Inception- Arthur/Ariadne- Touch.
Title: Touch
Rating: R (To be safe)
Characters/Pairing: Arthur/Ariadne
Summary: She learns to start touching everything. It starts with twirling her totem, testing its balance in her palm and it turns into fingertips skimming over buildings, fabric and eventually him.
Disclaimer: Don't own, wish I did though.
A/N: I have no idea exactly what this is, but I couldn't help writing it down. Excuse any spelling mistakes, its like 3am. Thank you to the amazing gaspily for actually getting me to post this.
There is a broken piece, a fragment of this woman embedded in her. It lingers like a half shadow, hovering over her shoulder, taunting with every breath. It’s a laugh bending in the wind, a smile that stretches too high in one corner to be nice, to be real. If Arthur notices he doesn’t see anything. If he sees her eyes linger on Cobb for too long, in too familiar a way, he doesn’t mention it. She wishes he would.
--
She learns to start touching everything. It starts with twirling her totem, testing its balance in her palm and it turns into fingertips skimming over buildings, fabric and eventually him.
If she can just keep her eyes open and remember every moment of Arthur above her, the feel of his skin against her palms, than this is real. Her fingertips skim his jaw feeling it clench, feeling her name whispered against her cheek. If she can just remember this moment, hold on tight, than this is reality, it has to be. The way he fits between her thighs, the damp feel of breath against her temple, the hollow of her neck, these are more than just vivid creations. But somewhere at the edge of her mind she can hear Mal taunting, that she needs to wake up. She needs to jump.
--
She stops dreaming. For an architect it feels like dying, but every world collapses in on itself, and all she can see is, her, silhouetted against the dark, gown brushing her feet. She hears waves lapping on the shore, water rising, flooding where it doesn’t belong and the laughter echoes, louder and louder. Ariadne feels like she’s coming apart at the seams. Splitting life in to illusion and fantasy with no in between. She’s so young and her mind whirs too fast and sometimes she thinks she created him too.
She stops sleeping. Her hands shake too much to draw and when Cobb tells her she’s useless to the team like this, she doesn’t disagree. Arthur’s gaze skims over her from afar, always from afar and she can tell he knows, but can’t see it.
--
Eames is the one who tells her about the remnants. Little bits and pieces that embed themselves in you like part of your genetic code, they never leave, and they just build up and up. Borrowed memories, moments and secrets, sometimes even people, which just follow you everywhere. She asks if they drive you crazy and he smirks, lighting a cigarette and letting the smoke billow past his lips.
“Something always does, darling.”
--
She’s used to the dark, knowing it and all its little pieces. So she doesn’t startle when she feels it shift.
“Arthur.”
He’s beside her, on the edge of her bed. Usually he is all rigid muscle and precise movements, but his hands hesitate and his arms feel loose as they slide around her, pull her in.
She starts sobbing the minute her fingers grasp the edge of his suit jacket, the material rough against her cheek. Its absurd that he’s still wearing it but her mind is so muddled and she isn’t even sure this isn’t a dream.
“Real?” He shakes his head against her temple, his lips brushing her forehead.
“Show me, Ariadne.” It says something that they chose him. Cobb is the best at this, but her subconscious trusts him more, she thinks.
--
When she wakes up he’s by her side, like the first time, his hands’ ghosting over hers, not quite comfortable enough to grab and hold, no matter how much she wishes he would. Eames is pacing in the corner, but Arthur is still and motionless in front of her.
“How long has she been in there?”
“Since the first time, I guess- I think. Why?”
“Damn it you should have told me.”
It’s the first time he’s ever lost his temper around her, she’s so used to Cobb being the one with a short fuse. She wants to reach out and touch his shoulder. Touch is how they communicate, words are too sterile and succinct in their world. She needs that connection with him to know it’ll all be okay. He is the only person she’s allowed herself to need in a really long time.
He stands up and turns away and suddenly Eames is in front of her dragging her off and away before she can ask what this all means.
--
The chess piece is balanced and steady in her palm, but does that even mean anything anymore? When he comes back to her, his suit jacket is off, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. This would be his version of relaxed. He sits across from her, leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. She thinks about how graceful he is, never awkward or lanky despite his thin frame. His long fingers tap steadily against air. And he says nothing, just looks at her, keeping a few inches between them. So she waits and watches his very precise movements as they become slightly frenetic and jittery, before he stills altogether.
When he leans forward and kisses her, threading his hand in her hair, pulling her up and closer, she isn’t expecting it. Her eyes shut and her hands grasp uselessly at the air around his shoulders. She can feel him as he moves away slightly, resting his forehead against hers.
“This is real, do you understand me?” He isn’t angry but his voice is deep enough that she shivers before nodding. “Breathe.”
--
Ariadne knows the room, the pale yellow of the curtain billowing in the breeze. The knife is on the table glinting and impossibly sharp but Mal isn’t there. She takes a few steps forward knowing this could start to collapse at any moment. She’s built this all from a brief memory under sedation, it wobbles and sways back and forth every few seconds. She gets to the sill expecting to see Cobb but finding nothing but an empty ledge, her dream, her Mal. She’s sitting with her feet swinging in dead air, since her brain couldn’t envision the wind, the shift of stale air would take too much energy.
“A half of a whole, a lover. You understand now?” It isn’t a question, but Mal still watches with interest.
Ariadne doesn’t answer, she grabs blindly, feeling for his hand, knowing he’s beside her. Arthur doesn’t say a word but she can tell by how rigid his muscles are that he’s worried. It’s never overt, with him. It's in the subtle way he moves his shoulder or the slight downturn of his lips that shows he cares. He’s spent too long perfecting the disaffected persona to fuss over her. But she knows. Always has.
“How can you know, that everything isn’t all your creation. You bend and break and mold my dear, reality is a toy to people like us.” Mal says, dark eyes brighten as she looks around, watching the buildings start to collapse a block down. Ariadne can feel herself shaking, losing control of the creation, of herself. All while Mal watches, that permanent smirk etched on her lips.
Fingers thread through hers, clutching a little tighter and he leans in, no words, just his steady heartbeat against her back. She shuts her eyes and remembers clutching, pulling, grasping. Warm lips on bare skin, her smile against his back, and the feel of fingertips pressing into her hips, reality. Her reality is short glances and implied ‘I love you's’ that will always mean more than declarations of undying love.
Finally Ariadne whispers, “Jump.”
Mal’s smile is cold as she stands, one foot pressed against her shin, her black dress still at the edge of her knees. “One day you’ll see, how bendable we really are.” Then she’s gone, like a dark figment that never was.
--
The kick comes and she’s back in her hotel room beside Arthur in the dark. It’s only been a few minutes for them. He kisses her temple, skims his hand along her arm, breathing her in a few times before he pulls away. He tells her to sleep and she does, knowing he’s somewhere in the room, close enough if she needs him. Close enough to touch and remind her, this is real.
Rating: R (To be safe)
Characters/Pairing: Arthur/Ariadne
Summary: She learns to start touching everything. It starts with twirling her totem, testing its balance in her palm and it turns into fingertips skimming over buildings, fabric and eventually him.
Disclaimer: Don't own, wish I did though.
A/N: I have no idea exactly what this is, but I couldn't help writing it down. Excuse any spelling mistakes, its like 3am. Thank you to the amazing gaspily for actually getting me to post this.
There is a broken piece, a fragment of this woman embedded in her. It lingers like a half shadow, hovering over her shoulder, taunting with every breath. It’s a laugh bending in the wind, a smile that stretches too high in one corner to be nice, to be real. If Arthur notices he doesn’t see anything. If he sees her eyes linger on Cobb for too long, in too familiar a way, he doesn’t mention it. She wishes he would.
--
She learns to start touching everything. It starts with twirling her totem, testing its balance in her palm and it turns into fingertips skimming over buildings, fabric and eventually him.
If she can just keep her eyes open and remember every moment of Arthur above her, the feel of his skin against her palms, than this is real. Her fingertips skim his jaw feeling it clench, feeling her name whispered against her cheek. If she can just remember this moment, hold on tight, than this is reality, it has to be. The way he fits between her thighs, the damp feel of breath against her temple, the hollow of her neck, these are more than just vivid creations. But somewhere at the edge of her mind she can hear Mal taunting, that she needs to wake up. She needs to jump.
--
She stops dreaming. For an architect it feels like dying, but every world collapses in on itself, and all she can see is, her, silhouetted against the dark, gown brushing her feet. She hears waves lapping on the shore, water rising, flooding where it doesn’t belong and the laughter echoes, louder and louder. Ariadne feels like she’s coming apart at the seams. Splitting life in to illusion and fantasy with no in between. She’s so young and her mind whirs too fast and sometimes she thinks she created him too.
She stops sleeping. Her hands shake too much to draw and when Cobb tells her she’s useless to the team like this, she doesn’t disagree. Arthur’s gaze skims over her from afar, always from afar and she can tell he knows, but can’t see it.
--
Eames is the one who tells her about the remnants. Little bits and pieces that embed themselves in you like part of your genetic code, they never leave, and they just build up and up. Borrowed memories, moments and secrets, sometimes even people, which just follow you everywhere. She asks if they drive you crazy and he smirks, lighting a cigarette and letting the smoke billow past his lips.
“Something always does, darling.”
--
She’s used to the dark, knowing it and all its little pieces. So she doesn’t startle when she feels it shift.
“Arthur.”
He’s beside her, on the edge of her bed. Usually he is all rigid muscle and precise movements, but his hands hesitate and his arms feel loose as they slide around her, pull her in.
She starts sobbing the minute her fingers grasp the edge of his suit jacket, the material rough against her cheek. Its absurd that he’s still wearing it but her mind is so muddled and she isn’t even sure this isn’t a dream.
“Real?” He shakes his head against her temple, his lips brushing her forehead.
“Show me, Ariadne.” It says something that they chose him. Cobb is the best at this, but her subconscious trusts him more, she thinks.
--
When she wakes up he’s by her side, like the first time, his hands’ ghosting over hers, not quite comfortable enough to grab and hold, no matter how much she wishes he would. Eames is pacing in the corner, but Arthur is still and motionless in front of her.
“How long has she been in there?”
“Since the first time, I guess- I think. Why?”
“Damn it you should have told me.”
It’s the first time he’s ever lost his temper around her, she’s so used to Cobb being the one with a short fuse. She wants to reach out and touch his shoulder. Touch is how they communicate, words are too sterile and succinct in their world. She needs that connection with him to know it’ll all be okay. He is the only person she’s allowed herself to need in a really long time.
He stands up and turns away and suddenly Eames is in front of her dragging her off and away before she can ask what this all means.
--
The chess piece is balanced and steady in her palm, but does that even mean anything anymore? When he comes back to her, his suit jacket is off, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. This would be his version of relaxed. He sits across from her, leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. She thinks about how graceful he is, never awkward or lanky despite his thin frame. His long fingers tap steadily against air. And he says nothing, just looks at her, keeping a few inches between them. So she waits and watches his very precise movements as they become slightly frenetic and jittery, before he stills altogether.
When he leans forward and kisses her, threading his hand in her hair, pulling her up and closer, she isn’t expecting it. Her eyes shut and her hands grasp uselessly at the air around his shoulders. She can feel him as he moves away slightly, resting his forehead against hers.
“This is real, do you understand me?” He isn’t angry but his voice is deep enough that she shivers before nodding. “Breathe.”
--
Ariadne knows the room, the pale yellow of the curtain billowing in the breeze. The knife is on the table glinting and impossibly sharp but Mal isn’t there. She takes a few steps forward knowing this could start to collapse at any moment. She’s built this all from a brief memory under sedation, it wobbles and sways back and forth every few seconds. She gets to the sill expecting to see Cobb but finding nothing but an empty ledge, her dream, her Mal. She’s sitting with her feet swinging in dead air, since her brain couldn’t envision the wind, the shift of stale air would take too much energy.
“A half of a whole, a lover. You understand now?” It isn’t a question, but Mal still watches with interest.
Ariadne doesn’t answer, she grabs blindly, feeling for his hand, knowing he’s beside her. Arthur doesn’t say a word but she can tell by how rigid his muscles are that he’s worried. It’s never overt, with him. It's in the subtle way he moves his shoulder or the slight downturn of his lips that shows he cares. He’s spent too long perfecting the disaffected persona to fuss over her. But she knows. Always has.
“How can you know, that everything isn’t all your creation. You bend and break and mold my dear, reality is a toy to people like us.” Mal says, dark eyes brighten as she looks around, watching the buildings start to collapse a block down. Ariadne can feel herself shaking, losing control of the creation, of herself. All while Mal watches, that permanent smirk etched on her lips.
Fingers thread through hers, clutching a little tighter and he leans in, no words, just his steady heartbeat against her back. She shuts her eyes and remembers clutching, pulling, grasping. Warm lips on bare skin, her smile against his back, and the feel of fingertips pressing into her hips, reality. Her reality is short glances and implied ‘I love you's’ that will always mean more than declarations of undying love.
Finally Ariadne whispers, “Jump.”
Mal’s smile is cold as she stands, one foot pressed against her shin, her black dress still at the edge of her knees. “One day you’ll see, how bendable we really are.” Then she’s gone, like a dark figment that never was.
--
The kick comes and she’s back in her hotel room beside Arthur in the dark. It’s only been a few minutes for them. He kisses her temple, skims his hand along her arm, breathing her in a few times before he pulls away. He tells her to sleep and she does, knowing he’s somewhere in the room, close enough if she needs him. Close enough to touch and remind her, this is real.