Conquer And Devour. A/A/E. NC-17.
Title: Conquer And Devour (#2 in Haunted Series)
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur/Eames
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. His toys are fun to play with!
Spoilers/Warnings: Post-movie. For the
inception_kink meme prompt in round 11: Established 3-way relationship, Arthur casually calls Ariadne while on a job in another city. Eames decides to turn up the heat and go down on her while she is on the phone.
I have a few stories planned out in the 'verse started with Lost In Your Embrace, and this is the second in the series.
Summary: It's one thing to agree to start a relationship between three people. It's another thing to have one of the three in a different country so soon after the agreement.
It was a pain in the ass to be sidelined, but with the injuries he had sustained on their last job together, Eames couldn't work yet. Arthur was assisting with an industrial espionage job in Egypt. It had come through Pietro, who they had worked with on their last job. Pietro didn't take it personally that the four of them had nearly gotten shot, so Arthur flew out to Alexandria to meet him after only two days in Paris. He called Ariadne as soon as he landed, just so she wouldn't worry. He planned to call again once he was settled and safe, so that they could have their usual extended conversations when he was away on a job. Ariadne didn't mind staying behind with Eames.
They had gone back to Paris as soon as it was safe, as that was where Ariadne and Arthur were currently living. Eames had called himself a human tumbleweed, not entirely comfortable with this arrangement between them. Oh, he didn't think either of them would hurt him. On the contrary, he was still convinced on some level that he would ruin them.
His right thigh ached from where he had been shot and Arthur had to dig out the bullet. His left arm was grazed from another bullet. Eames was used to dodging things and trying to use charm when all else failed. He knew how to use his body if he had to, though that was always a last resort, always. Sometimes, dealing with old memories wasn't worth the effort to save his own life.
It was different now, in a terrifying sort of way. He belonged, and that meant there were ties. It meant he could be hurt and so could they. It meant that they could be used as leverage against each other. It was something he usually avoided, but he had wanted so badly to belong with them. He had seen the love they had for each other, the easy way they fit together and knew each other. Somehow, they felt the same way about him, and their love was a warm, supportive kind of thing. It wasn't the kind that hurt or strangled, wasn't the kind that asked for something in return.
He almost didn't know how to deal with that.
Ariadne was puttering around in the kitchen, humming along with the radio as she made sandwiches for lunch. Eames hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the twinges of pain in his leg. He was still alive and somehow both Arthur and Ariadne loved him, that was all that mattered. He could deal with a little pain in his leg. If anything, it confirmed that this was real. She shook her head at him when he limped into the kitchen. "You should be resting, not straining that wound. How is it going to heal up properly?"
For some reason, the question only made him feel like an intruder in their lives again. Eames tried not to think of their bed. A queen sized bed was just fine for two people, but it was a tight fit for three. Ariadne had curled around him, careful of his wounds, and Arthur had spooned against her back, his limbs thrown across hers so that his hand and a foot touched Eames.
They slept deeply and easily around him, a trust he wasn't sure he had earned. They didn't know him, not really, though he was the most honest around them that he could be. But he remained silent and merely shrugged at Ariadne, sitting down at the kitchen counter across from her. She still had that ready smile for him, a soft thing he wasn't sure he deserved. She slid over a plate and he ate the sandwich, watching her move around the kitchen as she got out glasses and milk. She had done the grocery shopping yesterday, restocking their supplies while Arthur was out acquiring antibiotics and pain medication for Eames.
Somehow they got around to talking about quieter times, and Eames found that the half truths he was telling her didn't sit right in his mouth. He wanted to tell her the truth, that there was never really down time, that he was always on the move, always looking for the next thing to do. It wasn't safe to stay still, to put down roots, to give a shit or want anything. But that didn't sound right, either, because it wasn't entirely true.
It was terrifying that he wanted to tell her the truth, any truth, even if he didn't know what it was.
He was tempted to check his totem, even though he knew this was real with a frightening clarity. He never could have dreamed up someone like Ariadne. Arthur, sure, because the man had layers that only a privileged few ever got to see. Eames knew how that worked. But Ariadne was a startling combination of fierce strength and determination, raw talent and a heart as big as the dreaming. He had never known anyone like her before. Ariadne offered to play cards with him to pass the time, and he accepted readily. No need to really talk, then. No need to rip his chest open to expose the blackened heart inside.
"You're awfully quiet," Ariadne murmured softly. She looked up as she dealt a hand of rummy. "Does it still hurt? I can get the Vicodin..."
"No, I'm fine." The pain kept him sharp. It reminded him he was still alive. He needed that right now. He needed to know he wasn't dreaming this.
She nodded and held her cards loosely in her hands. For all her naivete, Eames didn't know her tells. It bothered him that he didn't know them, that he could read her so well in some ways, and in other ways she was completely foreign to him. He should know her thoughts, know what her motivations were. Love wasn't enough, he knew that. There had to be something more to this than just love, however nice it was to have that.
"You're thinking too hard about something, then," Ariadne replied. She reached across the table and touched the furrowed lines in his brow. "If it's not pain that's bothering you, what is?"
Belonging. Hurting you. Arthur. Everything.
Eames picked up his hand and looked at the cards without really seeing them. "I suppose I'm tired," he said gently, willing her to believe the lie.
"Reasonable," she said, a trifle uncertain. "But this is more than that, isn't it?" She put down her cards, folded primly and face down. Eames didn't even bother to hide his, and he wondered what that said about him. "What is it? Do you need to leave?" There was a quiet pain in her voice, though Eames could barely hear it beneath acceptance. Whatever he decided to do, she would accept it and would help him with it. He knew that.
He looked at her in dawning horror. "No. No, Ariadne, I'm not leaving."
Her relief was palpable, and Eames felt like shit. He was being selfish. He was taking everything from her, from Arthur, and he couldn't give them back anything but empty shells, none of which were really him. He was like one of those Russian nesting dolls, different faces buried within each other, only he didn't think there was a doll inside the last shell.
"I'm just tired. Tired of running, tired of each new face. Just... tired." He shrugged. "No way to explain it, really. I've been in the business a long time."
Ariadne frowned. "You know Arthur keeps dossiers on everyone he's ever worked with?"
"I hadn't, but it sounds like him," Eames replied. His voice was even, though he was starting to feel wariness creep in. He didn't know where she was going with this.
"There's a lot of things he couldn't track," Ariadne said softly, gathering up all the cards to reshuffle them. "But I know there's always things between the lines, things that never show up in official records. I'd listen if you ever want to talk about it."
Her quiet words hit him like a fist in the solar plexus. He couldn't breathe as he watched her slim fingers shuffle the cards, eyes downcast and lashes dark against her cheeks. "I don't deserve you," he found himself saying, not sure why he had said it aloud.
She looked up then, chuckling with a fond smile on her face. "No, you probably don't. Don't worry. Arthur doesn't deserve me, either."
Eames laughed out loud then, an honest sound that had him almost startled. She was disarming him, one layer at a time, and he couldn't even see how it happened. He trusted her, and trusted that she didn't want anything in return from him than honesty and affection. She wouldn't even ask for love if he wasn't willing to give it, and it hurt him to realize that. She deserved better than that. She had better than that with Arthur. Why the fuck would she want him?
He hadn't realized he had said it aloud until he saw the smoldering cast to her eyes. They seemed almost golden in the slanting afternoon light. "Because I love you, Eames. Whatever I can see, whatever I can't. It doesn't have to make sense, it just is."
"How can Arthur accept that? How can he love me, too?" Eames asked, vaguely aware of the thread of pain in his voice.
"You can't help who you love," Ariadne told him quietly. "And there's all different kinds, aren't there? Sometimes it's blinding, sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it's enough to feel like home, no matter where in the world you are." Her smile was shy, and Eames knew it wasn't a coquettish affectation. As fierce as she could be, she was still a little shy and uncertain about their burgeoning relationship. It was new to her, he realized suddenly. Everything was wide open and unknown, yet she still ran headlong into it, just as she had with the dream share.
"I like you, Eames," she continued, unaware of his little epiphany. "I care what happens to you and I want you to be safe. I want to know more about you, why you smile, how you got into this whole mess of a career." There was a faint pink sheen to her cheeks, not quite a blush. "The other night was wonderful. I don't want to lose that."
The three of them hadn't had sex since they got back to Paris, mostly because Arthur had been looking into the job Pietro offered them. He had felt obligated to accept, since he still felt vaguely guilty that the four of them had gotten shot at. This was his way of apologizing, and his usual preoccupation with a job meant that there had been mostly heavy petting and eyesex, but no actual sex. That had been fine with Eames, given his wounds and the creeping feeling in the back of his head that he was nothing more than an intrusion into their lives.
"And Arthur?"
"Keeps everything tucked into his inner vest pocket," Ariadne said with a laugh. "I don't think he'd tell you this, but it's the same way for him."
Eames thought of his expression when they were working on the last job, the dark and angry look there when Eames was sliding one lie after another across his lips, the pain and disappointment when Arthur called him on his bullshit. He never did fight back when Eames needled him, when Eames wanted to get his temper going. Eames knew how to respond to another man's temper. He knew how to duck the blows when they came. He hated the quiet. It felt like waiting for the end of the world to happen.
"What do you mean?" he asked quietly. He could feel himself pulling on a mask, though he didn't know whose it was. He had been far too many different people, and he was losing track of who he was supposed to be underneath it all.
"He cares what happens to you. He told me for a long time that he kept track of where you were, just in case you needed him. He probably meant bailing you out of jail," she added with a wry twist of her lips, making Eames laugh. "But he wanted to make sure you were safe, without making you feel like he was undermining you."
"He said all that?"
"Well, no. But he doesn't have to. He takes care of the people he cares about. He watches over them the best he can. He's horrible about making them stop being stupid. I mean, look at the whole thing with Cobb. He knew things were going bad but didn't do a whole lot about it because they were friends."
"So loyalty can be a bad thing." It was a truth that Eames already knew, but he was sad that Ariadne realized it, too.
Ariadne shook her head, surprising him. "Not a bad thing. But a blinding thing. He's got his blind spots, too. We all do. We're not perfect, Eames." She looked down at the deck of cards in her hands, then after a moment decided to deal out a new hand of rummy. "We might do something stupid with this. I don't know. Neither of us have done this before, and you had a bad experience once." She stopped talking when she saw his tight-lipped expression. "We don't want to hurt you, Eames. We really don't."
Eames looked into her plaintive, vulnerable expression. He knew how to fake an expression like that, but he had hidden his real one away long ago. Reaching across the table, he took her hands in his. "I believe you, Ariadne. I wouldn't be here right now if I didn't believe that."
She smiled, relief in the lines of her face and shoulders. "I'll win this time."
He looked down at his hand, though he knew that her words could apply to more than just the game. "If this was poker, I'd win."
Ariadne laughed and waited for his move. "C'mon, slowpoke. Your turn."
Yes, it was, wasn't it? He put some cards down, looking at Ariadne's delighted expression that he was playing the game with her. She threw herself into everything, no artifice at all. She was real, oh so very painfully real, and he found he didn't know how to respond to that. It had been far too long since he had been just himself, far too long since someone had wanted only the truth and whatever he was willing to give.
Every moment with her and Arthur was a revelation and a gift he was certain he didn't deserve.
Though they didn't ask it of him, he was going to have to do something to pay them back.
***
Ariadne dove across the bed to pick up her cell phone on the second ring. It was some kind of marching tune, and the light in her eyes told Eames that it was Arthur. She had that silly lovestruck grin on her face as she answered the phone. "Do you have any idea what time it is here?" she said in a mockingly stern voice. "I'm all dressed for bed."
Dressed for bed was a nightie that didn't even reach her knees and a pair of plain white cotton panties. The sight still had Eames salivating.
He limped toward the bed and she turned to face him, that same lovestruck expression as she looked at him. "Yes, he's right here. He's been very good about keeping off his leg as much as possible right now. We just changed the dressing." She made a kissing face at him and grinned, sitting up in bed with her legs splayed out in front of her. "I'm no doctor," she continued, "but it doesn't look so horrible. We probably don't have to find Sebastien to take a look at it." Ariadne grinned as Eames sat on the edge of the bed. "Trust me on this, Eames, Sebastien is a mean bastard and he knows he's the best underground surgeon."
Eames knew of him, and had needed his services a few times. He nodded and sprawled across the bed, watching Ariadne's face as she talked with Arthur. He shook his head when she offered to hand the phone over so he could talk to Arthur, too. On impulse, he drew her panties down her legs and tossed them over his shoulder. She looked at him with wide eyes, so startled that she missed what Arthur was saying and had to ask him to repeat it.
Grinning at her, he carefully leaned down on the bed, resting his weight on his good arm and slowly licked a trail along the inside of her leg. It took a little shimmy to get above her knee, but the catch in her breath was absolutely worth it. "Y-yes," she stammered in reply to whatever Arthur was saying. She spread her legs wider for him, and Eames gave her an appreciative nod before he shimmied forward on the bed so that he could bury his face between her thighs. "If your architect is that bad," she began, trying to keep her voice even, "then do you want us to fly out to meet you? I miss you already," she added, her voice taking on a breathy tone as Eames' tongue swirled around her clit. She had the phone in a white knuckled grip in her hand, the other clenched in the sheets.
Closer to the phone now, Eames could hear Arthur's gusty sigh. "I know, but we owe Pietro. It was supposed to be a safe enough lookout job."
"At least it'll be fast," she said, then bit her lip as Eames slid a finger into her. She let her eyes slide shut as she tilted her hips toward his mouth and hand, her thighs trembling.
"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, sounding almost suspicious. "You haven't used the code yet, but you don't sound right."
They had a code for phone calls. Of course they did. Eames had to grin against her mound. It was just so very Arthur, a way to take some kind of control and make himself feel better if he couldn't be right by Ariadne's side all the time. He slipped another finger into Ariadne and sucked on her clit hard enough to make her moan.
Arthur cleared his throat. "Eames is in bed with you, isn't he?" He chuckled at the strangled sound Ariadne made in reply. "Put me on speaker."
"Arthur," she gasped, arching up against Eames' mouth. She managed to put the call on speaker after his second request, and she put the phone down on the bed beside them. She put that hand against her mouth to muffle her cries a bit, and she writhed helplessly in reaction to Eames' steady strokes.
"Eames," Arthur said with a sigh. They could both hear the rasp of a zipper on his end of the line, then the sound of his belt hitting the floor. "Tell me what's happening. I don't think Ariadne can talk all that coherently right now."
It took a moment, because Ariadne was clenching down hard around his fingers and coming as he sucked on her clit. Lifting his head and smiling, Eames chuckled. "She tastes fantastic, Arthur. Too bad you're in Egypt."
"Bastard," Arthur said without heat. "What are you doing?" There was a desperate, needy edge to his voice. It wasn't too difficult to imagine him taking his cock in hand and pretending they were with him in his hotel room.
"I've got two fingers working on her and I was having a good time making Ariadne come." Eames gave Ariadne a lusty smile. "Shall we go for three, love? Make Arthur jealous he's not here with us?" She nodded helplessly, as he curled his fingers inside of her and brushed his thumb over her clit in maddening, lazy circles.
"Yes," she whimpered when she caught her breath. "Please." She let out an incoherent moan when he slid the third finger in, not disrupting his steady strokes. "That feels so good," she panted, twisting beneath Eames.
There was a soft sound from low in Arthur's throat. "You miss me, don't you?" he asked, voice heavy with lust. "You wish I was there?"
"Yes," she whimpered as Eames merely laughed and said "You're missing all the fun, Arthur."
Arthur let out a filthy curse in a language Eames didn't know. It made Eames laugh, his lips pressed against the inside of her thigh. He was practically memorizing the shape of her from the inside out, and he felt Ariadne tighten abruptly. "I'm close again," she gasped, moving one of her hands down to cup her own breast and pull at the nipple. "Oh, God, that, keep doing that," she moaned.
"Put your mouth on her again, Eames," Arthur instructed, his voice rough and breath coming in quick pants. "Ariadne, when you feel that, that's me. It's his fingers in you, but it's my mouth on you, okay? I'm there, I'm tasting you." Eames smiled and bent his head down to lick at her clit again, making her let out a high pitched whining sound. It went straight to his groin, and he simply closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her desire. Arthur hadn't stopped talking, just kept repeating that it was his tongue on her skin, his mouth over her, that he wanted her to feel how much he wanted to be there doing that in person.
Ariadne came with a cry, thighs trembling around Eames' head. Arthur let out a soft grunt over the phone and then a long, satisfied sigh. It was silent but for their harsh breathing, and Eames slowed his strokes. It almost didn't seem fair to bring Ariadne off again while Arthur seemed spent. He rose to his elbow and looked over at the phone. "Doing all right there, Arthur?" he asked, satisfaction creeping into his voice. He met Ariadne's eyes as he licked his fingers with relish, enjoying both the taste of her and her breathless reaction to the sight of him still between her spread legs.
"Y-Yeah," Arthur replied, his voice a trifle shaky. "Doing all right. God, I fucking miss you both."
"How soon until you come home?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice, too. Her breathing was still erratic, and she was reaching for Eames with one hand.
"We've had more complicated jobs," Arthur admitted. Eames could almost hear him click over into professional mode, even if he must have been sprawled across a bed somewhere with his pants around his ankles and his hand on his cock. "Maybe another week and a half, two weeks on the outside, just to be sure. The subject's protected, but we can get to him."
"Do you need us?" Ariadne asked, breath short when Eames pressed his fingers against her entrance again.
"Personally? Yeah. But they've got an architect and extractor already."
"I'm sure we can keep each other entertained," Eames said, working his own belt free. Ariadne leaned forward a little to help him.
"Dammit," Arthur growled. "Why did I think this was a good idea again?" he said with a sigh. It wasn't jealousy that Eames heard, not in the sense that he had been afraid of. It was more of a wistful note, that he was regretting being so work oriented and taking Pietro's job offer. "I can see about hurrying up the team, try to get home quicker."
Eames let out a pleased sigh as he sank into Ariadne's wet heat. "If you can," he said, leaning over Ariadne the best that he could. He was balanced on his good leg and arm, each slow thrust making the wound in his right leg ache. "We do miss you," he admitted.
"I love you, Arthur," Ariadne gasped even as she slid her hands around Eames' torso.
"I love you, Ariadne," he replied. "I even love you, too, Eames," he said, smile obvious in his voice.
Eames could hear the heartfelt emotion in his voice, and it made his rhythm stutter for a moment. "Yeah?" He laughed at Arthur's affirmative reply. "Well, good. I do love you, too."
There was relief in Arthur's voice when he bid them goodnight and hung up. Eames picked up his rhythm again, looking deep into Ariadne's eyes. The words had been easy enough to say; he'd said them thousands of times to thousands of people, but hadn't always meant it. It was almost instinct to say it back when he heard them, but it hadn't been instinct this time. This time he had actually meant it, and he looked at Ariadne in wonder. His orgasm came by surprise, and he cried out before catching himself on his good arm so that he didn't collapse over Ariadne's petite frame. She was smiling up at him, even if she hadn't come again, as if just the feel of him inside her was enough to make her happy.
"What's that for?" he asked, tracing her smile with the fingers of his left hand. He didn't mind the burn along his deltoid muscle at all. That helped make this real, too.
"This. Us. The three of us, I mean. We'd talked about it, a little, but..." Her grin at him was the same lovestruck one she had when thinking of Arthur. "This is better than I'd hoped it would be. We all fit, you know?"
No, he didn't, not quite, but he was willing to let that slide. He knew how to fit in, but he didn't know how to make it stick. He was always becoming someone else, anything else, and he didn't always know what was real about himself anymore. Eames merely traced the curve of her lips and smiled at her, a confident one he didn't quite feel. He didn't know what he was doing either, though he was willing to push away the irrational doubts and fears that kept creeping back into his head when he least expected it. "I've an idea, Ariadne."
"Yeah? What is it?"
"Let's go meet Arthur in Alexandria. It'll be a lovely surprise for him."
She brightened. "That's perfect." She leaned up and kissed him, a hand cupping his face. She had looked tiny and fragile beneath him, but her touch was strong and sure. She was confident about this. Maybe he could be, too.
The End
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur/Eames
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. His toys are fun to play with!
Spoilers/Warnings: Post-movie. For the
inception_kink meme prompt in round 11: Established 3-way relationship, Arthur casually calls Ariadne while on a job in another city. Eames decides to turn up the heat and go down on her while she is on the phone.
I have a few stories planned out in the 'verse started with Lost In Your Embrace, and this is the second in the series.
Summary: It's one thing to agree to start a relationship between three people. It's another thing to have one of the three in a different country so soon after the agreement.
It was a pain in the ass to be sidelined, but with the injuries he had sustained on their last job together, Eames couldn't work yet. Arthur was assisting with an industrial espionage job in Egypt. It had come through Pietro, who they had worked with on their last job. Pietro didn't take it personally that the four of them had nearly gotten shot, so Arthur flew out to Alexandria to meet him after only two days in Paris. He called Ariadne as soon as he landed, just so she wouldn't worry. He planned to call again once he was settled and safe, so that they could have their usual extended conversations when he was away on a job. Ariadne didn't mind staying behind with Eames.
They had gone back to Paris as soon as it was safe, as that was where Ariadne and Arthur were currently living. Eames had called himself a human tumbleweed, not entirely comfortable with this arrangement between them. Oh, he didn't think either of them would hurt him. On the contrary, he was still convinced on some level that he would ruin them.
His right thigh ached from where he had been shot and Arthur had to dig out the bullet. His left arm was grazed from another bullet. Eames was used to dodging things and trying to use charm when all else failed. He knew how to use his body if he had to, though that was always a last resort, always. Sometimes, dealing with old memories wasn't worth the effort to save his own life.
It was different now, in a terrifying sort of way. He belonged, and that meant there were ties. It meant he could be hurt and so could they. It meant that they could be used as leverage against each other. It was something he usually avoided, but he had wanted so badly to belong with them. He had seen the love they had for each other, the easy way they fit together and knew each other. Somehow, they felt the same way about him, and their love was a warm, supportive kind of thing. It wasn't the kind that hurt or strangled, wasn't the kind that asked for something in return.
He almost didn't know how to deal with that.
Ariadne was puttering around in the kitchen, humming along with the radio as she made sandwiches for lunch. Eames hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the twinges of pain in his leg. He was still alive and somehow both Arthur and Ariadne loved him, that was all that mattered. He could deal with a little pain in his leg. If anything, it confirmed that this was real. She shook her head at him when he limped into the kitchen. "You should be resting, not straining that wound. How is it going to heal up properly?"
For some reason, the question only made him feel like an intruder in their lives again. Eames tried not to think of their bed. A queen sized bed was just fine for two people, but it was a tight fit for three. Ariadne had curled around him, careful of his wounds, and Arthur had spooned against her back, his limbs thrown across hers so that his hand and a foot touched Eames.
They slept deeply and easily around him, a trust he wasn't sure he had earned. They didn't know him, not really, though he was the most honest around them that he could be. But he remained silent and merely shrugged at Ariadne, sitting down at the kitchen counter across from her. She still had that ready smile for him, a soft thing he wasn't sure he deserved. She slid over a plate and he ate the sandwich, watching her move around the kitchen as she got out glasses and milk. She had done the grocery shopping yesterday, restocking their supplies while Arthur was out acquiring antibiotics and pain medication for Eames.
Somehow they got around to talking about quieter times, and Eames found that the half truths he was telling her didn't sit right in his mouth. He wanted to tell her the truth, that there was never really down time, that he was always on the move, always looking for the next thing to do. It wasn't safe to stay still, to put down roots, to give a shit or want anything. But that didn't sound right, either, because it wasn't entirely true.
It was terrifying that he wanted to tell her the truth, any truth, even if he didn't know what it was.
He was tempted to check his totem, even though he knew this was real with a frightening clarity. He never could have dreamed up someone like Ariadne. Arthur, sure, because the man had layers that only a privileged few ever got to see. Eames knew how that worked. But Ariadne was a startling combination of fierce strength and determination, raw talent and a heart as big as the dreaming. He had never known anyone like her before. Ariadne offered to play cards with him to pass the time, and he accepted readily. No need to really talk, then. No need to rip his chest open to expose the blackened heart inside.
"You're awfully quiet," Ariadne murmured softly. She looked up as she dealt a hand of rummy. "Does it still hurt? I can get the Vicodin..."
"No, I'm fine." The pain kept him sharp. It reminded him he was still alive. He needed that right now. He needed to know he wasn't dreaming this.
She nodded and held her cards loosely in her hands. For all her naivete, Eames didn't know her tells. It bothered him that he didn't know them, that he could read her so well in some ways, and in other ways she was completely foreign to him. He should know her thoughts, know what her motivations were. Love wasn't enough, he knew that. There had to be something more to this than just love, however nice it was to have that.
"You're thinking too hard about something, then," Ariadne replied. She reached across the table and touched the furrowed lines in his brow. "If it's not pain that's bothering you, what is?"
Belonging. Hurting you. Arthur. Everything.
Eames picked up his hand and looked at the cards without really seeing them. "I suppose I'm tired," he said gently, willing her to believe the lie.
"Reasonable," she said, a trifle uncertain. "But this is more than that, isn't it?" She put down her cards, folded primly and face down. Eames didn't even bother to hide his, and he wondered what that said about him. "What is it? Do you need to leave?" There was a quiet pain in her voice, though Eames could barely hear it beneath acceptance. Whatever he decided to do, she would accept it and would help him with it. He knew that.
He looked at her in dawning horror. "No. No, Ariadne, I'm not leaving."
Her relief was palpable, and Eames felt like shit. He was being selfish. He was taking everything from her, from Arthur, and he couldn't give them back anything but empty shells, none of which were really him. He was like one of those Russian nesting dolls, different faces buried within each other, only he didn't think there was a doll inside the last shell.
"I'm just tired. Tired of running, tired of each new face. Just... tired." He shrugged. "No way to explain it, really. I've been in the business a long time."
Ariadne frowned. "You know Arthur keeps dossiers on everyone he's ever worked with?"
"I hadn't, but it sounds like him," Eames replied. His voice was even, though he was starting to feel wariness creep in. He didn't know where she was going with this.
"There's a lot of things he couldn't track," Ariadne said softly, gathering up all the cards to reshuffle them. "But I know there's always things between the lines, things that never show up in official records. I'd listen if you ever want to talk about it."
Her quiet words hit him like a fist in the solar plexus. He couldn't breathe as he watched her slim fingers shuffle the cards, eyes downcast and lashes dark against her cheeks. "I don't deserve you," he found himself saying, not sure why he had said it aloud.
She looked up then, chuckling with a fond smile on her face. "No, you probably don't. Don't worry. Arthur doesn't deserve me, either."
Eames laughed out loud then, an honest sound that had him almost startled. She was disarming him, one layer at a time, and he couldn't even see how it happened. He trusted her, and trusted that she didn't want anything in return from him than honesty and affection. She wouldn't even ask for love if he wasn't willing to give it, and it hurt him to realize that. She deserved better than that. She had better than that with Arthur. Why the fuck would she want him?
He hadn't realized he had said it aloud until he saw the smoldering cast to her eyes. They seemed almost golden in the slanting afternoon light. "Because I love you, Eames. Whatever I can see, whatever I can't. It doesn't have to make sense, it just is."
"How can Arthur accept that? How can he love me, too?" Eames asked, vaguely aware of the thread of pain in his voice.
"You can't help who you love," Ariadne told him quietly. "And there's all different kinds, aren't there? Sometimes it's blinding, sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it's enough to feel like home, no matter where in the world you are." Her smile was shy, and Eames knew it wasn't a coquettish affectation. As fierce as she could be, she was still a little shy and uncertain about their burgeoning relationship. It was new to her, he realized suddenly. Everything was wide open and unknown, yet she still ran headlong into it, just as she had with the dream share.
"I like you, Eames," she continued, unaware of his little epiphany. "I care what happens to you and I want you to be safe. I want to know more about you, why you smile, how you got into this whole mess of a career." There was a faint pink sheen to her cheeks, not quite a blush. "The other night was wonderful. I don't want to lose that."
The three of them hadn't had sex since they got back to Paris, mostly because Arthur had been looking into the job Pietro offered them. He had felt obligated to accept, since he still felt vaguely guilty that the four of them had gotten shot at. This was his way of apologizing, and his usual preoccupation with a job meant that there had been mostly heavy petting and eyesex, but no actual sex. That had been fine with Eames, given his wounds and the creeping feeling in the back of his head that he was nothing more than an intrusion into their lives.
"And Arthur?"
"Keeps everything tucked into his inner vest pocket," Ariadne said with a laugh. "I don't think he'd tell you this, but it's the same way for him."
Eames thought of his expression when they were working on the last job, the dark and angry look there when Eames was sliding one lie after another across his lips, the pain and disappointment when Arthur called him on his bullshit. He never did fight back when Eames needled him, when Eames wanted to get his temper going. Eames knew how to respond to another man's temper. He knew how to duck the blows when they came. He hated the quiet. It felt like waiting for the end of the world to happen.
"What do you mean?" he asked quietly. He could feel himself pulling on a mask, though he didn't know whose it was. He had been far too many different people, and he was losing track of who he was supposed to be underneath it all.
"He cares what happens to you. He told me for a long time that he kept track of where you were, just in case you needed him. He probably meant bailing you out of jail," she added with a wry twist of her lips, making Eames laugh. "But he wanted to make sure you were safe, without making you feel like he was undermining you."
"He said all that?"
"Well, no. But he doesn't have to. He takes care of the people he cares about. He watches over them the best he can. He's horrible about making them stop being stupid. I mean, look at the whole thing with Cobb. He knew things were going bad but didn't do a whole lot about it because they were friends."
"So loyalty can be a bad thing." It was a truth that Eames already knew, but he was sad that Ariadne realized it, too.
Ariadne shook her head, surprising him. "Not a bad thing. But a blinding thing. He's got his blind spots, too. We all do. We're not perfect, Eames." She looked down at the deck of cards in her hands, then after a moment decided to deal out a new hand of rummy. "We might do something stupid with this. I don't know. Neither of us have done this before, and you had a bad experience once." She stopped talking when she saw his tight-lipped expression. "We don't want to hurt you, Eames. We really don't."
Eames looked into her plaintive, vulnerable expression. He knew how to fake an expression like that, but he had hidden his real one away long ago. Reaching across the table, he took her hands in his. "I believe you, Ariadne. I wouldn't be here right now if I didn't believe that."
She smiled, relief in the lines of her face and shoulders. "I'll win this time."
He looked down at his hand, though he knew that her words could apply to more than just the game. "If this was poker, I'd win."
Ariadne laughed and waited for his move. "C'mon, slowpoke. Your turn."
Yes, it was, wasn't it? He put some cards down, looking at Ariadne's delighted expression that he was playing the game with her. She threw herself into everything, no artifice at all. She was real, oh so very painfully real, and he found he didn't know how to respond to that. It had been far too long since he had been just himself, far too long since someone had wanted only the truth and whatever he was willing to give.
Every moment with her and Arthur was a revelation and a gift he was certain he didn't deserve.
Though they didn't ask it of him, he was going to have to do something to pay them back.
***
Ariadne dove across the bed to pick up her cell phone on the second ring. It was some kind of marching tune, and the light in her eyes told Eames that it was Arthur. She had that silly lovestruck grin on her face as she answered the phone. "Do you have any idea what time it is here?" she said in a mockingly stern voice. "I'm all dressed for bed."
Dressed for bed was a nightie that didn't even reach her knees and a pair of plain white cotton panties. The sight still had Eames salivating.
He limped toward the bed and she turned to face him, that same lovestruck expression as she looked at him. "Yes, he's right here. He's been very good about keeping off his leg as much as possible right now. We just changed the dressing." She made a kissing face at him and grinned, sitting up in bed with her legs splayed out in front of her. "I'm no doctor," she continued, "but it doesn't look so horrible. We probably don't have to find Sebastien to take a look at it." Ariadne grinned as Eames sat on the edge of the bed. "Trust me on this, Eames, Sebastien is a mean bastard and he knows he's the best underground surgeon."
Eames knew of him, and had needed his services a few times. He nodded and sprawled across the bed, watching Ariadne's face as she talked with Arthur. He shook his head when she offered to hand the phone over so he could talk to Arthur, too. On impulse, he drew her panties down her legs and tossed them over his shoulder. She looked at him with wide eyes, so startled that she missed what Arthur was saying and had to ask him to repeat it.
Grinning at her, he carefully leaned down on the bed, resting his weight on his good arm and slowly licked a trail along the inside of her leg. It took a little shimmy to get above her knee, but the catch in her breath was absolutely worth it. "Y-yes," she stammered in reply to whatever Arthur was saying. She spread her legs wider for him, and Eames gave her an appreciative nod before he shimmied forward on the bed so that he could bury his face between her thighs. "If your architect is that bad," she began, trying to keep her voice even, "then do you want us to fly out to meet you? I miss you already," she added, her voice taking on a breathy tone as Eames' tongue swirled around her clit. She had the phone in a white knuckled grip in her hand, the other clenched in the sheets.
Closer to the phone now, Eames could hear Arthur's gusty sigh. "I know, but we owe Pietro. It was supposed to be a safe enough lookout job."
"At least it'll be fast," she said, then bit her lip as Eames slid a finger into her. She let her eyes slide shut as she tilted her hips toward his mouth and hand, her thighs trembling.
"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, sounding almost suspicious. "You haven't used the code yet, but you don't sound right."
They had a code for phone calls. Of course they did. Eames had to grin against her mound. It was just so very Arthur, a way to take some kind of control and make himself feel better if he couldn't be right by Ariadne's side all the time. He slipped another finger into Ariadne and sucked on her clit hard enough to make her moan.
Arthur cleared his throat. "Eames is in bed with you, isn't he?" He chuckled at the strangled sound Ariadne made in reply. "Put me on speaker."
"Arthur," she gasped, arching up against Eames' mouth. She managed to put the call on speaker after his second request, and she put the phone down on the bed beside them. She put that hand against her mouth to muffle her cries a bit, and she writhed helplessly in reaction to Eames' steady strokes.
"Eames," Arthur said with a sigh. They could both hear the rasp of a zipper on his end of the line, then the sound of his belt hitting the floor. "Tell me what's happening. I don't think Ariadne can talk all that coherently right now."
It took a moment, because Ariadne was clenching down hard around his fingers and coming as he sucked on her clit. Lifting his head and smiling, Eames chuckled. "She tastes fantastic, Arthur. Too bad you're in Egypt."
"Bastard," Arthur said without heat. "What are you doing?" There was a desperate, needy edge to his voice. It wasn't too difficult to imagine him taking his cock in hand and pretending they were with him in his hotel room.
"I've got two fingers working on her and I was having a good time making Ariadne come." Eames gave Ariadne a lusty smile. "Shall we go for three, love? Make Arthur jealous he's not here with us?" She nodded helplessly, as he curled his fingers inside of her and brushed his thumb over her clit in maddening, lazy circles.
"Yes," she whimpered when she caught her breath. "Please." She let out an incoherent moan when he slid the third finger in, not disrupting his steady strokes. "That feels so good," she panted, twisting beneath Eames.
There was a soft sound from low in Arthur's throat. "You miss me, don't you?" he asked, voice heavy with lust. "You wish I was there?"
"Yes," she whimpered as Eames merely laughed and said "You're missing all the fun, Arthur."
Arthur let out a filthy curse in a language Eames didn't know. It made Eames laugh, his lips pressed against the inside of her thigh. He was practically memorizing the shape of her from the inside out, and he felt Ariadne tighten abruptly. "I'm close again," she gasped, moving one of her hands down to cup her own breast and pull at the nipple. "Oh, God, that, keep doing that," she moaned.
"Put your mouth on her again, Eames," Arthur instructed, his voice rough and breath coming in quick pants. "Ariadne, when you feel that, that's me. It's his fingers in you, but it's my mouth on you, okay? I'm there, I'm tasting you." Eames smiled and bent his head down to lick at her clit again, making her let out a high pitched whining sound. It went straight to his groin, and he simply closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her desire. Arthur hadn't stopped talking, just kept repeating that it was his tongue on her skin, his mouth over her, that he wanted her to feel how much he wanted to be there doing that in person.
Ariadne came with a cry, thighs trembling around Eames' head. Arthur let out a soft grunt over the phone and then a long, satisfied sigh. It was silent but for their harsh breathing, and Eames slowed his strokes. It almost didn't seem fair to bring Ariadne off again while Arthur seemed spent. He rose to his elbow and looked over at the phone. "Doing all right there, Arthur?" he asked, satisfaction creeping into his voice. He met Ariadne's eyes as he licked his fingers with relish, enjoying both the taste of her and her breathless reaction to the sight of him still between her spread legs.
"Y-Yeah," Arthur replied, his voice a trifle shaky. "Doing all right. God, I fucking miss you both."
"How soon until you come home?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice, too. Her breathing was still erratic, and she was reaching for Eames with one hand.
"We've had more complicated jobs," Arthur admitted. Eames could almost hear him click over into professional mode, even if he must have been sprawled across a bed somewhere with his pants around his ankles and his hand on his cock. "Maybe another week and a half, two weeks on the outside, just to be sure. The subject's protected, but we can get to him."
"Do you need us?" Ariadne asked, breath short when Eames pressed his fingers against her entrance again.
"Personally? Yeah. But they've got an architect and extractor already."
"I'm sure we can keep each other entertained," Eames said, working his own belt free. Ariadne leaned forward a little to help him.
"Dammit," Arthur growled. "Why did I think this was a good idea again?" he said with a sigh. It wasn't jealousy that Eames heard, not in the sense that he had been afraid of. It was more of a wistful note, that he was regretting being so work oriented and taking Pietro's job offer. "I can see about hurrying up the team, try to get home quicker."
Eames let out a pleased sigh as he sank into Ariadne's wet heat. "If you can," he said, leaning over Ariadne the best that he could. He was balanced on his good leg and arm, each slow thrust making the wound in his right leg ache. "We do miss you," he admitted.
"I love you, Arthur," Ariadne gasped even as she slid her hands around Eames' torso.
"I love you, Ariadne," he replied. "I even love you, too, Eames," he said, smile obvious in his voice.
Eames could hear the heartfelt emotion in his voice, and it made his rhythm stutter for a moment. "Yeah?" He laughed at Arthur's affirmative reply. "Well, good. I do love you, too."
There was relief in Arthur's voice when he bid them goodnight and hung up. Eames picked up his rhythm again, looking deep into Ariadne's eyes. The words had been easy enough to say; he'd said them thousands of times to thousands of people, but hadn't always meant it. It was almost instinct to say it back when he heard them, but it hadn't been instinct this time. This time he had actually meant it, and he looked at Ariadne in wonder. His orgasm came by surprise, and he cried out before catching himself on his good arm so that he didn't collapse over Ariadne's petite frame. She was smiling up at him, even if she hadn't come again, as if just the feel of him inside her was enough to make her happy.
"What's that for?" he asked, tracing her smile with the fingers of his left hand. He didn't mind the burn along his deltoid muscle at all. That helped make this real, too.
"This. Us. The three of us, I mean. We'd talked about it, a little, but..." Her grin at him was the same lovestruck one she had when thinking of Arthur. "This is better than I'd hoped it would be. We all fit, you know?"
No, he didn't, not quite, but he was willing to let that slide. He knew how to fit in, but he didn't know how to make it stick. He was always becoming someone else, anything else, and he didn't always know what was real about himself anymore. Eames merely traced the curve of her lips and smiled at her, a confident one he didn't quite feel. He didn't know what he was doing either, though he was willing to push away the irrational doubts and fears that kept creeping back into his head when he least expected it. "I've an idea, Ariadne."
"Yeah? What is it?"
"Let's go meet Arthur in Alexandria. It'll be a lovely surprise for him."
She brightened. "That's perfect." She leaned up and kissed him, a hand cupping his face. She had looked tiny and fragile beneath him, but her touch was strong and sure. She was confident about this. Maybe he could be, too.
The End