you were on my wire [inception]
Title: you were on my wire
Fandom: Inception
Summary: Ariadne has a hook in him and it won't come out.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Rating: R
Notes: I think this was meant for some kind of inception_kink prompt, but I don't remember which now. I'm a bad prompt-filler. Y'all can have it. <3 I'm also migrating away from using song lyrics as titles. Slowly. This being one of those times.
Arthur approaches his relationship with Ariadne like he approaches anything else -
with tact and detail and suspicion.
When she places a tentative kiss on his cheek in LAX the week after the Fischer job (if you're in paris, look me up), he feels his heart skip a beat under his ribs and his skin prickle.
She has a hook in him and it won't come out.
But Arthur can't jump on a plane and follow her to France. A week later, he and Eames are on a job together, and she's there, a projection in a field of poppies, contemplating them both with her shrewd gaze.
You're hung up, mate. Eames gives Arthur a playful nudge in the ribs.
(later, arthur aims for eames's head and hits his shoulder instead, feeling better about himself)
But it doesn't change anything.
She was still there.
She's still under his skin.
When he finally breaks down and flies to Paris (about fucking time, eames mutters.) it becomes an awkward series of hugs and drinks and evenings spent fighting over the bill before he fucks her on her kitchen floor without inhibition.
(when she says his name, there's a knot that she's tying around his fingers, one by one)
In the morning, Arthur leaves without saying goodbye and without waking her up.
Four angry voicemails later, he finally calls her back.
I'm not a whore. You don't get to use me and leave me.
Arthur can't tell her honestly that that's how he does things. Temporary, like his apartments and his homes and his cars and his relationships. Everything around him must be disposable. He must be able to throw it away when he needs to.
He must be able to forget.
Ariadne doesn't know why she lets him into her house again. She tells him this.
I don't want to see you.
She sees him anyway.
In her bedroom, Arthur slips two fingers inside of her and brings her to the finish in minutes, thrusting his cock deep inside her when she comes the first time, his face buried in her neck and his teeth at her jugular.
She feels more like prey than she'd like to, but Ariadne wants (wants like she never has) him there. Needs him there. She's sick, she reasons with herself, when he's gone in the morning. There's a note (an improvement, she thinks) -
- i can't stay. i want to. but i can't.
And she knows it's not a job that pulls him away.
It's just Arthur.
You can't pretend she doesn't own you, Eames says after a bad job when she tried to kill them both. It's not Mal, but she's becoming an annoyance and Eames doesn't tolerate annoyances. It's not healthy.
No one owns me, Arthur says. (arthur lies)
He finds himself looking at the one picture he has of her every night. (a polaroid snapped by yusuf when no one was looking) He locks himself in the bathroom and jacks off until every second he isn't spending with her doesn't weigh down on his shoulders.
His whole body aches with the need to touch her (feel her, possess her).
You don't know how to be tied down, she mutters. Somehow, she's managed to keep him with her until the morning, and Arthur likes, more than he admits, the feel of her in his arms when he wakes up. It's nice to see her face when he opens his eyes.
It's painful, too. It makes it harder to leave her later. And now that she's watching him dress, fixing his tie and promising him new cufflinks for Christmas, it's damn near impossible to walk out the door.
She kisses him quickly before he goes and it burns well into the winter, when he's away and can't see her and can only spill her voice over into his dreams (her name littering his tongue).
When Eames can't take it, he flies Arthur to France and tells him not to come back until he's told her the truth.
(what's the truth - i love you, he could say. i need and want you all the time.)
Arthur looks like hell when he ends up at her door. He's spent a week pacing his hotel room, the feel of her body eating him from the inside out.
I love you, he says, and kisses her hard.
This isn't the best time, she says, a hint of laughter in her voice. And when Arthur looks behind her, he finds the living room full of grad students, drawing and crunching numbers, a textbook laid between them, their eyes glazed, but suddenly aware of Arthur's intrusion into their study session. Later, she murmurs, and presses a gentle hand on his chest.
Later is much later, after midnight when she calls him and has him meet her at a cafe down the street from her apartment.
I'm sorry, he mutters, and she bursts out laughing, tugging him down the sidewalk and up the streets, kissing him under lamps and finally getting back to her apartment where she's dragging him into her bed and threatening him with death -
don't you leave me, don't you dare -
Arthur wakes up in the morning with a cup of coffee under his nose and burnt bacon on his right.
Morning.
Fandom: Inception
Summary: Ariadne has a hook in him and it won't come out.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Rating: R
Notes: I think this was meant for some kind of inception_kink prompt, but I don't remember which now. I'm a bad prompt-filler. Y'all can have it. <3 I'm also migrating away from using song lyrics as titles. Slowly. This being one of those times.
Arthur approaches his relationship with Ariadne like he approaches anything else -
with tact and detail and suspicion.
When she places a tentative kiss on his cheek in LAX the week after the Fischer job (if you're in paris, look me up), he feels his heart skip a beat under his ribs and his skin prickle.
She has a hook in him and it won't come out.
But Arthur can't jump on a plane and follow her to France. A week later, he and Eames are on a job together, and she's there, a projection in a field of poppies, contemplating them both with her shrewd gaze.
You're hung up, mate. Eames gives Arthur a playful nudge in the ribs.
(later, arthur aims for eames's head and hits his shoulder instead, feeling better about himself)
But it doesn't change anything.
She was still there.
She's still under his skin.
When he finally breaks down and flies to Paris (about fucking time, eames mutters.) it becomes an awkward series of hugs and drinks and evenings spent fighting over the bill before he fucks her on her kitchen floor without inhibition.
(when she says his name, there's a knot that she's tying around his fingers, one by one)
In the morning, Arthur leaves without saying goodbye and without waking her up.
Four angry voicemails later, he finally calls her back.
I'm not a whore. You don't get to use me and leave me.
Arthur can't tell her honestly that that's how he does things. Temporary, like his apartments and his homes and his cars and his relationships. Everything around him must be disposable. He must be able to throw it away when he needs to.
He must be able to forget.
Ariadne doesn't know why she lets him into her house again. She tells him this.
I don't want to see you.
She sees him anyway.
In her bedroom, Arthur slips two fingers inside of her and brings her to the finish in minutes, thrusting his cock deep inside her when she comes the first time, his face buried in her neck and his teeth at her jugular.
She feels more like prey than she'd like to, but Ariadne wants (wants like she never has) him there. Needs him there. She's sick, she reasons with herself, when he's gone in the morning. There's a note (an improvement, she thinks) -
- i can't stay. i want to. but i can't.
And she knows it's not a job that pulls him away.
It's just Arthur.
You can't pretend she doesn't own you, Eames says after a bad job when she tried to kill them both. It's not Mal, but she's becoming an annoyance and Eames doesn't tolerate annoyances. It's not healthy.
No one owns me, Arthur says. (arthur lies)
He finds himself looking at the one picture he has of her every night. (a polaroid snapped by yusuf when no one was looking) He locks himself in the bathroom and jacks off until every second he isn't spending with her doesn't weigh down on his shoulders.
His whole body aches with the need to touch her (feel her, possess her).
You don't know how to be tied down, she mutters. Somehow, she's managed to keep him with her until the morning, and Arthur likes, more than he admits, the feel of her in his arms when he wakes up. It's nice to see her face when he opens his eyes.
It's painful, too. It makes it harder to leave her later. And now that she's watching him dress, fixing his tie and promising him new cufflinks for Christmas, it's damn near impossible to walk out the door.
She kisses him quickly before he goes and it burns well into the winter, when he's away and can't see her and can only spill her voice over into his dreams (her name littering his tongue).
When Eames can't take it, he flies Arthur to France and tells him not to come back until he's told her the truth.
(what's the truth - i love you, he could say. i need and want you all the time.)
Arthur looks like hell when he ends up at her door. He's spent a week pacing his hotel room, the feel of her body eating him from the inside out.
I love you, he says, and kisses her hard.
This isn't the best time, she says, a hint of laughter in her voice. And when Arthur looks behind her, he finds the living room full of grad students, drawing and crunching numbers, a textbook laid between them, their eyes glazed, but suddenly aware of Arthur's intrusion into their study session. Later, she murmurs, and presses a gentle hand on his chest.
Later is much later, after midnight when she calls him and has him meet her at a cafe down the street from her apartment.
I'm sorry, he mutters, and she bursts out laughing, tugging him down the sidewalk and up the streets, kissing him under lamps and finally getting back to her apartment where she's dragging him into her bed and threatening him with death -
don't you leave me, don't you dare -
Arthur wakes up in the morning with a cup of coffee under his nose and burnt bacon on his right.
Morning.