn't have a job lined up for the next few months. He could always reevaluate his priorities by then.
The End.
Title: Coming Home
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Ariadne/Eames
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. Woe. But look at how I make his toys dance!
Spoilers/Warnings: Post-movie. For the inception_kink meme prompt: Jeffrey Foucault, "Train to Jackson" (prompted lyrics are the epigraph)
Summary: It would be a supremely bad idea to fall in love with a forger. They were everywhere and nowhere, everyone and no one. Too bad Ariadne and Eames don't exactly follow the rules.
I cut and run I ran until I stumbled
I struck out alone a rolling stone
Forty days came up and down
I chased the river to the source
I met a girl on a pale horse
She pressed her fingers up against my lips
And I fell down dead and gone
Jeffrey Foucault, "Train to Jackson"
It would be a supremely bad idea to fall in love with a forger. They were everywhere and nowhere, everyone and no one. They existed in layers, yet somehow couldn't quite seem real. At least, that was what Arthur had said when Ariadne asked him what forgers were like when Cobb had said he was looking for one. It was hard not to notice Eames when he arrived to join the team, hard to ignore the pithy remarks and subtle digs he made at Arthur. She looked at the two of them, trying to figure out what the hell was going on between them. When Eames caught her staring, she flushed and looked away. His smirks were too much to handle at the time, and she had work to do.
It didn't surprise Ariadne in the slightest when he kept her number. She went back to Paris and fell back into her old life as a student, even if it didn't feel quite as fulfilling as before. There was so much more out there, an entire world she hadn't known about before. Eames called her a few months after the Fischer job. "Love, I'm in Paris and no one to share it with. Meet me at the Quartier Latin?"
"It's a big place," Ariadne said, a half smile on her face. She lived in the area, and he likely knew that.
"I'll meet you at that little patisserie you go to in the morning."
"Have you been stalking me?"
"I've been availing myself of our point man's meticulous research," Eames replied with an easy laugh. "Is that a yes?"
"It's not a no," Ariadne said cautiously.
"Lovely. I'll meet you for lunch. Wear red. It looks lovely on you."
Ariadne stared at the phone in her hand and wondered if she had lost her damn mind. But she wore a red button down blouse over faded jeans and sandals and headed to the corner patisserie she usually stopped in. Eames was there, lounging in one of the sidewalk tables. He waved her over. "No scarf?" he commented, eyebrow raised.
She plopped down in a chair gracelessly. "Is there a point to this?"
"I can't meet up with a friend for coffee and brunch?" he asked archly instead of answering.
We're not friends, she almost said. But she would have liked to be, it must say something if he counted her a friend after several weeks of acquaintance. "How have you been doing?" she asked instead, hoping she didn't sound churlish.
He grinned and sipped his coffee. "Well, working here and there. It's not exactly a regular business, you understand. Freelance never is." He laughed at the look on her face. "I promise you, there's nothing untoward in this. Jesus, Arthur gets that same look on his face sometimes."
"What's with you and him, anyway?" she asked, eyebrow arched.
"Good times. Bad times. The usual when you've known someone for far too long." He leaned forward with a playful leer. "Whatever were you thinking it would be, pet? Did you think there was some kind of sordid history between the two of us? Frantic shagging up against the wall--"
Ariadne covered his lips with her fingers to get him to stop talking. She was startled by how soft they were, how much she wanted to feel them against her own lips. With a smile, he brought her fingertips into his mouth and ran his tongue over the pad of them. "Eames..."
He caught her wrist in his hand, fingers curling gently around her racing pulse. "Or perhaps you just wanted to be sure there was no jealous lover in the wings?"
She could feel herself flush deeply. "Maybe." Ariadne had no idea why she admitted it, but the delighted smile on his face was blinding. "What?"
"Your flat is nearby. Why don't you give me a tour?"
"Just like that?" she asked, incredulous.
"Just like that."
She should have been furious. She should have smacked him or told him off. She should have told him she wasn't easy and she wasn't simply going to fall into bed with him. He was good looking and sent shivers down her spine and she had fantasies, but dammit, she was better than that. She was more than just a little plaything.
Ariadne instead found herself letting him into her apartment. It was tiny and cluttered with books and drawings and draft papers. None of that mattered when Eames' mouth covered hers in a hot kiss that seared her to her very bones. Somehow clothes were shed and scattered, and his stubbled jaw scraped its way along hers as he licked his way along her neck. He kissed her pulse point, moved down further still to swirl his tongue around her nipple. She clutched at his head to keep him there, but a wandering hand found the juncture of her thighs. Ariadne was damp already, and Eames chuckled at her breast. His fingers traced her folds and found her clit. Back and forth across the sensitive nub, drawing startled gasps of pleasure out of her. When she came around his fingers, he dropped to his knees and licked a trail up her thigh to take her clit between his lips. He sucked on it as she cried out, fingers tangled in his hair and her head thrown back in ecstasy. He pulled her down on top of him after he make her come with lips and tongue and fingers. He grinned up at her, body splayed on the floor. His lips glistened with her juices and his cock jutted upward proudly.
She sank down on top of him and rocked against him. She held onto his hips tight as he reached up to thumb her taut nipples. Teasing her mercilessly as she rode him hard, Eames licked his lips lasciviously and watched her closely. There was a flush across her skin, her lips were parted and her eyes slid shut so that she could revel in the feel of him inside of her.
She was beautiful and all his. That was wonderful.
Sometime later that night, after another three rounds on the couch and bed, Ariadne fell into an exhausted sleep. Eames stroked her hair as she snuggled close. "Love you," she murmured sleepily, pressing a kiss to his chest. He froze, stunned by the words. She snuggled in closer, limbs twined around his, and all he could think was fuck and holy shit and bloody fucking hell. It was supposed to be a fun, playful little shag. It wasn't supposed to be any kind of meaningful shit. He didn't do that very well.
He was tired and edging close to sleep. His clothes were in the next room. She was warm and snuggly and soft in all the right places. He would leave after a nap. It would be better that way.
Only, she woke up first. And cooked breakfast.
It was the smell of eggs that woke him up. Ariadne was dressed in his shirt and nothing else, the shirttails hanging down almost to her knees. She looked entirely too adorable and fuckable for words, and suddenly Eames couldn't breathe. He knew he should leave before this became any more complicated than it had just gotten, but he couldn't bring himself to move, either. She looked up as he puttered into her kitchen, stark naked and not ashamed. Ariadne looked up with a smile on her face and then turned her attention back to the eggs. "I figured I should at least feed you. You know, get your strength back up."
Eames lofted an eyebrow at her. "Oh? You have some kind of nefarious plan for me, love?"
"More of last night, hopefully," she said, looking up with a twinkle in her eyes. "I feel wonderful."
"Look, Ariadne..."
She turned off the burner and pressed her fingers against his lips. "It's all right," she said, voice soft and understanding. "This is fun, isn't it?" She withdrew her fingers and started dishing out the eggs. "When the wind changes, you go off into a different direction. It's the way of things, isn't it? Like a human tumbleweed?"
Her voice was casual, but Eames could see the effort it was taking her to appear so nonchalant. It bothered him. He suddenly felt like a heel, and that didn't happen very often. If ever. He came closer to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "I'm not a good man, love."
"I know," she said in a soft voice. She put down everything and brought her hands up to touch his arms across her chest. "I do know that."
"So what do you want?"
His voice was quiet and as honest as she had ever heard it. "Whatever I can have," she said, turning around in his arms. "If you need to leave, you need to leave. But I'd like you to stay as long as you can."
"I respect you too much to lie, love," Eames said, cupping her face in his hands. "Would you prefer if I did?"
"Just eat breakfast," she murmured, pulling away. "You're so full of bullshit sometimes, you know that?" she said irritably as he began to eat.
"Of course I do," Eames replied easily. "What do you take me for?"
"A forger," Ariadne answered. She ate another bite of the eggs. "One that thinks that's all he is."
He pointed at her with his fork. "You're the wine and roses type. The kind of girl that settles down and has a mess of babies and is respectable and shite. You're the kind of girl that blokes take home to Mum for approval. You're the kind of girl that does the thing expected of you."
"I took you home and fucked you last night," Ariadne said blandly. She managed not to smile when Eames nearly choked on his next mouthful. "I'd say that's pretty unexpected of me. And I don't want that respectable shite."
He made a moue of distaste. "Love, don't do the Brit slang. It doesn't sound right out of your mouth."
Ariadne had the urge to throw something at his head. She settled for sticking her tongue out at him. "I thought it would be obvious enough that I don't want the ordinary. Would an ordinary person do the Fischer job?"
Eames polished off the last of the eggs. "Point," he allowed.
She pushed her plate aside and went to his side. She hopped up into his lap, straddling him. Eames' eyes widened a fraction, and he was very still beneath her. "Stop trying to be gallant, Eames. That's not what I'm looking for."
"Then what is it, eh?"
She kissed him in answer, hot and open, her tongue sliding into his mouth and her fingers clutching at his shoulders for balance. "I promise not to break your heart," she said with a wry twist of her lips when she pulled back.
"My own isn't what I'm concerned about, love."
Ariadne slid her hand along the back of his neck. "Then we're fine. This lasts however long it lasts."
Eames had thought that he knew what her kisses were like by now. This one surprised him. It felt like home somehow, like this was happening exactly the way it should. He slid his hands along the curve of her back, feeling the play of her muscles as she shifted against him. It wasn't much of a surprise when he started getting aroused again. "You look good in my shirt," he said against her mouth. "You look better out of it."
Ariadne smiled. "Duly noted. Do something about it."
Eames laughed and set to work. First things first. He didn't have a job lined up for the next few months. He could always reevaluate his priorities by then.
The End.