and there is fight in us [inception]
Title: and there is fight in us
Fandom: Inception
Summary: If Arthur could go back, he'd do everything different. Except her.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Notes: First Inception fic. Love this movie.
Arthur tries to think of her as a totem. You can't touch her, or else it defeats the purpose. But he's still thinking (dreaming) about a dream where she kissed him because he told her to (too quickly, too willingly). He sucks in a breath and holds it, feeling her lips brush quietly over his.
They're still looking at us.
(If Arthur could pretend and go back, he do everything different. Except Ariadne. He'd keep her. Just the way she is.)
He's in Paris in December, watching snow fall outside a bar where he is getting properly drunk. His hair is a mess (he's a mess) and he catches sight of her in the mirror behind the bar, everything about her exactly the same. She spots him, too, and laughs, dropping her school bag next to a stool and settling next to him.
You look awful. He shrugs, throwing the last of his whiskey down his throat, feeling it burn pleasantly.
You look lovely. A soft nod of the head. She orders a beer and holds it gently, fingering the dripping persperation along the sides. Arthur isn't sure what to say next. He's imagined this moment for weeks, wondering how she'll react if he were to insist on another kiss. Afterall, he's never really touched her. Not in reality. Not their shared reality anyway.
Why are you doing this? she asks, voice low and eyes narrowed, focusing on her drink. Arthur shrugs.
You going to finish that? She shakes her head, but when he reaches for it, she pulls it away.
Come on. They stumble from the bar, Ariadne's arm around his waist, trying to get him to straighten up. He does, but feels dizzy and retches into the nearest garbage can. Classy, she mutters, letting him be sick for a while. Finally, he comes up for air, shivering. Drunk isn't your best look.
I agree. He can walk straighter now as he follows her down the street, noticing the slight sway of her hips, how her hand grips the edge of her bag, her fingers long and slender. Thank you. Ariadne shrugs, laughing it off as she pulls her keys from her bag and heads up the stairs to her apartment. Arthur follows, wearily, unsure if he's invited. But she waves him along and into the small apartment. A single room, very Ariadne. Not that he pretends he can know her that well.
You need a shower, she says, handing him a towel. I have some clothes that might fit you. They belong to an ex, she says quickly, catching the amused look on his face. You won't be wearing a dress of mine any time soon. Not in this reality anyway. She laughs and hands him a shirt and some jeans, pointing to the bathroom.
It feels good to wash the bar off of him. He feels sick as he stands under the water for a moment, but it passes. Carefully, he steps out and dries off, stealing her mouth wash and wearing her old boyfriend's clothes. She nods her approval from her tiny kitchen, giving him a small grin.
Nice place. Ariadne laughs and pulls off her jacket, then hands him a sandwich. Stomach empty, he's hungrier than he realized, though when her fingers brush his, he knows it's not just for the sandwich. She moves back into the kitchen, her back turned. Quietly, he sets the plate down and moves after her.
It's cheap, so I- She turns when he places his hands on her hips, her words catching in her throat. Arthur-
Quick, he says quietly. Kiss me. She smiles and leans up, blushing deep red, but covering his mouth with hers, less gently than in the dream, the moment tangible and real.
(If Arthur could go back, this is where it would start. With her. With a real kiss.)
His thumbs ghost over her stomach, the skin there cool and sensitve. Ariadne shivers, pulls him closer.
No one's watching this time, she murmurs. Arthur laughs.
No, just me.
Fandom: Inception
Summary: If Arthur could go back, he'd do everything different. Except her.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Notes: First Inception fic. Love this movie.
Arthur tries to think of her as a totem. You can't touch her, or else it defeats the purpose. But he's still thinking (dreaming) about a dream where she kissed him because he told her to (too quickly, too willingly). He sucks in a breath and holds it, feeling her lips brush quietly over his.
They're still looking at us.
(If Arthur could pretend and go back, he do everything different. Except Ariadne. He'd keep her. Just the way she is.)
He's in Paris in December, watching snow fall outside a bar where he is getting properly drunk. His hair is a mess (he's a mess) and he catches sight of her in the mirror behind the bar, everything about her exactly the same. She spots him, too, and laughs, dropping her school bag next to a stool and settling next to him.
You look awful. He shrugs, throwing the last of his whiskey down his throat, feeling it burn pleasantly.
You look lovely. A soft nod of the head. She orders a beer and holds it gently, fingering the dripping persperation along the sides. Arthur isn't sure what to say next. He's imagined this moment for weeks, wondering how she'll react if he were to insist on another kiss. Afterall, he's never really touched her. Not in reality. Not their shared reality anyway.
Why are you doing this? she asks, voice low and eyes narrowed, focusing on her drink. Arthur shrugs.
You going to finish that? She shakes her head, but when he reaches for it, she pulls it away.
Come on. They stumble from the bar, Ariadne's arm around his waist, trying to get him to straighten up. He does, but feels dizzy and retches into the nearest garbage can. Classy, she mutters, letting him be sick for a while. Finally, he comes up for air, shivering. Drunk isn't your best look.
I agree. He can walk straighter now as he follows her down the street, noticing the slight sway of her hips, how her hand grips the edge of her bag, her fingers long and slender. Thank you. Ariadne shrugs, laughing it off as she pulls her keys from her bag and heads up the stairs to her apartment. Arthur follows, wearily, unsure if he's invited. But she waves him along and into the small apartment. A single room, very Ariadne. Not that he pretends he can know her that well.
You need a shower, she says, handing him a towel. I have some clothes that might fit you. They belong to an ex, she says quickly, catching the amused look on his face. You won't be wearing a dress of mine any time soon. Not in this reality anyway. She laughs and hands him a shirt and some jeans, pointing to the bathroom.
It feels good to wash the bar off of him. He feels sick as he stands under the water for a moment, but it passes. Carefully, he steps out and dries off, stealing her mouth wash and wearing her old boyfriend's clothes. She nods her approval from her tiny kitchen, giving him a small grin.
Nice place. Ariadne laughs and pulls off her jacket, then hands him a sandwich. Stomach empty, he's hungrier than he realized, though when her fingers brush his, he knows it's not just for the sandwich. She moves back into the kitchen, her back turned. Quietly, he sets the plate down and moves after her.
It's cheap, so I- She turns when he places his hands on her hips, her words catching in her throat. Arthur-
Quick, he says quietly. Kiss me. She smiles and leans up, blushing deep red, but covering his mouth with hers, less gently than in the dream, the moment tangible and real.
(If Arthur could go back, this is where it would start. With her. With a real kiss.)
His thumbs ghost over her stomach, the skin there cool and sensitve. Ariadne shivers, pulls him closer.
No one's watching this time, she murmurs. Arthur laughs.
No, just me.