let you whisper (you are the only) [inception]
Title: let you whisper (you are the only)
Fandom: Inception
Summary: In her dreams, they can stay together.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For inception_kink, prompt "Ariadne may have not realized it yet but Arthur always played for keeps (he had no intention of letting her go)."
1.
They shared a cab on the way out of LAX, then a hotel room. Arthur was thinner than she remembered, paler and shakier. But then again, weren't they all? She felt sapped, like something had latched onto her and sucked her dry. Now, sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in rough, cotton hotel sheets, Ariadne wonders where she'll go next. Her phone chirps once, a shrill reminder that there is a life outside the dream-state. One that includes her frantic mother and a bank account set up in her name that is suddenly brimming with enough cash to get two graduate degrees and a few doctorates as well.
You're leaving. Arthur's voice signals her return to this world. Tubes and sedatives and sharp dressed geniuses who know everything there is to know about her. Without the research.
Yeah, she says, nodding and leaning down to look at him. Arthur gives a noncommital nod of the head, but it doesn't tell her much. Ariadne's never been good at reading people. Always she just says what she thinks, misinterprets and belittles without meaning to. I need to get a flight back to Paris.
Long flight, he says, shaking his head. You should rest. Stay here for just a while. His fingers are cool on the small of her back, sending her nerves everywhere.
He is awfully good at this.
Smiling, she falls back onto the bed, but doesn't respond. Arthur sighs and closes his eyes. This is how she'd like to remember him. Here and relaxed. Not the thin-lipped serious mess he usually is, but this one. Calm and smiling.
She's never had a longer flight to Paris.
2.
Sometimes she thinks she's sees him. On a corner or in a reflecting window. But he's not there. Of course, he's not there. Each night she comes home from class and hopes to find him sitting on her stoop, hands crammed carefully into his pockets, crooked smile on his lips. Stay here for just a while.
Homework seems so mundane. She imagines buildings without real walls. Cities inside boxes with endless curves and corners that never quite meet. Her sketch book becomes filled with impossible things and her roommate thinks she's losing her touch with reality.
You have no idea, she thinks bitterly, but laughs it off.
Arthur would understand.
And that's how she starts coping with it. She imagines the day she'll see him again, which in her mind, is forever and a day away. But in her dreams, the ones where she can't wake herself up and she can't remember by mid-afternoon - in those dreams, he knows how she feels. He knows that the rest of the world can act like a dirty rag over your mouth, not quite suffocating, but still smothering you.
Stay here for just a while.
In her dreams, they can stay together. In that bed in Los Angeles, the nine AM light permanently fixed on cheap carpet, his fingers forever playing across her skin, nerves in a constant state of change. Arthur tastes like sleep in her dreams.
You should rest.
3.
She should have known he'd be back.
Standing casually outside her class, attracting the stares of her female classmates. Her roommate nudges her in the side, eyebrows straight up.
You're embarassing yourself, she says, taking the arm he extends to her.
Am I? The point was the embarass you.
He makes her take him to all her favorite places. Bridges and walkways and a cafe with a good green tea and her apartment. He kicks off his shoes while pressing her to the mattress, fingers touching that familiar spot on her back while she unbuttons his shirt and he peels off her jacket.
I thought we'd never...I mean - Arthur silences her with his mouth, stealing the words from her lips before she can finish saying what she's been thinking for months now.
You should know this about me. His teeth graze her shoulder and she hisses and nods, wanting, needing him to keep going. I always play for keeps.
Of course he'd never let her go.
Fandom: Inception
Summary: In her dreams, they can stay together.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For inception_kink, prompt "Ariadne may have not realized it yet but Arthur always played for keeps (he had no intention of letting her go)."
1.
They shared a cab on the way out of LAX, then a hotel room. Arthur was thinner than she remembered, paler and shakier. But then again, weren't they all? She felt sapped, like something had latched onto her and sucked her dry. Now, sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in rough, cotton hotel sheets, Ariadne wonders where she'll go next. Her phone chirps once, a shrill reminder that there is a life outside the dream-state. One that includes her frantic mother and a bank account set up in her name that is suddenly brimming with enough cash to get two graduate degrees and a few doctorates as well.
You're leaving. Arthur's voice signals her return to this world. Tubes and sedatives and sharp dressed geniuses who know everything there is to know about her. Without the research.
Yeah, she says, nodding and leaning down to look at him. Arthur gives a noncommital nod of the head, but it doesn't tell her much. Ariadne's never been good at reading people. Always she just says what she thinks, misinterprets and belittles without meaning to. I need to get a flight back to Paris.
Long flight, he says, shaking his head. You should rest. Stay here for just a while. His fingers are cool on the small of her back, sending her nerves everywhere.
He is awfully good at this.
Smiling, she falls back onto the bed, but doesn't respond. Arthur sighs and closes his eyes. This is how she'd like to remember him. Here and relaxed. Not the thin-lipped serious mess he usually is, but this one. Calm and smiling.
She's never had a longer flight to Paris.
2.
Sometimes she thinks she's sees him. On a corner or in a reflecting window. But he's not there. Of course, he's not there. Each night she comes home from class and hopes to find him sitting on her stoop, hands crammed carefully into his pockets, crooked smile on his lips. Stay here for just a while.
Homework seems so mundane. She imagines buildings without real walls. Cities inside boxes with endless curves and corners that never quite meet. Her sketch book becomes filled with impossible things and her roommate thinks she's losing her touch with reality.
You have no idea, she thinks bitterly, but laughs it off.
Arthur would understand.
And that's how she starts coping with it. She imagines the day she'll see him again, which in her mind, is forever and a day away. But in her dreams, the ones where she can't wake herself up and she can't remember by mid-afternoon - in those dreams, he knows how she feels. He knows that the rest of the world can act like a dirty rag over your mouth, not quite suffocating, but still smothering you.
Stay here for just a while.
In her dreams, they can stay together. In that bed in Los Angeles, the nine AM light permanently fixed on cheap carpet, his fingers forever playing across her skin, nerves in a constant state of change. Arthur tastes like sleep in her dreams.
You should rest.
3.
She should have known he'd be back.
Standing casually outside her class, attracting the stares of her female classmates. Her roommate nudges her in the side, eyebrows straight up.
You're embarassing yourself, she says, taking the arm he extends to her.
Am I? The point was the embarass you.
He makes her take him to all her favorite places. Bridges and walkways and a cafe with a good green tea and her apartment. He kicks off his shoes while pressing her to the mattress, fingers touching that familiar spot on her back while she unbuttons his shirt and he peels off her jacket.
I thought we'd never...I mean - Arthur silences her with his mouth, stealing the words from her lips before she can finish saying what she's been thinking for months now.
You should know this about me. His teeth graze her shoulder and she hisses and nods, wanting, needing him to keep going. I always play for keeps.
Of course he'd never let her go.