release your high hopes (they'll survive) [inception]
Title: release your high hopes (they'll survive)
Fandom: Inception
Summary: Ariadne, he's learning, comes with a lot of baggage.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Rating: PG
Notes: For inception_kink, prompt: "She took him by storm, and he's more than willing to surrender." Hope this does it! (TOO MUCH FLUFF)
Ariadne floods his personal space, quickly and efficiently, a flash of rushing water and bad records and Chinese takeout. Her homework is spread out all over his coffee table and there's a ring in the corner left by the mug of tea she never drinks. It's comforting, Arthur. Do you know what that means?
But she's also sensitive and learns quickly. There's a muscle, she notes, that quivers in his jaw whenever he's tense or anxious. She closes her books and straddles his lap quietly, loosening his tie, murmuring softly in his ear. He feels better after this, after she steals a kiss and goes back to her drawings and graphs.
Arthur learns that her pencils have terrible erasers that shed and linger on his leather sofa. He learns that her favorite breakfast food is yogurt and that she consumes large quantities of egg rolls and Diet Cokes. She runs every night at nine-thirty, without fail, for one hour and ten minutes.
When he asked her to move to New York and live with him, he wasn't expecting all this.
Ariadne, he's learning, comes with a lot of baggage.
But he's willing to load it, bag by bag, into his life. And there are moments when she is infinitely endearing, leaning over his balcony, soda can in one hand, chatting happily and flourishing and illustrating her stories with the other. Always gossiping about this or offering up an opinion on that. Arthur learns that to live with Ariadne is to listen to Ariadne.
She will always return the favor.
This is terrible music, she says, glancing over his CD collection with a tasteful eye. You need new ones. He doesn't protest when she comes back one evening, her arms loaded with CD's and tapes, sorting them in no order he can understand. She catches him alphabetizing them a week later, but doesn't protest. Arthur comes with a fair amount of baggage himself. But he was here first and she respects that.
At night, he hooks on leg between hers, knee carefully place between her thighs. He talks about old jobs. He talks about Eames and his neverending source of snark and sarcasm. He talks about Cobb and Mal, about what she used to be like. How they wanted to dream further and deeper, until nothing was left.
We won't be like that, she whispers, threading her fingers in his.
Any other woman and he'd bolt, terrified of clinging arms and fingers like hooks into his life.
But she's already dug in so deep, he couldn't lose her even if he wanted to.
And he doesn't want to.
No, he says quietly. We never will be.
Fandom: Inception
Summary: Ariadne, he's learning, comes with a lot of baggage.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Rating: PG
Notes: For inception_kink, prompt: "She took him by storm, and he's more than willing to surrender." Hope this does it! (TOO MUCH FLUFF)
Ariadne floods his personal space, quickly and efficiently, a flash of rushing water and bad records and Chinese takeout. Her homework is spread out all over his coffee table and there's a ring in the corner left by the mug of tea she never drinks. It's comforting, Arthur. Do you know what that means?
But she's also sensitive and learns quickly. There's a muscle, she notes, that quivers in his jaw whenever he's tense or anxious. She closes her books and straddles his lap quietly, loosening his tie, murmuring softly in his ear. He feels better after this, after she steals a kiss and goes back to her drawings and graphs.
Arthur learns that her pencils have terrible erasers that shed and linger on his leather sofa. He learns that her favorite breakfast food is yogurt and that she consumes large quantities of egg rolls and Diet Cokes. She runs every night at nine-thirty, without fail, for one hour and ten minutes.
When he asked her to move to New York and live with him, he wasn't expecting all this.
Ariadne, he's learning, comes with a lot of baggage.
But he's willing to load it, bag by bag, into his life. And there are moments when she is infinitely endearing, leaning over his balcony, soda can in one hand, chatting happily and flourishing and illustrating her stories with the other. Always gossiping about this or offering up an opinion on that. Arthur learns that to live with Ariadne is to listen to Ariadne.
She will always return the favor.
This is terrible music, she says, glancing over his CD collection with a tasteful eye. You need new ones. He doesn't protest when she comes back one evening, her arms loaded with CD's and tapes, sorting them in no order he can understand. She catches him alphabetizing them a week later, but doesn't protest. Arthur comes with a fair amount of baggage himself. But he was here first and she respects that.
At night, he hooks on leg between hers, knee carefully place between her thighs. He talks about old jobs. He talks about Eames and his neverending source of snark and sarcasm. He talks about Cobb and Mal, about what she used to be like. How they wanted to dream further and deeper, until nothing was left.
We won't be like that, she whispers, threading her fingers in his.
Any other woman and he'd bolt, terrified of clinging arms and fingers like hooks into his life.
But she's already dug in so deep, he couldn't lose her even if he wanted to.
And he doesn't want to.
No, he says quietly. We never will be.