Secondhand Shadow, 4/5. NC-17. Ariadne/Eames.
Title: Secondhand Shadow
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ariadne/Eames.
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan or the DC Universe. I'll put their toys back where I found them when I'm done messing with them :)
Spoilers/Warnings: Crossover of Inception and The Dark Knight Rises. inception_kink meme prompt in round 19: "...And I mean that. It's not just a line."
Summary: Forging involves breaking down the original personality and grafting a new one over it. Eames is one of the best in the business because his forges are flawless. So far, he had managed to avoid any complications or aftereffects from his forges. But forging Bane is a whole new experience, and pushes his skills to the next level. Including Bane bleeding through after the job is done.
Previous chapters:
One - A Job Like No Other
Two - Exploration
Three - Establishing New Rules
Four - Marking Territory
Yusuf prided himself on being aware of the rhythms of Mombasa and the various underworld syndicates. He didn't favor any groups over others and let it be known that his primary concern had always been his lab. Fewer people were aware of the dreaming den; the ten men dreaming away had been carefully vetted long before he even offered the possibility. He knew Isak would never reveal the den, and carefully watched over the dreamers during the day. He had his reasons to do so, and Yusuf would never reveal them. Isak was very conscientious and diligent, which was what he needed.
He heard whispers about the League of Shadows moving into Kenya, hunting for whoever may have wronged them. Yusuf assumed it was Berenger that the whispers were about and made no changes in his routine. He went to the market, did his laundry, brewed the chemical compounds he needed to make for outstanding orders.
When there was a stranger standing in his doorway with dark eyes hinting at a darker soul behind it, Yusuf knew immediately it was a League man. "Brother," he said as greeting, nodding and gesturing toward his door with the package he was carrying. "Since your hands are available, can you open the door for me?" The man obliged and followed Yusuf into his shop.
Once his packages were settled, Yusuf offered tea as was his custom, which the man refused. "So how may I be of service? Are there compounds your brothers need?"
He paused. "You are a friend to the League. The venom you continue to craft for our use is invaluable," the man admitted.
"Glad to be of service," Yusuf replied in neutral tones when the man paused again. "Do you have need of more?"
"Yes, we do." There was another long pause. "There was a man, not local, but recently from here, who sought to profit unseemingly from the Brotherhood."
"Ah," Yusuf murmured sagely. "Terrible mischief."
"He had uncanny knowledge of our dealings."
"I heard Berenger planned to trade with one of your number and thought him a fool for it," Yusuf told him. "I also heard he was killed for the trouble."
The man stared at Yusuf with his dark soulless eyes. Yusuf returned the stare despite feeling a shiver roll down his spine. "Yes, he was. Most fittingly."
"Well, the League must patrol its own affairs," Yusuf replied evenly. "If a fool wishes to throw his life away, I'm not one to aid or stop him. Unless he wishes to purchase compounds. Those could aid or stop a man, but I don't ask what becomes of the supply once it's been purchased. They no longer belong to me, and become tools to whoever did the purchasing."
The man looked at Yusuf for a long time, weighing his words. Finally he gave a sharp nod of acceptance. "Such is truth. This is why you are friend to the League. True neutrals are difficult to find and maintain."
"I intend to stay that way, brother."
He nodded again. "Just so," he agreed. "Standard shipment, then. Shall we expect the doses in the usual amount of time?"
Yusuf thought of the number of vials he had left in his shop. He wasn't expecting an order request for a few weeks yet, and hadn't put in his standard orders with his favorite glassware distributors. "If not the usual amount of time, perhaps a day or so later. I may be low on components, and I do believe I don't have enough vials to complete the order."
The man in black nodded, then peeled several bills off of a roll in his pocket. The total was easily half of the usual payment for the venom. "This should help expedite matters. The normal payment will arrive when we get the venom we need."
"Very good," Yusuf said with a slight bob of his head. "I'll go procure the necessary ingredients right away."
The League member let himself out of Yusuf's shop, and he sank into a chair afterward. He had always let it be known he was neutral. He wanted no part in any crime war and didn't want to be involved past his own chemical creations. It never occurred to him that he would be doubted, that his life would hang in the balance.
Then he thought of Eames, and poor Ariadne caught in his troubled wake.
All he could do was warn her and pray for their souls.
***
Eames returned home after putting out feelers for a strike team. He would never bring Ariadne with him to Athens and he didn't think Arthur's skill set would work well for razing a city to the ground. He liked how attentive Ariadne was being, hanging onto his stories over the past two or three weeks. She would have to leave for Paris to defend her thesis soon, and Eames would have to let her go. He wasn't looking forward to it, and not just because he liked having her in his bed. That was certainly enjoyable, and she put in the effort to please him in multiple ways. He had found the dog eared kama sutra she had purchased, lips twitching in amusement as he took in the post-it notes with her comments carefully printed on them. Eames thought of putting his own comments in the margins, but replaced it in her hiding place. He liked the thought of her wanting to impress and pleasure him, wanting to keep a place with him.
Her place was secure of course, but it was nice to know how much effort she was putting in to staying there.
This wasn't to say that he didn't exert similar effort toward pleasing her. As often as she took the lead in bed, pushing him down and taking him into her mouth, Eames also hovered over her sprawled body and teased her near to madness. He had memorized all her secret, soft places, cataloguing the sound of her sighs and moans. He liked the influence that he held over her at those moments. There was satisfaction in knowing that her pleasure came from his lips and hands and tongue, that her body molded to his without even a flicker of fear or restraint. At times she seemed almost reluctant to touch him, as if somehow she was still shy around him. That only endeared her to him more, and Eames was sure that no one else had the power to break down her defenses and render her speechless with as much ease as he could.
Ariadne belonged to him; there was no good way to explain in words the driving need that he had for her. She didn't love him, not in any conventional sense; he knew that and wasn't bothered by that fact in the slightest. What he felt for her wasn't love either, but something far more intense and essential for his wellbeing. Love was too paltry and childish a word to describe the emotion that drove him. Ariadne was his, body and soul, and nothing she or anyone did would ever change that. Even leaving for Paris wouldn't mitigate that fact. If she fell in love with someone else, Eames might even be persuaded to allow that alliance, as long as she understood her place in his life.
Eames powered on her laptop. She had been on it more often recently, and he doubted it was to check for more erotic suggestions or inspiration. Ariadne might not have been aware of it, but there had been subtle tension in the set of her shoulders, a distance in her eyes and the downward cast to her mouth. He was well versed in these subtleties, and he knew that it meant she was keeping a secret from him.
Ariadne was important to him, but he was neither blind nor stupid. She was young and very inexperienced in the world that he lived in. Eames was aware that in her ignorance she could be easily swayed and deluded, and he would have to correct her errors. Ariadne might not love him, but she did care for him very much. She would never harm him intentionally.
It was the unintentional harm that she could do that mattered.
Quickly moving through her browser history, saved tabs, bookmarks, documents and e-mails, Eames had a very good picture of her online activities. Interspersed with discussion about her thesis, travel plans and queries about local cuisine or tourist attractions, Ariadne was also collecting information about Eames' background. He had no difficulty in trawling through her deleted files, finding even more queries and gathered bits of information about him. Much of it was suppressed and there was quite a lot of innuendo and misinformation in the dream share world about him and the origin of his skills. Few people knew anything accurate, and he had always liked it that way. Arthur and Yusuf seemed to be supplying some detail, and through them she had met a number of his old contacts online to gather information.
I'm concerned for him, she wrote to Arthur. This isn't the same man I met in Paris, even though I can't explain it. Sometimes I see him, and at other times I see someone completely different. He frightens me, that other man. I don't know how else to bring Eames back, but it doesn't seem to be working so far.
"Ah, Ariadne, you poor innocent," Eames murmured, looking through her e-mails.
She would have to be taught that there were repercussions for going behind his back this way.
***
Ariadne returned to Eames' flat from the market. It was quiet, but Eames had said he would be out for the day, so she didn't think anything of it. She hummed along with the song on her Ipod as she put everything away, swaying a bit. After a moment the humming turned into discordant singing, her eyes closed a little as she belted out the chorus.
She shrieked when a hand closed over her shoulder. She clawed at the hand and whirled around, bringing up her other hand to connect with the attacker's throat. At least, that was the plan.
Eames easily dodged her attack, and he held her arms above her head with one of his. It made her feel even more tiny and helpless, and a spark of true fear wound its way into her heart. The look he gave her was somewhat indulgent, but there was still a darkness beneath that which gave her pause. He was amused, but it was not likely to be the sort of amusement that led to fun things or little jokes between the two of them. This was the sort of amusement that someone took in the destruction of an enemy, and Ariadne managed not to cry out in dismay or terror at the look in his eyes. He was judging her, and she knew he found her wanting.
"You scared me," she gasped, dangling above the floor.
"I know," he replied blandly. "That was rather the point."
"What's going on, Eames? Put me down."
"I have your attention this way," he replied, no inflection to his tone. "You tell me what you've been doing online, Ariadne." His face was right in front of hers, and his blue eyes were suddenly cold. "You've been asking questions. Very interesting questions with dangerous answers that are not your place to ask." He nodded when she blanched. "I told you not to do this."
"I've been worried about you," she replied, her eyes wide. "You're not yourself-"
"Did you really think you could know me?" he asked, voice sounding cool and collected. That wasn't comforting, however. She wasn't stupid, and there was nothing she could do to stop him if he truly wanted to harm her.
She whispered the name he had been given at birth, which didn't seem to have any impact. She had tried planting reminders of his childhood around the apartment. There hadn't been any appreciable difference with that either, and the only thing that seemed to keep him calm was her presence nearby. That had to mean something, if only she could figure it out.
"You belong to me, Ariadne," he said in a matter of fact tone. It was almost as if he could hear her troubled thoughts. "Your actions were not with my approval, and you must be punished for disobeying me."
Her golden eyes were wide with fear. "What are you going to do?"
His smile did nothing to calm her nerves. "Don't you trust me, darling?"
"Not anymore," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I want to, but I can't." She wanted to say "I trust you," but that would be a lie. She was sick of lies, of living in shadows, of wondering when Bane would look out of his eyes.
"I told you, Ariadne," he said, walking toward the bedroom, still holding her above the floor by her wrists. He didn't seem affected by her words at all. "You are mine, and I am in control. You must accept this."
"Eames," she whispered, her throat closing up tight. "I just needed to know more, I'm not trying to hurt you."
"Yes, you did the same with Cobb, did you not? Justified it by saying it was for the good of the team. And it was, so this only emboldened you to go further. Hm? Isn't that so?" he asked, bringing her to the bed. He laid her down and moved over her, straddling her waist and making her feel utterly helpless beneath his bulk.
"You're scaring me," she said in a quiet voice, hoping she could get through to him. He was simply staring down at her, his face an unreadable mask. Pulling her hands didn't even move him, leaving her still pinned.
It would be hot if she wasn't also terrified of what he might be thinking.
"Eames," she said, sensing that his birth name would only make him even angrier. She had found out more than she thought she would. His birth father had walked out on his mother before he was even born, and there was no other family but her. Eames had grown up on an estate in England, did poorly at school due to lack of interest and enlisted in the army to avoid local gangs. That hadn't worked out well at all, and there were sealed records Arthur hadn't been able to dig up. He had left the army and stumbled into dream share; Ariadne couldn't imagine what he had to do in order to be the best forger in the business. She was an utter novice at illegal activity, and dream share still didn't feel like something dangerous.
Instead of answering her, Eames leaned over her and then tied her hands to the headboard. She tried struggling at first, but there was no budging him. "What are you going to do?" she whimpered when he reached for a knife.
"Do you really think I would hurt you?" he asked quietly, pain in his voice. His eyes shifted slightly, and he looked less like a murderous thug and more like the Eames she knew.
"I don't know anymore. I don't know you. You're scaring me, you've been scaring me. I had to start looking into who you were. I wanted to bring you back, so you could be the man I remember. I don't know what else to do."
"I know. I looked through your e-mails, at what you were able to gather about the older versions of me." His expression shifted again, slipping into something more like a neutral mask. Ariadne hated it. "I told you," he said in quiet tones, the edge of the knife touching her arm. There was no expression on his face now, none at all, and she didn't know if she was dealing with Eames, Bane or some frightening mix of the two. "I'm in control of the situation, Ariadne. It isn't your place to question what I do or how I do it. This isn't your world, darling. You build things, but you don't know about the darkness that lies just beneath the surface of dreams. You don't see the corruption that exists, don't know how to purge it from the world. For a time I thought you might see that, but I don't think you really understand it, do you?" He paused, but he wasn't truly expecting an answer.
"You're precious to me, Ariadne," Eames said, and there was something in his voice that sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn't a threat, and she couldn't explain the feeling in words. He wasn't menacing or angry, but it was the fact that she didn't know what she was dealing with that frightened her the most.
If he wasn't going to kill her and he wasn't angry with her, why did he tie her up? What was he planning to do with her?
"My devotion doesn't make me blind," he continued slowly, the knife moving along the rise of her chest, over her clothes. It took a moment for her to realize that he was slicing through the fabric. "You disobeyed me, Ariadne. I cannot have that, not if I am to guarantee your safety." He brought the knife further down, cutting into the rest of her clothing. "You see," he continued, voice an almost jaunty approximation of Eames' old cadence. "I know what I'm doing, what needs to be done. You don't. You stumble and falter, and before you know it, you'll make a fatal error somewhere, and I won't be there to save you. I gather you don't like the idea of needing to be saved, but there you have it. You don't know enough about this world to survive in it. I gave you rules for a reason, and they exist for your protection."
Ariadne couldn't speak, and simply watched him with a feeling of dread in her stomach. She winced when he ripped her clothes apart, then tried to twist out from under him. Eames placed the knife on the bedside table and placed his hand on her stomach. "Eames," she whispered, looking at him with a pleading expression.
"You need to be punished," he said, a gleam in his eye as he contemplated her. "But I won't hurt you. I never could. But kindness? That can hurt just as much as pain can."
"What are you talking about?"
He removed strips of her ruined clothing, making her flinch at the sound of ripping fabric. He tied it around her head, following her as she tried to jerk and move. Frustrated, he finally held her head in his hands firmly and bent over to whisper in her ear. "You're mine, Ariadne. Love is too feeble a word for this, and it's high time you understood this."
"What are you going to do?" she asked, lips trembling. She tried pulling at her bound wrists, but that only seemed to pull the knots tighter.
She jerked when he let her go and climbed off of the bed. "Eames?" she asked when he fell silent. She could just barely make out the sound of cloth rustling, as if he was undressing, and she turned toward it. "Eames?" she asked a little louder.
"So eager for your punishment, darling?" he asked, his voice closer than she thought it would be.
Ariadne blinked beneath the blindfold, turning toward the sound of his voice. "I can't see you," she murmured in a soft voice. "What are you going to do?"
"Whatever I want to do, darling," he murmured, voice coming from somewhere near her midsection. She jerked when his lips brushed across her abdomen. "You can't stop me, and you can't see me. But you'll feel me. Oh, you'll feel me. It'll be that much more intense for you now, and I know all the places you like."
Her cheeks were flaming, and her insides seemed to melt with want. "But-"
"Where's the punishment?" he asked, voice lilting in amusement.
"Yeah. How is that a punishment?"
"Who said anything about letting you come?" Eames asked, breath warm against her navel.
Ariadne shivered at the sound of his voice and the feel of his breath on her skin. She didn't know where he was, exactly, and she felt chilled despite the Kenyan heat. She gasped when his mouth came down over a breast, licking and teasing the nipple. He had endless patience with this, and continued for a longer amount of time than usual. She shifted restlessly beneath his mouth, feeling her desire mounting. He knew what she liked by now, and Ariadne could feel Eames smiling against her breast as she moaned. Part of her wanted to curse at him for doing this, and another part wanted to beg him to fuck her now.
Eames continued licking and sucking at her until her skin felt almost numb from overexposure and constant touch. When he realized that she wasn't moaning as much, he switched breasts and started all over again, fingers skimming across her hips and stomach. He only touched her lightly, soft strokes that didn't really distract from the sensation of his mouth on her breast, his tongue laving the nipple. He had always been generous with his attention before, but now this was at ridiculous levels.
When that breast seemed to grow insensitive, he moved to kiss and lick at her skin, moving around her entire torso and stomach. Ariadne squirmed and wriggled, trying to get some friction between her legs where she wanted it most. Eames chuckled and moved away, the bastard, then laid featherlight touches across her inner thigh. "Too bad this isn't enough to make you come."
"Eames," Ariadne began, a slight whine to her voice.
He surged up and clasped her face in his hands. He kissed her thoroughly, tongue in her mouth and licking into it with an intensity that left her breathless. She longed to grasp hold of his shoulders, trace the muscles beneath his skin, thread her fingers through his hair. All she could do was wrap her legs around him and try to tilt her hips to grind down against him. Eames chuckled against her mouth and moved sinuously so that she couldn't actually rub against him in a way to get relief. "Nice try," he murmured.
"Can you blame me?"
"Yes," he murmured, nipping at her lip. He moved to kiss her jaw and neck, then licked at her collarbone as he unwrapped her legs. She made a mewling sound of disappointment, which only made him chuckle.
The sensation of something cold and sharp against the skin of her stomach gave her pause. "Is that the knife?" she asked, voice tremulous.
"Yes. Is that a problem?" he asked her, moving the cold steel against her skin in idle patterns.
She was wet from his earlier attentions, but for now she was mostly scared. "Knife play isn't my idea of a good time," she told him, hoping this wasn't all a lead in to slicing her open.
"Pity. Sometimes with heightened senses it can feel amazing."
Ariadne cringed backward into the bed as far as she could, but Eames merely followed her. It didn't feel as though he was cutting her, but just using the edge to introduce a new sensation against her skin. Without seeing anything, all she could do was feel the cold metal tracing patterns and calling up gooseflesh. After a moment of writhing beneath the knife, it almost seemed as though the tracings were not random at all. It felt almost like he was writing on her skin with the blunt edge of the blade, loops and whorls that might have been cursive script. Concentrating on identifying the motions helped draw her mind away from the fact that it was a blade, and she could almost understand what Eames meant by this feeling amazing.
"There you go," he crooned, completing another swirling motion. "Let go, Ariadne. Give up control to me."
This was more than just for sex, she was sure of it.
Ariadne twisted slightly, moaning as his lips came down to touch the inside of her knee. She had no idea how he was contorting himself, but it didn't matter. There was the clatter of the knife hitting the floor, then his fingers were tracing the whorls and loops across her skin. The pads were rough, especially compared to the softness of his lips and hair on the inside of her thigh. She splayed her legs wide to give him room, making him laugh. After a moment he did oblige her, dipping his head between her legs right where she wanted him. He nuzzled her first, the barest edge of stubble rubbing at the sensitive skin. Then he licked at her flesh, fingers stroking her knees occasionally.
When she was too close but not quite to the edge of orgasm, Eames moved away. Ariadne groaned and tried to twist herself as if she could reach for him. Something soft and feathery touched her torso, right below her sternum, and it traced lazy circles and swirling designs across her skin. It tickled, making her laugh and twist away from him, bringing her down from the high without frightening her the way the knife would have. Eames knew her too well by now, and when his mouth descended over hers, she enthusiastically kissed him back.
One hand slid down her body and then curled around her sex. Eames traced her slick folds without sliding inside her wet heat, making her groan in frustration. "Come on," she whined, pulling at her restraints and trying to turn toward his body. "Eames, I need you inside me."
"Oh, you do?" he asked, voice lazy and amused. It was maddening, especially when he drew his hand away from her center. "I could possibly oblige you."
She felt his cock press against her lips, and she knew it wasn't going to be over soon. He was going to torment her before giving her relief, then. It took a long time for him to recover from an orgasm; usually Ariadne tried not to have him come in her mouth if she planned to do anything else to him. She wasn't in control in this situation, but she could refuse to suck on his cock if she really wanted to. It would be easier to play along with this game of his. If anything, being on the receiving end of this kind of attention had been a fantasy of hers for a while now.
Eames made an approving noise as she took him as far as she could. "I'm going to push you today, darling," he warned her. She could feel his weight shift on the bed slightly, and heard the creak of the headboard. Another moment and one of his hands came to brace her head as he slowly pushed deeper into her mouth. "Relax. Let go of everything, and realize what this truly means."
There were loopholes to this, she was sure. If he thought he was in control of her, then she wouldn't actually have to bend over backward for him. If he thought he had the upper hand, then she could still figure out what the hell she could do to reverse the damage done to him in Gotham City.
Ariadne tried, she really did, but she had a strong gag reflex and she choked when Eames pushed a little too far. He withdrew from her mouth, hissing at the scraping of teeth. She coughed and turned her head, making little choking sounds. "Too fast," she gasped after a moment.
"I gathered that," he remarked dryly. His fingers on her cheeks were gentle, moving to tenderly stroke her shoulders and arms. "Ready to try again?"
"Yeah, I can try again."
He was slower this time, a little less bold with his thrusts into her mouth. Starting with shallow thrusts, he slowly deepened his strokes a little at a time. She did her best to run her tongue along his length, but after a while all she could do was add a little suction. It was enough to have him hiss in pleasure, his fingers tightening across the back of her skull. Though she didn't usually swallow, there was no getting around it now.
Afterward, Eames withdrew from her mouth with a little popping sound, and he lavished her body with kisses, licks and touches. Now his fingers slid inside her slicked folds as his lips closed over her clit. He worked her back to that edge of orgasm, then moved away to stroke her thighs with his fingers and lips. Ariadne groaned and called out for him to fuck her already, she couldn't take more of this kind of teasing. "Oh, you can," he murmured, licking everything except her clit. "And you will if I want you to."
His mouth was back over her breasts, suckling and teasing her again. She writhed and moaned as he teased her, not even caring anymore what she sounded like. There was just his mouth, his fingers and whatever soft materials he drew across her sensitized skin. Panting hard enough that her mouth was dry, Ariadne couldn't do much more than make breathless squeaking sounds. That seemed to be Eames' endgame, however. He pulled back and then his cock was slamming deeply into her, making her cry out in satisfaction. Eames rode her hard, pulling the blindfold from her eyes at a random moment.
When she finally came, her entire body shook. It felt as though her heart was about to stop in her chest. Still trembling when he pulled out, Ariadne watched helplessly as he untied her from the bed and then covered her with a blanket. "Sleep," he urged her, tucking in the edges of the blanket as if she was a small child. There was enough of that darkly possessive gaze to keep Ariadne from making a sarcastic retort.
Eames kissed her forehead tenderly, then locked her into the bedroom.
***
***
To Chapter Five - Clearing The Air
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ariadne/Eames.
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan or the DC Universe. I'll put their toys back where I found them when I'm done messing with them :)
Spoilers/Warnings: Crossover of Inception and The Dark Knight Rises. inception_kink meme prompt in round 19: "...And I mean that. It's not just a line."
Summary: Forging involves breaking down the original personality and grafting a new one over it. Eames is one of the best in the business because his forges are flawless. So far, he had managed to avoid any complications or aftereffects from his forges. But forging Bane is a whole new experience, and pushes his skills to the next level. Including Bane bleeding through after the job is done.
Previous chapters:
One - A Job Like No Other
Two - Exploration
Three - Establishing New Rules
Four - Marking Territory
Yusuf prided himself on being aware of the rhythms of Mombasa and the various underworld syndicates. He didn't favor any groups over others and let it be known that his primary concern had always been his lab. Fewer people were aware of the dreaming den; the ten men dreaming away had been carefully vetted long before he even offered the possibility. He knew Isak would never reveal the den, and carefully watched over the dreamers during the day. He had his reasons to do so, and Yusuf would never reveal them. Isak was very conscientious and diligent, which was what he needed.
He heard whispers about the League of Shadows moving into Kenya, hunting for whoever may have wronged them. Yusuf assumed it was Berenger that the whispers were about and made no changes in his routine. He went to the market, did his laundry, brewed the chemical compounds he needed to make for outstanding orders.
When there was a stranger standing in his doorway with dark eyes hinting at a darker soul behind it, Yusuf knew immediately it was a League man. "Brother," he said as greeting, nodding and gesturing toward his door with the package he was carrying. "Since your hands are available, can you open the door for me?" The man obliged and followed Yusuf into his shop.
Once his packages were settled, Yusuf offered tea as was his custom, which the man refused. "So how may I be of service? Are there compounds your brothers need?"
He paused. "You are a friend to the League. The venom you continue to craft for our use is invaluable," the man admitted.
"Glad to be of service," Yusuf replied in neutral tones when the man paused again. "Do you have need of more?"
"Yes, we do." There was another long pause. "There was a man, not local, but recently from here, who sought to profit unseemingly from the Brotherhood."
"Ah," Yusuf murmured sagely. "Terrible mischief."
"He had uncanny knowledge of our dealings."
"I heard Berenger planned to trade with one of your number and thought him a fool for it," Yusuf told him. "I also heard he was killed for the trouble."
The man stared at Yusuf with his dark soulless eyes. Yusuf returned the stare despite feeling a shiver roll down his spine. "Yes, he was. Most fittingly."
"Well, the League must patrol its own affairs," Yusuf replied evenly. "If a fool wishes to throw his life away, I'm not one to aid or stop him. Unless he wishes to purchase compounds. Those could aid or stop a man, but I don't ask what becomes of the supply once it's been purchased. They no longer belong to me, and become tools to whoever did the purchasing."
The man looked at Yusuf for a long time, weighing his words. Finally he gave a sharp nod of acceptance. "Such is truth. This is why you are friend to the League. True neutrals are difficult to find and maintain."
"I intend to stay that way, brother."
He nodded again. "Just so," he agreed. "Standard shipment, then. Shall we expect the doses in the usual amount of time?"
Yusuf thought of the number of vials he had left in his shop. He wasn't expecting an order request for a few weeks yet, and hadn't put in his standard orders with his favorite glassware distributors. "If not the usual amount of time, perhaps a day or so later. I may be low on components, and I do believe I don't have enough vials to complete the order."
The man in black nodded, then peeled several bills off of a roll in his pocket. The total was easily half of the usual payment for the venom. "This should help expedite matters. The normal payment will arrive when we get the venom we need."
"Very good," Yusuf said with a slight bob of his head. "I'll go procure the necessary ingredients right away."
The League member let himself out of Yusuf's shop, and he sank into a chair afterward. He had always let it be known he was neutral. He wanted no part in any crime war and didn't want to be involved past his own chemical creations. It never occurred to him that he would be doubted, that his life would hang in the balance.
Then he thought of Eames, and poor Ariadne caught in his troubled wake.
All he could do was warn her and pray for their souls.
***
Eames returned home after putting out feelers for a strike team. He would never bring Ariadne with him to Athens and he didn't think Arthur's skill set would work well for razing a city to the ground. He liked how attentive Ariadne was being, hanging onto his stories over the past two or three weeks. She would have to leave for Paris to defend her thesis soon, and Eames would have to let her go. He wasn't looking forward to it, and not just because he liked having her in his bed. That was certainly enjoyable, and she put in the effort to please him in multiple ways. He had found the dog eared kama sutra she had purchased, lips twitching in amusement as he took in the post-it notes with her comments carefully printed on them. Eames thought of putting his own comments in the margins, but replaced it in her hiding place. He liked the thought of her wanting to impress and pleasure him, wanting to keep a place with him.
Her place was secure of course, but it was nice to know how much effort she was putting in to staying there.
This wasn't to say that he didn't exert similar effort toward pleasing her. As often as she took the lead in bed, pushing him down and taking him into her mouth, Eames also hovered over her sprawled body and teased her near to madness. He had memorized all her secret, soft places, cataloguing the sound of her sighs and moans. He liked the influence that he held over her at those moments. There was satisfaction in knowing that her pleasure came from his lips and hands and tongue, that her body molded to his without even a flicker of fear or restraint. At times she seemed almost reluctant to touch him, as if somehow she was still shy around him. That only endeared her to him more, and Eames was sure that no one else had the power to break down her defenses and render her speechless with as much ease as he could.
Ariadne belonged to him; there was no good way to explain in words the driving need that he had for her. She didn't love him, not in any conventional sense; he knew that and wasn't bothered by that fact in the slightest. What he felt for her wasn't love either, but something far more intense and essential for his wellbeing. Love was too paltry and childish a word to describe the emotion that drove him. Ariadne was his, body and soul, and nothing she or anyone did would ever change that. Even leaving for Paris wouldn't mitigate that fact. If she fell in love with someone else, Eames might even be persuaded to allow that alliance, as long as she understood her place in his life.
Eames powered on her laptop. She had been on it more often recently, and he doubted it was to check for more erotic suggestions or inspiration. Ariadne might not have been aware of it, but there had been subtle tension in the set of her shoulders, a distance in her eyes and the downward cast to her mouth. He was well versed in these subtleties, and he knew that it meant she was keeping a secret from him.
Ariadne was important to him, but he was neither blind nor stupid. She was young and very inexperienced in the world that he lived in. Eames was aware that in her ignorance she could be easily swayed and deluded, and he would have to correct her errors. Ariadne might not love him, but she did care for him very much. She would never harm him intentionally.
It was the unintentional harm that she could do that mattered.
Quickly moving through her browser history, saved tabs, bookmarks, documents and e-mails, Eames had a very good picture of her online activities. Interspersed with discussion about her thesis, travel plans and queries about local cuisine or tourist attractions, Ariadne was also collecting information about Eames' background. He had no difficulty in trawling through her deleted files, finding even more queries and gathered bits of information about him. Much of it was suppressed and there was quite a lot of innuendo and misinformation in the dream share world about him and the origin of his skills. Few people knew anything accurate, and he had always liked it that way. Arthur and Yusuf seemed to be supplying some detail, and through them she had met a number of his old contacts online to gather information.
I'm concerned for him, she wrote to Arthur. This isn't the same man I met in Paris, even though I can't explain it. Sometimes I see him, and at other times I see someone completely different. He frightens me, that other man. I don't know how else to bring Eames back, but it doesn't seem to be working so far.
"Ah, Ariadne, you poor innocent," Eames murmured, looking through her e-mails.
She would have to be taught that there were repercussions for going behind his back this way.
***
Ariadne returned to Eames' flat from the market. It was quiet, but Eames had said he would be out for the day, so she didn't think anything of it. She hummed along with the song on her Ipod as she put everything away, swaying a bit. After a moment the humming turned into discordant singing, her eyes closed a little as she belted out the chorus.
She shrieked when a hand closed over her shoulder. She clawed at the hand and whirled around, bringing up her other hand to connect with the attacker's throat. At least, that was the plan.
Eames easily dodged her attack, and he held her arms above her head with one of his. It made her feel even more tiny and helpless, and a spark of true fear wound its way into her heart. The look he gave her was somewhat indulgent, but there was still a darkness beneath that which gave her pause. He was amused, but it was not likely to be the sort of amusement that led to fun things or little jokes between the two of them. This was the sort of amusement that someone took in the destruction of an enemy, and Ariadne managed not to cry out in dismay or terror at the look in his eyes. He was judging her, and she knew he found her wanting.
"You scared me," she gasped, dangling above the floor.
"I know," he replied blandly. "That was rather the point."
"What's going on, Eames? Put me down."
"I have your attention this way," he replied, no inflection to his tone. "You tell me what you've been doing online, Ariadne." His face was right in front of hers, and his blue eyes were suddenly cold. "You've been asking questions. Very interesting questions with dangerous answers that are not your place to ask." He nodded when she blanched. "I told you not to do this."
"I've been worried about you," she replied, her eyes wide. "You're not yourself-"
"Did you really think you could know me?" he asked, voice sounding cool and collected. That wasn't comforting, however. She wasn't stupid, and there was nothing she could do to stop him if he truly wanted to harm her.
She whispered the name he had been given at birth, which didn't seem to have any impact. She had tried planting reminders of his childhood around the apartment. There hadn't been any appreciable difference with that either, and the only thing that seemed to keep him calm was her presence nearby. That had to mean something, if only she could figure it out.
"You belong to me, Ariadne," he said in a matter of fact tone. It was almost as if he could hear her troubled thoughts. "Your actions were not with my approval, and you must be punished for disobeying me."
Her golden eyes were wide with fear. "What are you going to do?"
His smile did nothing to calm her nerves. "Don't you trust me, darling?"
"Not anymore," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I want to, but I can't." She wanted to say "I trust you," but that would be a lie. She was sick of lies, of living in shadows, of wondering when Bane would look out of his eyes.
"I told you, Ariadne," he said, walking toward the bedroom, still holding her above the floor by her wrists. He didn't seem affected by her words at all. "You are mine, and I am in control. You must accept this."
"Eames," she whispered, her throat closing up tight. "I just needed to know more, I'm not trying to hurt you."
"Yes, you did the same with Cobb, did you not? Justified it by saying it was for the good of the team. And it was, so this only emboldened you to go further. Hm? Isn't that so?" he asked, bringing her to the bed. He laid her down and moved over her, straddling her waist and making her feel utterly helpless beneath his bulk.
"You're scaring me," she said in a quiet voice, hoping she could get through to him. He was simply staring down at her, his face an unreadable mask. Pulling her hands didn't even move him, leaving her still pinned.
It would be hot if she wasn't also terrified of what he might be thinking.
"Eames," she said, sensing that his birth name would only make him even angrier. She had found out more than she thought she would. His birth father had walked out on his mother before he was even born, and there was no other family but her. Eames had grown up on an estate in England, did poorly at school due to lack of interest and enlisted in the army to avoid local gangs. That hadn't worked out well at all, and there were sealed records Arthur hadn't been able to dig up. He had left the army and stumbled into dream share; Ariadne couldn't imagine what he had to do in order to be the best forger in the business. She was an utter novice at illegal activity, and dream share still didn't feel like something dangerous.
Instead of answering her, Eames leaned over her and then tied her hands to the headboard. She tried struggling at first, but there was no budging him. "What are you going to do?" she whimpered when he reached for a knife.
"Do you really think I would hurt you?" he asked quietly, pain in his voice. His eyes shifted slightly, and he looked less like a murderous thug and more like the Eames she knew.
"I don't know anymore. I don't know you. You're scaring me, you've been scaring me. I had to start looking into who you were. I wanted to bring you back, so you could be the man I remember. I don't know what else to do."
"I know. I looked through your e-mails, at what you were able to gather about the older versions of me." His expression shifted again, slipping into something more like a neutral mask. Ariadne hated it. "I told you," he said in quiet tones, the edge of the knife touching her arm. There was no expression on his face now, none at all, and she didn't know if she was dealing with Eames, Bane or some frightening mix of the two. "I'm in control of the situation, Ariadne. It isn't your place to question what I do or how I do it. This isn't your world, darling. You build things, but you don't know about the darkness that lies just beneath the surface of dreams. You don't see the corruption that exists, don't know how to purge it from the world. For a time I thought you might see that, but I don't think you really understand it, do you?" He paused, but he wasn't truly expecting an answer.
"You're precious to me, Ariadne," Eames said, and there was something in his voice that sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn't a threat, and she couldn't explain the feeling in words. He wasn't menacing or angry, but it was the fact that she didn't know what she was dealing with that frightened her the most.
If he wasn't going to kill her and he wasn't angry with her, why did he tie her up? What was he planning to do with her?
"My devotion doesn't make me blind," he continued slowly, the knife moving along the rise of her chest, over her clothes. It took a moment for her to realize that he was slicing through the fabric. "You disobeyed me, Ariadne. I cannot have that, not if I am to guarantee your safety." He brought the knife further down, cutting into the rest of her clothing. "You see," he continued, voice an almost jaunty approximation of Eames' old cadence. "I know what I'm doing, what needs to be done. You don't. You stumble and falter, and before you know it, you'll make a fatal error somewhere, and I won't be there to save you. I gather you don't like the idea of needing to be saved, but there you have it. You don't know enough about this world to survive in it. I gave you rules for a reason, and they exist for your protection."
Ariadne couldn't speak, and simply watched him with a feeling of dread in her stomach. She winced when he ripped her clothes apart, then tried to twist out from under him. Eames placed the knife on the bedside table and placed his hand on her stomach. "Eames," she whispered, looking at him with a pleading expression.
"You need to be punished," he said, a gleam in his eye as he contemplated her. "But I won't hurt you. I never could. But kindness? That can hurt just as much as pain can."
"What are you talking about?"
He removed strips of her ruined clothing, making her flinch at the sound of ripping fabric. He tied it around her head, following her as she tried to jerk and move. Frustrated, he finally held her head in his hands firmly and bent over to whisper in her ear. "You're mine, Ariadne. Love is too feeble a word for this, and it's high time you understood this."
"What are you going to do?" she asked, lips trembling. She tried pulling at her bound wrists, but that only seemed to pull the knots tighter.
She jerked when he let her go and climbed off of the bed. "Eames?" she asked when he fell silent. She could just barely make out the sound of cloth rustling, as if he was undressing, and she turned toward it. "Eames?" she asked a little louder.
"So eager for your punishment, darling?" he asked, his voice closer than she thought it would be.
Ariadne blinked beneath the blindfold, turning toward the sound of his voice. "I can't see you," she murmured in a soft voice. "What are you going to do?"
"Whatever I want to do, darling," he murmured, voice coming from somewhere near her midsection. She jerked when his lips brushed across her abdomen. "You can't stop me, and you can't see me. But you'll feel me. Oh, you'll feel me. It'll be that much more intense for you now, and I know all the places you like."
Her cheeks were flaming, and her insides seemed to melt with want. "But-"
"Where's the punishment?" he asked, voice lilting in amusement.
"Yeah. How is that a punishment?"
"Who said anything about letting you come?" Eames asked, breath warm against her navel.
Ariadne shivered at the sound of his voice and the feel of his breath on her skin. She didn't know where he was, exactly, and she felt chilled despite the Kenyan heat. She gasped when his mouth came down over a breast, licking and teasing the nipple. He had endless patience with this, and continued for a longer amount of time than usual. She shifted restlessly beneath his mouth, feeling her desire mounting. He knew what she liked by now, and Ariadne could feel Eames smiling against her breast as she moaned. Part of her wanted to curse at him for doing this, and another part wanted to beg him to fuck her now.
Eames continued licking and sucking at her until her skin felt almost numb from overexposure and constant touch. When he realized that she wasn't moaning as much, he switched breasts and started all over again, fingers skimming across her hips and stomach. He only touched her lightly, soft strokes that didn't really distract from the sensation of his mouth on her breast, his tongue laving the nipple. He had always been generous with his attention before, but now this was at ridiculous levels.
When that breast seemed to grow insensitive, he moved to kiss and lick at her skin, moving around her entire torso and stomach. Ariadne squirmed and wriggled, trying to get some friction between her legs where she wanted it most. Eames chuckled and moved away, the bastard, then laid featherlight touches across her inner thigh. "Too bad this isn't enough to make you come."
"Eames," Ariadne began, a slight whine to her voice.
He surged up and clasped her face in his hands. He kissed her thoroughly, tongue in her mouth and licking into it with an intensity that left her breathless. She longed to grasp hold of his shoulders, trace the muscles beneath his skin, thread her fingers through his hair. All she could do was wrap her legs around him and try to tilt her hips to grind down against him. Eames chuckled against her mouth and moved sinuously so that she couldn't actually rub against him in a way to get relief. "Nice try," he murmured.
"Can you blame me?"
"Yes," he murmured, nipping at her lip. He moved to kiss her jaw and neck, then licked at her collarbone as he unwrapped her legs. She made a mewling sound of disappointment, which only made him chuckle.
The sensation of something cold and sharp against the skin of her stomach gave her pause. "Is that the knife?" she asked, voice tremulous.
"Yes. Is that a problem?" he asked her, moving the cold steel against her skin in idle patterns.
She was wet from his earlier attentions, but for now she was mostly scared. "Knife play isn't my idea of a good time," she told him, hoping this wasn't all a lead in to slicing her open.
"Pity. Sometimes with heightened senses it can feel amazing."
Ariadne cringed backward into the bed as far as she could, but Eames merely followed her. It didn't feel as though he was cutting her, but just using the edge to introduce a new sensation against her skin. Without seeing anything, all she could do was feel the cold metal tracing patterns and calling up gooseflesh. After a moment of writhing beneath the knife, it almost seemed as though the tracings were not random at all. It felt almost like he was writing on her skin with the blunt edge of the blade, loops and whorls that might have been cursive script. Concentrating on identifying the motions helped draw her mind away from the fact that it was a blade, and she could almost understand what Eames meant by this feeling amazing.
"There you go," he crooned, completing another swirling motion. "Let go, Ariadne. Give up control to me."
This was more than just for sex, she was sure of it.
Ariadne twisted slightly, moaning as his lips came down to touch the inside of her knee. She had no idea how he was contorting himself, but it didn't matter. There was the clatter of the knife hitting the floor, then his fingers were tracing the whorls and loops across her skin. The pads were rough, especially compared to the softness of his lips and hair on the inside of her thigh. She splayed her legs wide to give him room, making him laugh. After a moment he did oblige her, dipping his head between her legs right where she wanted him. He nuzzled her first, the barest edge of stubble rubbing at the sensitive skin. Then he licked at her flesh, fingers stroking her knees occasionally.
When she was too close but not quite to the edge of orgasm, Eames moved away. Ariadne groaned and tried to twist herself as if she could reach for him. Something soft and feathery touched her torso, right below her sternum, and it traced lazy circles and swirling designs across her skin. It tickled, making her laugh and twist away from him, bringing her down from the high without frightening her the way the knife would have. Eames knew her too well by now, and when his mouth descended over hers, she enthusiastically kissed him back.
One hand slid down her body and then curled around her sex. Eames traced her slick folds without sliding inside her wet heat, making her groan in frustration. "Come on," she whined, pulling at her restraints and trying to turn toward his body. "Eames, I need you inside me."
"Oh, you do?" he asked, voice lazy and amused. It was maddening, especially when he drew his hand away from her center. "I could possibly oblige you."
She felt his cock press against her lips, and she knew it wasn't going to be over soon. He was going to torment her before giving her relief, then. It took a long time for him to recover from an orgasm; usually Ariadne tried not to have him come in her mouth if she planned to do anything else to him. She wasn't in control in this situation, but she could refuse to suck on his cock if she really wanted to. It would be easier to play along with this game of his. If anything, being on the receiving end of this kind of attention had been a fantasy of hers for a while now.
Eames made an approving noise as she took him as far as she could. "I'm going to push you today, darling," he warned her. She could feel his weight shift on the bed slightly, and heard the creak of the headboard. Another moment and one of his hands came to brace her head as he slowly pushed deeper into her mouth. "Relax. Let go of everything, and realize what this truly means."
There were loopholes to this, she was sure. If he thought he was in control of her, then she wouldn't actually have to bend over backward for him. If he thought he had the upper hand, then she could still figure out what the hell she could do to reverse the damage done to him in Gotham City.
Ariadne tried, she really did, but she had a strong gag reflex and she choked when Eames pushed a little too far. He withdrew from her mouth, hissing at the scraping of teeth. She coughed and turned her head, making little choking sounds. "Too fast," she gasped after a moment.
"I gathered that," he remarked dryly. His fingers on her cheeks were gentle, moving to tenderly stroke her shoulders and arms. "Ready to try again?"
"Yeah, I can try again."
He was slower this time, a little less bold with his thrusts into her mouth. Starting with shallow thrusts, he slowly deepened his strokes a little at a time. She did her best to run her tongue along his length, but after a while all she could do was add a little suction. It was enough to have him hiss in pleasure, his fingers tightening across the back of her skull. Though she didn't usually swallow, there was no getting around it now.
Afterward, Eames withdrew from her mouth with a little popping sound, and he lavished her body with kisses, licks and touches. Now his fingers slid inside her slicked folds as his lips closed over her clit. He worked her back to that edge of orgasm, then moved away to stroke her thighs with his fingers and lips. Ariadne groaned and called out for him to fuck her already, she couldn't take more of this kind of teasing. "Oh, you can," he murmured, licking everything except her clit. "And you will if I want you to."
His mouth was back over her breasts, suckling and teasing her again. She writhed and moaned as he teased her, not even caring anymore what she sounded like. There was just his mouth, his fingers and whatever soft materials he drew across her sensitized skin. Panting hard enough that her mouth was dry, Ariadne couldn't do much more than make breathless squeaking sounds. That seemed to be Eames' endgame, however. He pulled back and then his cock was slamming deeply into her, making her cry out in satisfaction. Eames rode her hard, pulling the blindfold from her eyes at a random moment.
When she finally came, her entire body shook. It felt as though her heart was about to stop in her chest. Still trembling when he pulled out, Ariadne watched helplessly as he untied her from the bed and then covered her with a blanket. "Sleep," he urged her, tucking in the edges of the blanket as if she was a small child. There was enough of that darkly possessive gaze to keep Ariadne from making a sarcastic retort.
Eames kissed her forehead tenderly, then locked her into the bedroom.
***
***
To Chapter Five - Clearing The Air