Fuck The Distance
Title : Fuck The Distance
Summary : He looks at her - with her sports memorabilia littering the floor of his would be study- and he can’t be anything but honest. “I missed you.”
Rating : pg-13
Notes : Written for this inception_kink prompt. 5 times Ariadne said "I miss you" and 1 time Arthur said it.
Further Notes : I tried a different style here because writer's block really fucked me over for the last few weeks and weatheredlaw deserved to have her prompt filled twice. She's just that wonderful.
But I'll be honest, this was mostly experimental.
i
Cairo is sweltering.
His flesh feels like it’s on fire. The light cotton shirt and the khakis do nothing to relieve the burning sensation that starts at the back of his neck and travels down his body. Beads of sweat slide agonizingly slow down the side of his face glazing his skin in a sticky sheen.
The iced tea sitting just three feet away beckons him like an oasis, but the loud screech of the old fax machine captures him instead. He watches his extractor rise from her seat, uncrossing dainty ankles before she pads across the room. Her full lips quirk and a knowing smile blooms.
“I think this is for you.”
She offers the crumpled paper between two perfectly manicured fingers and retreats back to her chair.
His eyes scan the minimalist note no more than five times. He smoothes the wrinkled paper beneath his deft fingers and folds it into a perfect square before he slides it into the pocket of his trousers.
“It seems we’ll be here a day longer than expected.”
“So I read.”
Arthur waits until he’s sure Emanuel isn’t looking at him before he lets his fingers rest just above the fabric where the paper sits. His glass of iced tea that drips with tantalizingly cold perspiration sits forgotten.
“I have a phone call to make.”
“I’m sure you do.”
This is the last time he works with anyone Eames recommends.
ii
He checks his watch for the third time.
The car he hired a week prior is stuck in traffic. The rain beats down heavily and the driver curses brashly in French, even daring to stick his head out the window to yell at another driver who cuts them off.
Arthur checks his watch for a fourth time. Forty five minutes past the hour.
He taps his fingers against his thigh impatiently. He’s a day late and waiting a couple of hours in traffic won’t make any difference, but he hates the standstill he’s stuck in. He’s not dressed for the unexpected bout of rainfall, but for every inch that they move his patience wears thinner than before.
He tosses a few bills at the driver and steps out of the car, directly into a puddle. He curses under his breath and maneuvers through the buildup of cars.
His pocket vibrates and he slips under the confines of an unoccupied awning. His dampened suit clings to his every movement, molding to his body, as he checks his phone.
It’s pushed back into his pocket hastily and he breaks into another sprint, braving the rain - sacrificing his suit. He’s only one arrondissement away from Ariadne’s loft.
iii
Attached File
iv
v
Not a week after he finds Eames’ letter on his - their- kitchen table, a postcard is tucked between the Ariadne’s magazine subscriptions and the bills.
Arthur drops everything onto the coffee table unceremoniously and grabs for the prepacked carry on that sits by the door.
i
All the lights are on.
It’s the first thing he notices when he hangs his coat on the rack that looks too eighteenth century and sticks out like a sore thumb in the apartment. He hears Ariadne before he sees her. He shucks his suitcase to the side with polished, sable shoes and follows the trail that leads to her. The thundering sound of hammering peeks over the noise of the unattended television and discarded bits of brown wrapping paper and rogue pieces of bubble wrap lead a path right to where she is.
She’s in an old pair of his khakis, rolled up to her knees and cinched tightly at the waist with a sturdy belt - it still swallows her tiny frame- and a ghastly Christmas sweater. It’s just as loud, if not more so, as the noise that filters through through the apartment.
He leans against the doorframe, watching her hammer away determinedly, her lips tightening around the nails she holds between them.
“It’s crooked.” He informs her. Now is as good a time as any to make his presence known.
She turns and regards him with both surprise and annoyance. The diamond ring hanging on the end of the long gold chain wobbles. Neither one of them is ready for it to move from its temporary home just yet.
“You’re early.” She pulls the heavy sweater away from her wrists, tucking the nails and the hammer into the back pocket of the pants. “Three months early. What happened to the job? Is everything okay?”
He looks at her - with her sports memorabilia littering the floor of his would be study- and he can’t be anything but honest. He tucks his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and slides out a thin sheet of paper.
“A charming man was handing these out at one in the morning in the middle of the street. Pieces of paper with insightful quote. This is the one I … received.”
“By charming you mean you mean you’d never interact with a person like that ever again and by received …”
“I mean it was forced onto my person.” He finishes with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, urging her to take it. “It’s brash, but honest.”
A soft laugh escapes her lips. “That it is.” She agrees.
“I missed you.” Arthur draws her closer, until they’re aligned, hip to hip and heart to pounding heart. He missed this home of love returned and the comfort only she could give him.
“Is it really crooked?”
“Very.”
Summary : He looks at her - with her sports memorabilia littering the floor of his would be study- and he can’t be anything but honest. “I missed you.”
Rating : pg-13
Notes : Written for this inception_kink prompt. 5 times Ariadne said "I miss you" and 1 time Arthur said it.
Further Notes : I tried a different style here because writer's block really fucked me over for the last few weeks and weatheredlaw deserved to have her prompt filled twice. She's just that wonderful.
But I'll be honest, this was mostly experimental.
i
Cairo is sweltering.
His flesh feels like it’s on fire. The light cotton shirt and the khakis do nothing to relieve the burning sensation that starts at the back of his neck and travels down his body. Beads of sweat slide agonizingly slow down the side of his face glazing his skin in a sticky sheen.
The iced tea sitting just three feet away beckons him like an oasis, but the loud screech of the old fax machine captures him instead. He watches his extractor rise from her seat, uncrossing dainty ankles before she pads across the room. Her full lips quirk and a knowing smile blooms.
“I think this is for you.”
She offers the crumpled paper between two perfectly manicured fingers and retreats back to her chair.
His eyes scan the minimalist note no more than five times. He smoothes the wrinkled paper beneath his deft fingers and folds it into a perfect square before he slides it into the pocket of his trousers.
“It seems we’ll be here a day longer than expected.”
“So I read.”
Arthur waits until he’s sure Emanuel isn’t looking at him before he lets his fingers rest just above the fabric where the paper sits. His glass of iced tea that drips with tantalizingly cold perspiration sits forgotten.
“I have a phone call to make.”
“I’m sure you do.”
This is the last time he works with anyone Eames recommends.
ii
He checks his watch for the third time.
The car he hired a week prior is stuck in traffic. The rain beats down heavily and the driver curses brashly in French, even daring to stick his head out the window to yell at another driver who cuts them off.
Arthur checks his watch for a fourth time. Forty five minutes past the hour.
He taps his fingers against his thigh impatiently. He’s a day late and waiting a couple of hours in traffic won’t make any difference, but he hates the standstill he’s stuck in. He’s not dressed for the unexpected bout of rainfall, but for every inch that they move his patience wears thinner than before.
He tosses a few bills at the driver and steps out of the car, directly into a puddle. He curses under his breath and maneuvers through the buildup of cars.
His pocket vibrates and he slips under the confines of an unoccupied awning. His dampened suit clings to his every movement, molding to his body, as he checks his phone.
It’s pushed back into his pocket hastily and he breaks into another sprint, braving the rain - sacrificing his suit. He’s only one arrondissement away from Ariadne’s loft.
iii
Attached File
iv
v
Not a week after he finds Eames’ letter on his - their- kitchen table, a postcard is tucked between the Ariadne’s magazine subscriptions and the bills.
Arthur drops everything onto the coffee table unceremoniously and grabs for the prepacked carry on that sits by the door.
i
All the lights are on.
It’s the first thing he notices when he hangs his coat on the rack that looks too eighteenth century and sticks out like a sore thumb in the apartment. He hears Ariadne before he sees her. He shucks his suitcase to the side with polished, sable shoes and follows the trail that leads to her. The thundering sound of hammering peeks over the noise of the unattended television and discarded bits of brown wrapping paper and rogue pieces of bubble wrap lead a path right to where she is.
She’s in an old pair of his khakis, rolled up to her knees and cinched tightly at the waist with a sturdy belt - it still swallows her tiny frame- and a ghastly Christmas sweater. It’s just as loud, if not more so, as the noise that filters through through the apartment.
He leans against the doorframe, watching her hammer away determinedly, her lips tightening around the nails she holds between them.
“It’s crooked.” He informs her. Now is as good a time as any to make his presence known.
She turns and regards him with both surprise and annoyance. The diamond ring hanging on the end of the long gold chain wobbles. Neither one of them is ready for it to move from its temporary home just yet.
“You’re early.” She pulls the heavy sweater away from her wrists, tucking the nails and the hammer into the back pocket of the pants. “Three months early. What happened to the job? Is everything okay?”
He looks at her - with her sports memorabilia littering the floor of his would be study- and he can’t be anything but honest. He tucks his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and slides out a thin sheet of paper.
“A charming man was handing these out at one in the morning in the middle of the street. Pieces of paper with insightful quote. This is the one I … received.”
“By charming you mean you mean you’d never interact with a person like that ever again and by received …”
“I mean it was forced onto my person.” He finishes with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, urging her to take it. “It’s brash, but honest.”
A soft laugh escapes her lips. “That it is.” She agrees.
“I missed you.” Arthur draws her closer, until they’re aligned, hip to hip and heart to pounding heart. He missed this home of love returned and the comfort only she could give him.
“Is it really crooked?”
“Very.”