This is a story I wrote with madcowre last year, and I'm just now getting around to moving it here. Enjoy!

Walking deeper into the safe house, Ariadne approaches Arthur's door frame cautiously, adjusting her scarf loosely around her neck. He's been holed up in his office all night, cramming the information for the next mark into his head. She's never seen him quite like this before: completely absorbed into his position he has to play. It frightens her to a degree, thinking that he might be getting lost in the dream world rather than staying the cool and composed Arthur she knows. The light from the office barely filters out into the hallway, meaning he's either left his desk light on while sleeping, or he is trying not to be disturbed by attracting too much attention. She fills the doorway with her small frame, seeing his back hunched over, head low as he stared at the papers. Raising a hand, she meekly raps her knuckles to the metal door, causing Arthur to turn in surprise. He grips the edge of his glasses, sliding them from his face to see the intruder better. Ariadne gasps as she has come to love the frames he adorns while studying his work material.

Arthur feels the pressure beneath his eyes as he rubs them with his index finger from behind his glasses. He has been in here for five hours and twenty six minutes, he knows because he'd counted. His Rolex watch glimmers off the lamp on the side of his desk, urging him to check it again. Two minutes from the last time he looked. Arthur knows he can't leave this until he had the answers. The subject is experienced, very experienced. Anything their team will attempt to pull off would be pale in comparison to this man. He is older and more skilled, a generation older than him of dream thief. He knoww the tricks, everything the team knows and more. After all, he had taught their kind before retirement. Arthur sighs and glances at his door. He can hear movement down the other end of the warehouse, soft thuds that sound like colossal echoes in the empty, cold warehouse. He knows it is Ariadne, she never once has left before him. Always after or with him but mostly the latter. He smells her before he hears her, that soft smell of vanilla and biscuits is un-missable. He could pick her out in a line of broads within a second based solely on that smell. She knocks, because she is gentle and never once would she barge into anywhere without having an ounce of courtesy first. Arthur turns, her small frame is outlined by the light and he takes his glasses off to appreciate the beauty even more.

"Are you busy?" Her voice is small and mousy, to the point that she fears he may not even hear her though they are alone and the room is encased in silence. She watches him smile, a sign that even though his work is important, he always makes time for her. Ariadne steps into the room, filled with piles and piles of neatly stacked papers and files. Nothing is out of place in here, always neat and composed as the man they belonged to. She admires that about him. In contrast, her office is filled with 3-D mazes and various blueprints, textures and building material to memorize.

She returnes his smile, her cheeks slightly flushing at just how handsome he really is, even in the low light of the room. His hair is slicked back, just as always, gelled into place to avoid getting into his beautiful chocolate eyes. His face is clean shaven, most days she wonders if he has ever had a five o' clock shadow in his lifetime. The shirt he wears is fitted to his body in just the right way, covered only by a dark waistcoat and a bright red tie.

Turning her eyes towards the papers in his hand, she attempts to divert her attention to something other than the Point Man's appearance, as it is most intoxicating.

Arthur holds a hand to his stomach, nestled safely and comfortably on his Italian stitch as he stands up. The action has been built into him since he was a little boy, when he was less controlled and purposeful. She looks uncomfortable, like she feels out of place, the same as she does whenever she steps into his office. Arthur doesn't want to know that she feels this way but he can't help it, he is the point man and it is his job to know everything. He moves out from in between his chair and the desk, putting his glasses back up his nose as he turns to the papers on his desk, the one Ariadne is so carefully studying.

"Just catching up," Arthur lies gently, trying not to octave his voice more in the small room. He runs a hand over his already slicked back hair and picked a few important pieces of paper up. "Working late again?" he casually remarks. He asks because he is generally interested, but he wants her to change the conversation more.

She smiles her usual wide smile at him and shiftes her feet. "Rome wasn't built in a day...neither will this place."

Arthur gives her a tight smile and pushes his glasses further up his nose. "Indeed."

She can feel the tension rolling out of Arthur in waves since she is standing only a foot or so away from him. It is hard not to notice the way his jaw clenches as he pulled his lips over his teeth to force a smile. Ariadne takes this into account, shuffling her feet in her clogs to readjust them as a distraction. It is difficult to remember exactly what she came in here for. Was it just to check on him, just as she did on her normal nightly routine? Or would she finally just confess to him how she felt, why exactly she refused to walk home alone every night? No, she didn't think she had it in her heart to tell him. Not when he is this stressed.

Looking up from the papers, clutched tightly by his lengthy fingers under the lamp, she manages to choke out a quick I'll wait for you before turning to exit the room, fleeing to hide the blush of embarrassment on her cheeks.

Arthur is momentarily startled as a blush rose across her cheeks and she makes a valid excuse to leave. The papers in his hands bristle, she turns so fast, almost like she was running from the devil. Arthur is used to this behaviour with her, it was all part of the crush he knows she harbors for him. Usually he'd let her go, because secretly in the back of his mind, he loved knowing that every time he would see her, it would provoke a different and intriguing reaction.

But tonight is different, he was too damn tired and stressed to play along with coy behaviour. A part of him wants to confront her: spin her around, get in her face and demand to know why she acts like this around him and not anyone else. Just so he can torture the answer out of her to make himself feel good. But the other side of him doesn't want to let her speak, he wants to let her know that he knows, has known all along how she feels about him. He wants to act upon himself and show how much he cares through action. Because Ariadne is all about the design instead of the notes. It's much simpler. A simple kiss, maybe? One like they had shared miles away and long ago, or so it seemed.

Arthur quickly remedies his posture. He picks up his pen off the desk, clicks it inside and hooks it over his breast pocket.

"Ariadne?" he calls. Sliding past the thinly opened door, just as she had left it.

She hears her name being called from the hallway as she makes it back to the main room of the warehouse. Pausing, she briefly considers leaving alone, just like every other night she embarrasses herself like this. But the darkness that lingers outside of those doors is just too intimidating to face alone. It's odd that she can never remember a time when that was not the case. When her nightly walks from school to her apartment were filled with nothing but her and her own thoughts. Now however, she can't feel right making the walk by herself. Not without the company of a touch of cologne in the air, or a coat around her shoulders for when she forgot her own.

He calls out to her again, this time from right behind her, making her turn to face him as he is literally inches away from her face, looming slightly, but letting no emotion cross his face. This is Arthur, ever cool in any situation, never showing a disturbance in his demeanor. She on the other hand is slightly flustered, her heart beating like a bird's wings within her chest.

"Yes?" she manages to choke out, finally building the courage to look at something other than his tie.

Arthur moves the papers that he has in his hands, tucking them under his arm as he reaches up to adjust his glasses, fallen slightly from his jog. Ariadne is close to him, almost challenging so. She has never allowed herself get this close to him before.

He finds himself abnormally nervous, a change in her is obvious. He can almost see something begging to be released from the tip of her tongue, something she is willing herself desperately not to say. It makes Arthur a little uncomfortable and as she looks at him, really looks at him through his glasses and his eyes, almost as if she was seeing through him, he swallows thickly. The tension heavy in the air like a thick smog.

He should attack then, that is what a lion would do when it's prey has it's defenses down. Ariadne's are definitely down at this moment. But he feels torn, almost as if springing declarations on her now will almost be like a form of abuse. She is so small and perfect and deserves so much more than the best. If he says anything here, he knows she would not resist him. She never will.

He would take her on the warehouse floor, the same place where they designed the hotel together all those months ago. She would take his glasses off and neatly fold them and his clothes on the table before she pounced, because she knew him. But he doesn't want that, he wants to be the considerate lover and there was no way he can ever be that in this cold, damp place. A contrast to Ariadne's warm, bright glow.

He opens his mouth and chuckles a little, even if nothing was funny. It is his nervous habit.
"I-I should go get my coat. Wait here for me, I'll walk you home." He doesn't need to say it, but he does it anyway. She knows he always will. But those words are routine for them, as they have been for months.

He turns to leave the room again, walking back to his office to retrieve his coat and keys to lock up. Ariadne sighs in resignation, angry at herself for letting her emotions get in the way and pull him from the work he feels he needs to do. Snatching up her jacket and bag in disgust with herself, she heads to the door to wait for his return, pressing her back against the cold metal to calm herself. Her eyes watch the lights go out as Arthur flips the switches in all of the adjacent hallways, ever the perfectionist to make sure the coast is clear. She closes her eyes, breathing in and out of her mouth slowly as the urge to sleep creeps into the edges of her consciousness.

He turns every light off, making sure that the little one above the windowed alcove is still alight in case of burglars. A trick his dad had taught him when he was merely a young boy. He can see the small silhouette of Ariadne as he walks down the hall towards her. His coat is slung over his forearm and his papers neatly folded as he grips them in his fingers.

Ariadne has her eyes closed with her mouth open a little. She looks like she does when she sleeps, only this time there is no IV in her arm. Because that is the only time he has ever see her sleep, when she was under. He'd never seen her sleep normally and wireless.

He looks at her face for a moment, imagining himself leaning down to peck her lips. The thought seems almost sinister as she stands there, back arched and lips pursed; almost waiting for the impending kiss. But he's not going to take that chance, of course he isn't. Instead he opts to brush his finger against her elbow, making her startle and move away from the door, blinking heavily.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump," Arthur smiles. "You must be tired."

Ariadne nods and runs a hand through her hair.

"It's been a long day."

Arthur nods and gestures to the door as he finds the right key in his hand. She turns away from him and slips out into the night, leaving him wallowing in his own awkwardness and her perfume.

The cold night air bit into her skin as she stepped out into the inky blackness of night, causing her to shiver involuntarily. She can feel her cheeks still blazing hot, a look she's become all to familiar with wearing these days. He'd been so close to her when he woke her up, mere inches from her face with the gentlest touch at her elbow. The place where his fingers caressed her still tingled as she rubbed the skin softly. After shivering violently again in the cold, Ariadne pulled on her thin coat, listening to the keys jangle behind her as Arthur locked up for the night. She could feel his heat behind her as he approached, placing a hand delicately on her lower back as if to guide her along. It wasn't as if she minded; even the tiniest connection to him was so much more than ordinary butterflies and crush feelings.

The night is virtually silent as they walk, only the hum of the street lamps and the click of their shoes giving noise to the darkness. Ariadne wants to ask about his work again, just to break the uneasiness that floats between them, but resolves to look at the cobblestone sidewalks instead. When would she finally get the courage to confess how she felt? She would have thought by now the affinity between them would be stronger, as they spent more time practicing their craft than any of the others on the team. Instead she felt only awkwardness and distance from lack of clear communication, causing her to huff in frustration.

She is thinking hard about something, Arthur knows this because her nose scrunched up a little and she keeps letting out little noises of disapproval. Arthur itches to stop her, to put his finger on that cute, cold looking nose of hers and tell her to stop over thinking things for once. That is his job.

Her shoulders are shaking, even though he feels it isn't that cold out. But she is smaller and more fragile than he. Wordlessly, he shrugs off his coat and drapes it over her shoulders.

"Here," he says gently. Ariadne jumps a little at the contact and fingers the side of the coat to keep it from falling off her back. Arthur smiles a little but drops it as soon as he realizes that smelling his coat tonight would be the only way to keep her close on a lonely night with his hundred year old scotch. What a pathetic, lonely man he is.

"Thank you," she whispers, almost silently into the dark night.

Arthur swipes a finger under the nose cushions on his glasses, removing the moisture that is making his glasses slip down. The moon is full in the sky and the luminous light bounces off Ariadne's hair, making it a spectrum of different colours.

"Your hair looks beautiful in the moonlight," Arthur compliments without thinking. His eyes widen and he stuffs his hands in his pockets as she turns to look at him wide-eyed, as if she has seen a ghost. Arthur avoids her gaze, her luminous hair and that vanilla biscuit smell by looking over at the boats on the river, all lit up in orange and yellow.

"I think your hair looks good too...but you never need the moonlight for that," she says. He can hear the grin in her voice.

Ariadne feels the blood rush from her face as the words cross the space between them, however small it actually is, and turns her head to search his face for answers. He has none to offer, choosing to look out at the water like something there is more interesting than the explanation he owes her to some degree. She watches his jaw clench and unclench as he is obviously punishing himself internally for any slip in his composure. Smiling, she clutches the leather jacket closer, breathing in the scent of him while doing so. He smells like all of her favorite scents she associates with a man: leather, shoe polish, and a mixture of scotch and the barber shop around the collar. She pulls from those scents, building up her courage up to actually pay him a compliment in return.

Arthur's head turns to look at her so fast, she is surprised his glasses didn't fly from his face. This causes her to grin some more, even timidly, as she is not used to getting to him this way. They both had come to a halt, standing with the lamp post perfectly illuminating them both in a circle of light. There is no where to hide feelings here, no place she can hide her face in shadow or a way for him to blatantly dismiss her sentiment.

Arthur blinks a few times at her daring. Her eyes are challenging him, challenging him as much as projections challenge him in dreams. She wants something from him, that, he is sure. He is just not sure himself, whether he can give it to her. She should be out with friends on a Friday night, not walking along some street, in the cold darkness with a man who can offer her no more than a coat, a friendly wave goodbye and a life of secrecy and deception. No, Ariadne is worth more than anything in this life.

If anything, Arthur believed that Ariadne belonged in the dream world. Somewhere nothing in this wretched life could hurt her, where she could have everything she ever wanted. Because that was all he wanted.

The air between them is getting closer, the steam of their breath mingling together in perfect synchronisation. Arthur feels the sudden urge to kiss her. Her lips are pouted in such a way, as if she is taunting him, knowing what those lips are doing to him. The thought makes him a little angry. Why would she want a man like him? She could have any man she wanted.

His fists close in his trouser pockets.

"Let's get you home," Arthur breaths, breaking off eye and future lip contact.

He didn't turn to look to see if she is following. He didn't need to. His body is already in tuned to when she was around. His neck prickles and his fingers flex, just as they were doing now. Next comes the smell, of course. He could never escape that, he even smelt it in the air when he was projecting in dreams. Never fresh air, or car fumes, always vanilla and biscuit. Arthur thinks Eames likes the smell too much to even mention the strangeness of it or what it means, but his look he shoots Arthur when he is teasing Ariadne across the room, shows that he knows exactly why.

"Oh my..." Ariadne breathes, running forward.

Arthur looks up with a frown and sees that the end of Ariadne's street is cut off, police cars parked adjacent across the road. Arthur moves closer to Ariadne as they approach. A balding police man is directing traffic away. He holds a hand up to the pair of them as they near him.

"Ah. Je suis désolé, madame et monsieur. Il y a un accident de voiture. Vous ne pouvez aller plus loin." The police man says with a shake of his head.

Ariadne gasps. "Mais, mon appartement est sur cette rue."

The police man just shrugs. Arthur sighs heavily and adjusts his glasses. "Il n'y a aucun moyen de contourner cela?"

"Non."

Both Ariadne and Arthur exchange an awkward look. Is he just going to leave her? He would never. Not in a million years. This meant that his coat would not be the only thing of Ariadne's in his apartment this evening.

"Come. You'll stay with me tonight."

Ariadne feels her jaw go slack and her mouth fall open slightly in surprise. The police officer quietly dismisses himself to return to the scene of the accident as Arthur offers...no...decrees that he stay with her. She is positive that if her mother was here, she'd say something witty about the look on her face; something about catching a fly, or a bird looking for a worm. Snapping her lips together she bit the bottom lip and blushes as Arthur waited for a response. He has never offered for her to come over, and as far as she knows, no one else from the team has seen his living quarters. That didn't stop her curiosity from brewing instantly.

"Are you sure?" she asks timidly, trying desperately to hide her excitement. "I can just go back to the warehouse until this gets cleaned up." Though if she is being honest with herself, the prospect of sleeping on anything of Arthur's is much preferable to the lounge chairs she still hadn't grown accustomed to.

His fingertips reach for her elbow, still encased in his warm jacket to turn her from the blockade and head for the next street over. She doesn't need a verbal answer to know that this was his way of asserting that staying with him is the only option. In the back of her mind she knows there was no way in hell he would make her phone a friend to find a place to crash at this hour. The consideration makes her smile briefly, as she also is not in the mood and far too tired to exert the effort. Ariadne's mind starts to turn as they walk on, trying to think of other apartments in her surrounding area. She is coming up empty, even as they approach the building with an art deco design with all of the straight lines she'd associate with Arthur.

Ariadne quirks an eyebrow at the location as she glances at her surroundings. She can still see the flashing lights of the blockade, only a few streets up from the direction in which they came. When she turns back around, Arthur's form had disappeared from her side. Her eyes search for a moment frantically, finding him poised on the stairs, waiting for her at the doorway to the building.

His keys hang off his finger and his heart rises in his throat as she looks around. Is this what she expected? Did she think it was boring looking? An opinion of an architect matters, he knows that because he got Nash to look around the area before he bought the place. But, the opinion of an architect who is Ariadne means the world.

He scratches his head lightly as her eyes wander, inspecting, before they lock onto his. He smiles at her a little, trying not to show his nerves. Arthur has never invited a woman back here, ever. If there happened to be any women, which was a rare or non-existent occurrence since meeting Ariadne, then he would have taken them to a hotel.

"Stamp of approval?" he asks, walking up a few more steps.

Ariadne blushes and looks down at her feet. "Well, it's definitely you."

Arthur can't tell if this is a good or a bad thing but he can't find it in himself to care. Not when she is playing with her fingers like that, her tiny digits only just sticking out of his long sleeves. The little moment there made him feel more man than he ever had been. "You coming?" Arthur asks, gesturing inside.

Ariadne bites her lips and turns furiously red, a small grin quirking at her lips as she hurries up towards him. "I'd love to," she whispers softly, brushing past him on the stairs.

Arthur's mouth opens slack as the innuendo sinks in. He smiles a smug smile to himself as he follows her and her luscious smell. Arthur knows that this night will be different from all his other nights, all alone. Tonight, he knows, is going to be a huge step in a wrong but so right direction.

Stepping inside, the stairwell houses a cluster of tiny mailboxes and a drop box for the landlord. The railing that leads up to the next level is sleek and gold, setting off in high contrast to the dark cherry wood wainscoting lining the walls. Arthur checks his box, leaving her time to admire the cut of his shirt on his broad shoulders and the way his pants accent his ass. A small lump begins to form in the back of her throat as she wonders how in god's name she is going to get through the night in his apartment. It is like every other night after he drops her off at home, the smell of him clinging to her clothes and the visions of them tangled up in knots dancing in her head. She is about to go deeper than she had ever been; hell, than anyone has ever been with Arthur. He picks that moment to turn from the mundane task at hand, giving her a polite smile like he couldn't feel the burn of her gaze in his back. She is sure that if her look had any true heat, there would be holes in his clothes and maybe through his chest. She bites her lip and blushes as she smiles back, imagining his mail on fire.

Arthur gestures for her to follow him up the stairwell, the space big enough that they can walk side by side. A few times their elbows brush as they climb, sending little dancing sparks up her arm. He doesn't say much and he doesn't need to as it is plainly obvious that he is just as nervous as she. They finally reach the top landing, coming to a dark wooden door with a beautiful golden number plaque attached to its face.

"This is it." he motions his arm, envelopes and papers in hand to the door. Removing the keys from his pocket, he slides the key home inside of the handle, unlocking the door and cracking it. His hesitation is obvious, and Ariadne quirks her eyebrow in mock confusion. He is scared, the look written plainly across his features; scared of letting someone see the private side of himself.

She places her hand on his shoulder, the first real contact of assurance she's ever had to give to him. Arthur was always the calm and collected one, but here in this hallway outside of his home, in this place that is privy to no other; here he is a mess.

Arthur looks down at her hand on his shoulder. Her unpainted, bitten nails clutching onto the seam of his suit. Her grip says that she knows he is nervous but that she is nervous with him. He looks up and catches her eye, seeing that she is watching him warily. Arthur's own eyes flit between hers, around her chocolate hair framing her face and finally to her lips. She licks them in that moment, just a slip of the tongue and Arthur almost died. The animal in him, the one restricted very far back, wants to grab her and take her here, right against the door. But he doubts Mrs White across the hallway would approve when she came out for her nightly sneaky cigarette.

Arthur pushes the door open, the first thing going through his mind is the smell. He hopes that it smells nice, because that was always the first thing people noticed. He doesn't know the smell because he is used to it and it is his. Ariadne doesn't seem to mind as she steps over the threshold, taking a deep breath.

Arthur points her to the shoe rack and turns on his lamp next to the door. Ariadne giggles lightly and his heart jumps a little in his chest. Arthur scratches behind his ear and smiles with her. "What's so funny?"

Ariadne shakes her head and buries her mouth into the sleeves of his jacket. "Nothing...just, you're so in order. Even at home."

Arthur isn't sure whether to take offense or not, so he nods gently and adds, "I don't like mess."

Ariadne's smile drops and she looks away quickly, avoiding Arthur's eyes as if she is scared of him. Arthur hates seeing that look. He saw it every time she interrupted him from work or when she laughed when Eames jokingly insulted him and he caught her.

A red blush tints her cheeks as she stands in the entryway, still wrapped in his jacket. Arthur internally smiles, deciding not to tell her to take it off, mainly just for himself. Arthur wants that jacket against her creamy, vanilla biscuit smelling- his favorite ever smell- skin.

"Would you like a tour?" Arthur says, even surprising himself. He is oddly giddy and this makes him realize that he wants Ariadne here. He wants her to see real pieces of him that no one else has ever seen, not even Cobb.

"Sure!" Her smile is genuine as it breaks across her face, crinkling the edges of her eyes in excitement. Something had changed within him when they entered his space; his body is not as stiff, the lines relaxing on his forehead. She chalked it up to the fact that this would indeed be his sanctuary. At least she'd like to think so, as that's how she views her own living arrangements.

Burying her fingers further into the leather sleeves, loving the texture of the lining, she moves forward to close the gap between them. She takes in the space of his living room, noting the lack of patterns and cheery colors that characterizes her own space. Arthur's couch and chair ensemble is all leather of a rich brown, similar to a dark chocolate. It looks as if no one had ever sat in the space, as there are no scratches on anything and the surfaces all looked freshly waxed. The television hangs like a silent guardian on the wall, black and dark in comparison to the various classical paintings that adorn the spaces opposite of it. She is willing to bet that he had shelled out the money for originals rather than remakes.

"Well, this is the living room," he gestures, sounding slightly awkward before placing a hand at the back of his neck.

"It's nice," she smiles, proceeding to a painting, no doubt a Monet. The colors are rich and vibrant, a stark contrast to the straight lines and tones she associates with Arthur. "Artist's Garden?" she quirks an eyebrow, a slender finger pointing at the painting. The characteristics of the art are not what she would imagine him to purchase, as she views him as more of a Mondrian sort. Arthur simply nods, not willing to volunteer any further information. He gestures towards the kitchen and adjoining dining area as a polite way to move the tour along.

As she follows him through his home, she remains quiet, taking in the architectural aspects of the space while he briefly explains each room. It isn't hard to see that he lives so far over the line of opulence and grandeur in contrast to her. But in some strange way this does not bother her or change her image of him in her mind's eye. It only solidifies the fact that he, while remaining unobtrusive about his finances, requires things to be in peak condition. The thought makes her feel slightly meager, spreading another wave of blush across her cheeks as they approach the final space of the apartment.

Arthur's cheeks are throbbing from the blood rushing to them. He'd already had to suffer her seeing his love of Monet, revealing his inner emotional side. Arthur had always believed that preference in music and art was a private thing. He would never dream of lending anyone his iPod, it was much too personal. The same went for his art. People always had different tastes and he didn't want to be judged for his.

However, he knew that Ariadne would never judge him for liking Monet, because she loved him too. But having her know a piece of him that no one else knows, something so private, made him edgy.

Arthur barely paid attention, he wanted to get the tour over and done with. His apartment wasn't anything special, just somewhere where he closed his eyes at night and dreamed; real dreams, of Ariadne. To have her here, where she has been before but not in reality, at the scene of the crime, so to speak- was quite disarming.

He shoves his hands in his pocket as he eyes his bedroom door which is closed tight. He doesn't know whether he should take her in or just mention his space and take her back to the living room. He can't think on it for long because he has images of Ariadne walking out of that door in just his white crisp shirt and a mug of coffee, that glorious smile gracing her face. Then she's next to him, in his leather jacket, nodding towards the door with her head and her lip between her teeth.

"What's in there?"

Arthur swallows down a breath. A breath of air and a breath of her damned scent that he can never get rid of, making him want to rip off her shirt and bury his nose into her neck. He wants to sample her with his tongue, to see if she tastes as good as she smells. Both in his dreams and his reality.

"That's my room," Arthur breathes huskily. He feels like the darker side of him is sick of being tortured by her. He wants to fuck her, breathe her, taste her and love her all at the same time. He wants to let her know that the way she acts around him drives him crazy with want and lust. But he wants to let her know that she's bad for him, because he can't concentrate on anything other than her. Always in both of his worlds.

Ariadne is playing coy, he can see it in her face. "You don't have to show me, if you don't want."

Arthur knows she is desperate to see it. But she wants it to be his choice, she is asking him to trust her in a way he has never trusted another. Arthur steps forward and pushes open his door, switching on the light. He trust's Ariadne with his life.

His black sheets are neatly made, his window open slightly making the curtains sashay in the soft wind. Arthur notices a picture of his mother and his younger sister on his dresser, he stands in front of it to avoid questions, his hands behind his back. He watches her as she looks around the room, her eyes widening as she looks at his bed, the paintings on the wall and his suits neatly hung up inside of his closet.

"My room is quite boring, sorry," Arthur apologizes. He wishes he could offer more, more than just a black designed room that shows off his obvious boring personality. Ariadne touches the head of his silver sculpture, the one he had personally made, resting in the corner of the room.

"Don't be. It's you and it's cozy. Perfect," she smiles as she looks into his eyes. A blush taints her cheeks as her eyes move to the side of his head, observing something. Arthur knows what it is and he ducks out of embarrassment, moving to her side as he coughs lightly.

He looks at the large painting of a man and a woman in a naked embrace, wrapped around each other as if they were one. He wants two things; for the world to swallow him up and for him and Ariadne to become the two people in the painting.

Ariadne can feel her mouth drying out as she fixates on the painting on the wall. Arthur's immediate reaction is embarrassment, as if he shouldn't house such beautiful things in his own private space. This is his bedroom after all, but she tucks her fingers into her pocket quickly, plucking her totem from its usual hiding spot to feel it's familiar weight just to be sure. This definitely is not a dream, but the feeling is surreal as the evidence stares her plainly in the face. This wasn't the first time she'd seen this painting, and after tonight, it surely would not be her last.

For the one that hangs on her own bedroom wall mimicks this one perfectly, despite the vibrancy of his original versus her print. She knows the curvatures of the subjects' spines by heart, as she often wondered how it would feel to be so completely lost in the moment with a lover.

She takes in a faltering breath, parting her lips to allow her lungs access to the fresh air coming in from the window. She blinks, trying to put the pieces together as to how Arthur would have this exact painting on his wall as well. He had never seen her bedroom, though countless times she wished she was brave enough to show it to him in more than one capacity. The pieces never did fall in place, leaving her with the mystery of how this couldn't just be a coincidence.

Ariadne turns to face the now poised for escape Arthur, interrogating his every nuance with her brown eyes. Her breaths come out in small puffs as her brain was so busy working out the possibilities that she can't breathe properly. For a moment, and just in the briefest of seconds she feels the need to faint. Her gaze flits quickly to the pool of ebony sheets on Arthur's bed, presuming that it would be better to fall into its softness rather than the hard wood of the floor. Just as quickly the moment passes, causing her eyes to blink slowly before returning her gaze to Arthur's. The air lodges itself in the back of her throat as she takes him in again, gripping the handle of his bedroom door with his knuckles turning white.

She can't look away even though she wants to, as his eyes were turning the color of his sheets in a fit of aphrodisia.

His back molars rub together and he can feel the side of his jaw twitching. Ariadne is looking at him in the way she looked at him in his dreams, the one's before she opened his trenchcoat and sat on his lap in that bright red lace, a contrast to his black sheets. Arthur's knuckles clench even tighter on the doorknob.

He had to get out of there, out of her proximity and into real breathing distance. Her throat bobs and he wants to slide his hands around it until he gets to her hair. Arthur drops his eyes quickly to her bare feet, even those toes were calling out to him. He blinks slowly, trying to make an excuse but all that came out was a few mumbles of incoherence as he flings the door open and stalks out.

He makes it to the kitchen, leaning heavily on the counter with his palms. He angrily pulls at his tie, making a large knot half way down. Fuck.

He hopes he could play that display off, he hopes she hadn't noticed the sexually charged atmosphere like he had. He hopes she has a lot more will power than he does too, because his is slipping, and it is slipping fast. He shrugs off his waistcoat and places it over his kitchen chair, readjusting his glasses. His suspenders are still tight on his shoulders as he smells Ariadne enter the kitchen. Not even his mother's home baked brownies could be an excuse for that smell.

"Well your home is lovely," Ariadne smiles. Her mask is one of the best he's seen her use. Maybe he was alone in the tension, or maybe he was imagining it...or wishing it. He fingers his die in his pocket.

"Thank you."

Ariadne nods and gives him a tight lipped smile before she giggles lightly, the sound going straight to his cock. "Look at your tie. Here," she walks over to him, shrugging off his jacket and laying it over his waistcoat on the chair. He tried not to notice that she was one layer of clothing down. Her breath races and his heart thuds as she drew herself up to him, her eyes hooded. "My dad used to do this all the time. My mom even had to cut them off sometimes," she chuckles, a hidden glint in her eye.

Ariadne had never talked about her family before. He got the impression she was finding someway to reciprocate.

He feels a tug on his neck and Ariadne bites her lip in concentration before she smiles, Arthur automatically following. She lifts the tie over his head and holds it between her hands, leaning on one hip as she waved it at him. "See. Piece of cake."

She has his tie. In her hands. Arthur clutches the die tighter.

"Thank you," he whispers, his breath fanning over her face. Her eyes flicker to his lips and her hands lower, dropping the tie onto the table.

Arthur is in a daze, his subconscious telling him to step off but he can't. She is too enticing to resist. He had done the best he could but it wasn't good enough. He can see it in her eyes that she is willing him to finally do something, but she is too sweet and shy to want to show it. "Where am I sleeping?" she whispers, her breath flowing into his own mouth making him drunk and vulnerable.

Arthur blinks and raises a hand to her cheek, her eyes closing at the touch. Her breath trembles like she was cold as she parts her lips. "I don't know...I don't know anything," Arthur admits, running his hand into her hair, gripping it firmly. It is just as soft as he imagined. She leans into his touch and his other hand leaves his die and comes to her cheek as he steps flush against her, a head taller, leaving her no room to breath, just like he didn't when she was around. He looks at her closed eyelashes, flickering in suspense. His own eyes close tightly, giving in as he pushes her backwards, his lips attacking hers in a hard, frustrated kiss.

Ariadne felt his wet lips finally connect with hers, hungry and needy as he coaxes little whimpers from her throat. She relaxes like fresh clay that's been warmed to the touch in his embrace, pliant and malleable as she moulds herself against him. He is rigid under his clothing; that much she can feel as the fabrics cover so little between them. Daring to lace her hands between them, she snakes her fingers around his suspenders, wishing now that she hadn't removed his tie as it would have given her something more stead fast to pull him closer to her. She needed him impossibly closer in that moment, much like the lovers in the painting they shared.

The frames of Arthur's glasses push into her face as he tilts his head to gain better access to her lips. He feels them snag on her skin, pulling back marginally to check that he hasn't marred the surface before reaching to remove them from his face. Ariadne places a hand on his, stopping him from removing the spectacles she's grown to love.

"No, leave them on please," she smiles, her eyes half lidded as she looks up at him. She slips the suspender in her hand from his tense shoulder before proceeding to the other, letting them fall off of his shirt and hang loosely from his pants. They are both still pressed together at the hips as if they had been knitted together just so. Wrapping her arms around his back, she pulls his upper body towards her, inhaling the rich concoction of his manly smell before turning her face upwards to look into his eyes again.

What she finds there is a longing, one that she thought she might never see in another, but it is there lingering none the less. She involuntarily licks her bottom lip in nervousness, watching as his chocolate eyes followed the movement. Stretching up on her painted toes, she puckers her lips and claims his for her own. Her initial reaction was to press softly and keep things light, but his feverish hands play her strings so well; pulling at the hair behind her ear, caressing her delicate jawline before moving on the flesh of her neck that isn't covered by a scarf. Her tiny hands run ragged over the silken curve of the small of his back, feeling the muscles work underneath as he bows over her. Pulling back just a fraction of an inch allows her to snatch up his lower lip, dragging it into her mouth, causing him to moan a deep guttural noise in his throat. The sound vibrates through him, encouraging her further as she suckles the pink flesh before nipping and releasing it from her grasps.

The assault on his lips continues, punctuated by moans and grunts as their tongues tangle and dance within their mouths. Ariadne grips his shirt tightly as Arthur trails his mouth from hers to her neck, almost ripping the scarf away for more access. She tips her head back catching a sense of vertigo, suddenly wishing that there was something to hold her steady as she quivers from his ministrations. Something hard to hold her in place as he presses his body into her; it doesn't matter if the surface put them vertical, horizontal or upside down at this point. She wants Arthur, more than she dares to admit to herself than she had ever wanted him before.

His teeth graze the sweet spot at the base of her throat, just above the prominent collar bone, and Ariadne almost loses it. She clings to him and his precious fabric for life, digging her tiny nails into his back as he nips and laps at her flesh. The sensation is enough to drive her mad, her desire flaring up like a fire that licks up her spine.

"Arthur..." she sighs quietly tugging the shirt free from his trousers in her plea to get them in some resemblance of nude.

It didn't feel like him. He felt like he was having some outer body experience when he felt her little cold hands brush against his hip as she tugged on his shirt. Arthur's mouth was devouring her neck, licking and biting the creamy expanse of her skin. He felt her throat vibrate under his lips as she moaned, her hands gripping tightly onto his belt.

Arthur runs his nose up her neck and under her ear, breathing in deep at her hairline and getting drunk off her radiant, hypnotic fumes. His hands are firm on her back, keeping her close and upright at the same time. She arches a little, pushing her hips into his, rubbing against him in the one spot he wants the most.

The friction of Arthur's cock against his inner seam is crucifying. He wants to palm it, no, he wants Ariadne to palm it with those elegant hands of hers. She is so gentle she would probably treat it like a child, a stroke and a pat on the head. His ass cheeks clench in anticipation.

She moans from below him and he finds her lips again, taking her over sized, perfect bottom lip into his mouth. She tastes as good as she smells. Vanilla, biscuit and a musky smell that could only ever be just Ariadne. His hands clench on her back, her t-shirt pulling around the front, tight against her delicious hard nipples. She sighs into his mouth, intoxicating him completely.

He can't believe this is happening. Everything Arthur had ever done had been planned down to the last T. Until this, until Ariadne. She knocked him and his sense off balance, she made him into a person he had never been but always wanted to be; the one who fit in and actually got the jokes Eames told every morning. Truth was, it was Ariadne's laugh that made him laugh. She was his cycle to new demeanour.

Her hands move up into his hair and he enjoys it. He wanted her to tug on it and pull, unlike the other substitutes he had laid with, always blonde- never brunette- he couldn't stand those fake nails in his hair. But Ariadne, no his entire being was hers, hair included. Do with it what she will.

Her hips are pushing into his again and he bites her bottom lip in frustration. His facade cracking and his brain is scrambling to remember the nearest surface without breaking contact with her. She smiles against his lips and he knows that she is very aware of how she is affecting him, urging more without remorse. She wants him and he wants her. That is the easiest thing the Point Man has ever deciphered.

Arthur cannot contain his primal growl as she runs her hands down his back and to his ass. His hands slip from her hair, down to her small thighs. She's so soft and light and it takes no effort or breaking of lips for him to grip them tightly and hoist her onto him. She squeals into his mouth and he practically runs forward. Her ass slides onto his counter, her head banging off the cupboard door.

Arthur feels bad, his hands smoothing the back of her hair. Ariadne just chuckles and grabs his hand, moving it onto her breast. "You don't know how long I've waited for this," she breathes in his ear. But she's wrong. He does know. He knows exactly, because that's his job to know. He knew the first moment they both laid eyes on each other.

Her breasts are small and perfect in his hands as she slowly opens her blouse to him. He cannot breathe and feels an urge to worship her on his knees. That's what his good side worded it as, but in reality, he wants to kneel because he wants to taste all over her. He wants her to come in his mouth, mark her territory because he is hers. He doesn't take any care as he pulls her jeans off, throwing them over his shoulder in a uncharacteristic move. He didn't give a fuck. Next come the black panties, all lace and bow tie and he's going to keep them in their own drawer because they deserve it. He runs them down his thigh and stuffs them into his pocket.

"What are you? Holy fu-" Ariadne gasps and splutters as Arthur gives her no time to think. Everything happens so quickly. His head is between her thighs and she's looking down, watching him as he finally marks her in the place she wants most. His hands hold her thighs apart as his tongue touches her. Organized, neat and relentless, just like Arthur. She grips onto the cupboard above her with one hand and the other is in his hair. Arthur loves her reaction, her face red and flushing and him being the one to cause it. He wants more and he knows he will get it.

The pressure of his hands on her thighs with the combination of his tongue masterfully working her inside and out is too much. Ariadne can feel her nails digging into the wood of the cabinet above her, the splinters lining up under her short nails as she tries to hold onto some sort of reality. If her jeans were within reach, she'd likely check her totem, tipping it over on the counter top next to her as she tipped over the edge of an orgasm, praying that this is indeed reality.

Arthur's mouth slides upwards, still buried deep between her thighs to suckle her clit. She throws her head backwards at the connection, bumping into the cabinet door but she could care less about the pain. Ariadne scoots her bottom further towards the edge, pushing his face in deeper and allowing him more access. It is getting hard to breathe, pulling in great gulps of air as she has to force her brain to tell her body to do the action. A hand slides from her thigh, its long fingers finding their way to her entrance that is now eagerly awaiting more attention. He starts with one, slowly easing it inside knuckle by knuckle as she tightens around it before withdrawing and adding another. Her fingers, still buried deep in the gelled mass of hair, grip more firmly as he works her, slightly tugging at the roots. His answering groan sends a vibration through his lips that rocks her forward into his mouth as she starts to reach her breaking point.

"I'm going to..." She can't even finish the sentence, as he reads her body so well that he knows she's almost there. The fingers buried within her curl, touching the spongy tissue of her g-spot as his tongue laps at her core. Her moans filled the kitchen bouncing off of every surface and echoing back to her in reverberation. Arthur makes the final push with his hand, reaching with his fingers deep inside of her as he nips at her clit and hood. Ariadne's eyes slam shut, squeezing tightly as the orgasm rocks through her and her hips almost buck into his face. The sound of her whimper stumbles past her lips as she clenches around him and the world seems to shatter.

When the last of the contractions cease, Arthur withdraws his hand slowly, taking one last lick of her core before rocking back slightly. Ariadne peels open her eyes and lets go of his hair, looking down into his heated gaze as he stares back at her. His wet fingers are still poised in the air, her juices glistening off of the skin as his eyes challenged her. The movement he makes is almost in slow motion in her vision as he brought the wetness to his lips, sucking the fingers into his mouth to remove the taste of her from them. She watches as his eyes close, savoring the piquancy of her essence in his mouth before they reopened to stare longingly back at her own.

Ariadne unconsciously closes her legs as he rises from the floor, unhinging her nails from the wooden cabinet before sliding from the now damp counter top to place herself in front of him. Her legs are shaky, but she finds support by wrapping her arms around Arthur's neck and pulling him into a kiss. Her taste still lingers there on the flesh of his lips and the taste is sweet mixed in with Arthur's salty lip. She feels his arms wrap around her waist, pushing her naked hips against the hardness of his cock pressing through his pants. A small gasp escapes, falling from her mouth into his as she uses her tiny body to push him backwards towards the counter on the opposing wall.

With Arthur's body stable, she grinds herself on his hardness, watching as his face slowly gives away the fact that his composed demeanor is falling apart. Her hands fumble with the buttons of his shirt, slowly removing the silken fabric to reveal the expanse of his chest and abdominal muscles. The sight is even better than she had imagined the countless times that she would daydream about what he looked like without all of his layers. As the shirt hangs open loosely at his sides, she can't help but to run the pads of her fingers across his chest, admiring the softness of his skin and the toned muscle underneath. Ariadne leans forward as her hands brazenly dip lower, snatching up his lips for a kiss as she caresses his stomach.

"Je veux retourner la faveur," she whispers into his mouth softly, her eyes still half lidded in desire. She's not sure why chose to say it in French, but he understands all the same as she watches his eyes grow darker with lust behind the panes of his glasses.

Her fingers reach the clasp of his trousers, pushing into the soft skin of her lower stomach. Ariadne leans back slightly to allow more access to the button and fly while still managing to keep her hips pressed to him. She never breaks eye contact with Arthur, despite the fact that he reaches to put his hands in her disheveled hair again. Pushing the pants to the floor to join her own, she places her fingertips into the waistband of his boxer briefs, watching his jawline tense as her fingertips brush the hair that's trimmed close to his body.

It's in that moment, watching the muscle cords work in his face that he is the sexiest thing she's laid eyes on. This look he dons often, when there are problems within a job that he can't figure out as easily as he normally could. When there's something stewing in his head space, that jaw and those neck muscles twitch until the frustration eases. The fact that they are making an appearance now only encourages her forward.

Pulling the waistband downward, she frees him of his cotton burden, watching as his hardness stands at attention between them. Her eyes trail from his waist, back up to his eyes, following the lines of his body that are laid out before her. Involuntarily, she licks her lips in anticipation before wrapping a tiny hand around him and pulling at the flesh. This in turn causes Arthur's head to lull back, his eyes closing and the hiss of a 'fuck' escaping his lips as Ariadne lowers herself to the floor.

Arthur can only watch and make incoherent noises as Ariadne lowers herself in front of him. He must be dreaming, he has to be dreaming. That is all he can chant in his usually voluminous head. Arthur cannot find it in himself to raise a hand to his totem to check. Instead, he opts to glide his fingers into her hair, just as smooth and silky as he had imagined.

Arthur felt a swell of pride. How he had dreamed of Ariadne, how he had carved her was turning out to be perfect. Her body was just as he imagined under his touch. That soft but static feel that only belonged to her. Ariadne's pussy and her orgasm face, just exactly how he expected them. She tasted divine and finally of something more than vanilla. She had a unique taste, one he would never remove, no matter how many pitchers of beer Eames would force down his throat in the future.

He could still taste her now, the sweet taste tingling the end of his tongue as it poked out. His head was back and he dared not look down in fear of delayed embarrassment. But her hands were on his thighs and they automatically sunk a little lower, automatically accommodating her. Even his body is a slave to her enchantments.

He feels her hot breath on him and he swallows. The lump in his throat is like a large piece of apple, one you digest too quickly and panic by jerking forward before you choke. Arthur's eyes catch hers as his head throws down. She is mischievous and satisfied as she lowers her hot mouth onto him. Her eyes never leaving his.

He almost comes, almost shoots down her throat before he manages to hold onto an old part of him. Gaining control for a second. One hand grips the counter and the other one pulls her hair tight. Ariadne's lips are puckered, her top lip making a heart shape as he slides in and out. Warm and cool, warm and cool. He wants both feeling and the sensation is too much.

He is looking into her chocolate eyes but he can see so much more. Like the smirk at the side of her lips around him, the way her perfect boobs are moving slightly and her missing hand that is somewhere between her legs. His eyes close and he feels like he can't breathe.

"I...I'm fucking..." that's the only warning he can give her, hoping she will back off so he can either come on her chest, like the raunchy side of him wants to, or if he can, turn and do it in the sink next to him. But he can't think for long because her small fingers are touching him too now and he can't do anything but scrunch his nose up and let his stomach drop as he orgasms. Her mouth still around him. Sweet, little Ariadne.

The taste of him is magnificent, a mixture of sweet and salty that could only be attributed to his impeccable diet and cleanliness. He stares down at her while he releases, Ariadne taking in deep pulls as the liquid flows into her mouth. She swallows it down, taking care to lick him one last time with her tongue before releasing him as he slides to the floor in front of her. The sound of metal clips clinking across the cold floor as he shifts and his labored breathing are the only sounds within the space. Allowing time for him to stretch his legs, she throws a leg over his, effectively straddling his hips and pushing her wetness onto him. He sighs, still recovering from the sensation of her mouth as she presses against him, wiggling to get comfortable on his thighs. His hands tentatively move to her back, caressing her spine while pulling her closer to his cock that's growing firmer beneath her already.

Ariadne leans back slightly into his touch, pushing her hips down and her chest out as she takes in his face with doe-like eyes. She never imagined that he would be so willing, so eager to be with someone like her. But here they are, almost naked on his kitchen floor, hot and heavy on the tails of a round two.

"Jesus, you're stamina..." she clasps her hands over her lips with a pop, blushing furiously as she hides her face in the crook of his neck in embarrassment. Not that she wasn't ready for another go, her body was putting out all of the right signals of course, but she never expected him to rebound so quickly. Arthur chuckles, a lazy baritone sound as his hands find her hair again and dive into the mass.

"What can I say?" he questions, "You have that effect on me."

His last sentence is barely above a whisper, filled with so much emotion and longing that Ariadne thinks she may cry. She refrains, instead removing her hands from her mouth to slide them between their bodies and wrap around his back in a hug. Her lips press softly to the tightened skin of his shoulders, slightly covered by his dress shirt. She moves higher, kissing the beautiful chords of his neck and moving on to the strong cut of his jaw. Finally and ever so gently she reaches his ear, her tiny breaths like butterfly wings on his skin as she leans in close, pressing her breasts to his chest and shifting her hips slightly against his cock. Her lips are puckered and moist and she can feel his chest rise and fall in anticipation of what may or may not occur.

The words leave her mouth in the softest of breaths, but reach his ear all the same.

"I want you to make love to me Arthur." she sighs, "I want you to take what is yours." Ariadne removes a hand from around his body, pulling his arm to place his hand with hers in between her breasts, just over her heart. His eyes are wide as she stares into their gorgeous mocha depths, her own gaze fluttering to look that their hands before looking back to him. Her lips formed the words, the most brazenly open and honest she's ever been with Arthur since they have met. "It's always been yours."

Arthur's mouth is crisp dry and eyes wild. Ariadne is above him and all around him, telling him things that have only ever been realistic in dreams. He closes his eyes tightly as his hand caresses her breast, her heart thudding underneath her skin like molten rock. She was so warm and he was burning.

"Do you mean that?...I mean," Arthur stumbles over his words.

"Of course I do," Ariadne whispers, her voice laced with humor. "It's not a dream," she whispers, squeezing his hand across her breast more firmer. "You know it. Touch me, I'm real."

He blinks and caressing her body, her soft peachy body with his calloused hands. They fit perfectly in his palms and the romantic side of his brain sings that she was obviously made for him, fate has brought them together. But the other half has different things on it's mind, like exploring more and making her cry in the best way possible.

Arthur snakes his other hand up her back, bumping past her shoulder blades as he lays his hand flat on her skin. His other hand leaves her breast, making her whimper with want and disappointment. He moves the hand to her cheek and brings her face to his slowly. His lips caress hers with the gentlest touch, his teeth barely grazing her bottom lip as he tilts to the side and exhales out of his nose, his mouth finally coming on hers in a messy kiss.

Her hair wavers and tickles his cheek as his breath blows her hair away and back again, the fine hairs brushing against him. Ariadne mumbles something but Arthur does not care to hear. The blood is rushing through his head so fast he can hear his own heart beat, feel her soft skin and smell that tempting smell that he will never rid of. Ariadne squeals and moans as he abruptly stands and rushes forward. One hand is on her ass and the other is sweeping the table clean.

The paper's rustle as they fall to the floor and Ariadne is pretty sure the salt and pepper set Cobb bought Arthur earlier this year is now smashed on the tiles somewhere. She looks around at the mess, her mouth open in shock at Arthur's rage and passion. She never knew he would be like this but she doesn't care.

His mouth molds to hers again as he sets her down on the table. Her legs automatically wrap around his waist so he can't go anywhere. She knows he is a runner and she will be damned if she let him run away now. His cock is inches away from her, tall and proud just like it's owner. Her inner muscles clench in anticipation as her hands hook around his shirt, hanging on by a few stray buttons.

Arthur ravages her neck as his hands find her bra. It's sexy and half of him wants to fuck her with it on, but there is time and the first time he wants her to himself. He unclasps it easily, tossing it to the side as he gazes at her. She truly is beautiful.

His shirt pulls from his body and he gives no thought as he lets her take it off. She can take anything from him without complaint. He still has his glasses on and somehow, he still feels dressed. Arthur moves to take them off but Ariadne's hand stops him. "No..I," she mumbles.

Arthur frowns. "You want them on?"

Ariadne blushes. "Can you...see without them? Close-up, I mean?" she stutters, going bright red.

Arthur goes red himself and looks down at her chest. "Not really. Not that well."

"Keep them on," she whispers, using her legs to bring herself closer to Arthur. He brushes against her and she's wet and warm as he hisses.

"Fuck...I want you," he grounds out, trying not to slam into her. Instead, he swivels his hips, his cock tracing her and teasing her as she writhes under him. She moans and her finger's dig into his shoulder as she bites her lip, mumbling something behind them.

Arthur smiles. He knows she wants him just as bad as wants her. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he breathes out. "Huh? Do you want my cock in your pussy, fucking you until you can't remember your name?" Arthur is losing all self control as his lips betray his inner wants.

"Yes!" Ariadne screams, her eyes opening and boring into his. "Fuck me..."

Arthur roughly pushes into her, his hands finding purchase in hers as she entwines their fingers. Her back arches and the table slams into the wall with a dull thud. "Jesus!" Ariadne sighs, her hands tight in his. Arthur is controlled by his hormones in that moment, hardly giving either of them time to breathe as he pulls out and slams back in, repeating the process. Her hips finally begin to move with his, creating a rhythm as they move together, back and forth again and again. He wants to be here forever, he wants her to let him be here forever.

The dull ache in her stomach rages into a fiery inferno as Arthur pulls himself out of her and pushes back in, causing her back to arc further from the table, her legs to wrap around him tighter and her toes to curl with pleasure. He fits into her perfectly like the snuggest pair of leather gloves...like two puzzle pieces meant to be together. All of the spots she could never reach alone, he hits them all and discovers new ones by the second.

A shaking breath escapes her lips that's quickly followed by a low moan as he presses into their entwined hands on the oak surface to gain leverage. He increases the tempo as he thrusts and it throws Ariadne out of rhythm for a moment before she can gather enough brain function to adjust.

While everything in her is screaming for release, begging for the both of them to let go and fall over the edge together, a deeper part of her wants more. Her thoughts briefly wander to the visions of the inky black sheets on his bed. The possessive side of her wants her scent marking them up, which in turn would keep her locked in his memory every time he chose to sleep there. The thought makes her clench just as Arthur shoves forward to slam the table into the wall again. She bites her lip hard, holding back the scream that rips its way up her throat as she comes and her insides constrict and release rapidly around him.

Arthur untangles his hands from hers, his palms sweating from the extended contact as they wrap around her arching back to pull her upright. Their lips crash together, causing her to whimper when he pulls the flesh of her sore lip into his mouth. Ariadne's eyelids flutter open slowly as eventually she comes down from her high with a half lidded gaze. She's sure her cheeks are flushed to the point of a permanent rosy hue, even as he strokes her cheek with his thumb, still buried inside of her to the hilt.

"You're so beautiful when you come." His eyes dart back and forth between her own behind the glass of his spectacles. They've fallen slightly down the bridge of his perfect nose in their efforts, and Ariadne places a finger delicately on the frame to readjust them for him before stroking his chest lightly with her short nails.

"Thank you," she chuckles lightly, still light headed from her orgasm. Arthur shifts slightly as she draws him closer to push her small breasts against his warm chest. "I have a request," she hesitates, not sure how to offer up her desires to him. A short pause occurs before she realizes now, if ever is not the time to be afraid to say what you want. Not when the man you love... yes, love is stroking fire across your skin and anxious to fulfill his own needs. Ariadne clears her throat, building up her courage before proceeding.

"I want to fuck you on your bed." The words tumble past her lips with little grace and she buries her face into his collar bone in a small embarrassment, drinking in the smell of his salty, sweat sheen skin. His chest rises quickly with a deep breath as he processes the information, but she finds a way to continue confessing the images in her head as he caresses her spine with his hands..

"I want you under me," Ariadne kisses at the collar bone under her lips, "I want to have you looking up at me while I ride you." Her tongue darts from her lips quickly to taste his flesh, and god it was the best flavors of man and passion she's ever had the privilege of sampling. She reaches the tender spot at the base of his neck licking and nipping at the hollow as his fingertips dig into her flesh. Ariadne pulls back slowly, looking into his hungry eyes, just a whisper away from his panting mouth. "I want to watch your eyes roll back as you come with me looking down over top of you." She presses her lips to Arthur's, sealing in the moan that betrays his steel-like resolve as he pulls her impossibly closer. It's obvious he wants these things as well; she can feel it in the desperation of their kiss and the delicious way his cock twitches inside of her.

Their tongues tangle between their mouths slowly, but Ariadne presses into him with urgency, intoxicated by the idea of hearing his moans as he releases. Her fingers press lightly into his skin, pushing him backwards slowly and he slides from inside her. She can't help but feel the void his absence creates, the emptiness that longs to have him fill it again. Sliding her bottom off of the table, her feet meet the salt grains that coat the kitchen floor as she gains her footing before sashaying towards the hallway. Arthur is motionless, except for his eyes as they follow the sway of her hips as she walks. She pulls her hair over her shoulder as she pauses, looking over her shoulder to glance back at him with a sultry, taunting look.

"Are you coming?" she chuckles lightly, pressing a fingernail between her teeth to stifle the nervous sound.

Arthur barely notices the claw of his nail as it digs into the table, in the exact place her legs had been before she sloped off. His legs are still shaking a little and his dick is still impossibly hard, screaming for him to release his tension. He is mad, so angry that she left him. She ran from him.

But Arthur's eyes kept locked on hers as she teases him with a wink and a sashay, a naked one at that. Taunting him worse than her words had before. She wants to fuck him, she wants him beneath her. It is an offer for Arthur to give up his control, this control that he had held onto for most of his life. Shoot him if it wasn't the hottest thing a woman had ever demanded from him.

Arthur can feel his eyes darkening and Ariadne's face looks a little lost before she proceeds to run away. Instinctively, because that was what he does, Arthur takes off after her; his cock bouncing and waving a salute to the walls of his apartment, his glasses near falling off his nose. Her ass disappears into his room as he scrambles and slams the door open. Ariadne squeals and turns, falling backwards onto his sheets.

He is panting as he watches her. Her naked body peeling away from the sheets as she moved, the black silk slightly sticking to her sweaty skin. Arthur sees it as marking territory, because there was no way in hell he would allow any other woman to lay here now. She owns it all the second he glimpsed her peachy skin against his midnight covers; she belongs there.

The room is chilly, the window still open as the sounds from the Parisian street's blow inside the room. The gentle piano music from the restaurant two buildings down creates their mood. "Are you just going to stand there and watch me?" Ariadne smirks.

Arthur shrugs. "Would the idea be so bad? The scenery is extremely beautiful." But, he walks forward as he says this, his arms swaying and trying not to touch his cock. Ariadne locks his gaze, her toe pointed towards him, her lips open in a slight pout.

"But then I couldn't have you inside of me," she says biting her lip, "Where you belong."

Arthur half blinks and shakes his head. His hands come down to her knees and parts them, opening her up to him. He begins to run his hands up and down her thighs, slowly and tortuously. Her skin is soft and smooth and she says nothing as he takes his time with her, gradually moving forward.

Arthur leans his chest across hers, her hard nipples tickling his upper ribs and he tries not to laugh. He smirks lazily and leans down to her face, tracing her cheek with his nose. She gasps and chews her lip, the rim of his glasses bumping into the end of her nose. His hands are still on her thighs and he grabs them suddenly, pushing them upwards so they curl and cradle Arthur on her body. Her bottom half is wide, open and exposed for anyone, with Arthur teetering around her almost enough to make her scream with want.

"Tell me what you want," he whispers, kissing her ear as he nudges forward, brushing her entrance. She jerks and tries to lower her legs, but Arthur holds them tight. "Tell me!"

"I want your cock. God, I want it so much..." Ariadne trembles, almost on the verge of tears. "I need to have every part of you."

"Ariadne...fuck. I want you so much." The pressure his cock is putting him under is too much. He slides into her perfectly, her walls accommodating him as he eases right in. She lets out a heavy breath and clutches his hands that are around her calves.

"Don't stop!" Ariadne cries. Arthur didn't need anymore encouragement as he slides back out and right back in again, the familiar dance picking right up.

"Keep your legs, right there!" Arthur demands as he let them go. He slaps his palms down next to her head and leans up, dropping his head so he can watch himself slide in and out of her at this new angle. Arthur picks up speed, the bed bouncing as he uses his knees for leverage. Ariadne is gasping and clawing at his shoulders begging him for release. "Are you going to come?" Arthur grits out, his strokes getting faster and deeper as he feels pressure in his stomach.

"NO! I not yet..." Ariadne breathes. "I want...I need to be on top!"

Arthur lets himself be pushed as she slaps her hands on his chest and throws him off with power someone her size should not have. He groans at the loss of her heat, especially when he was so near. He is wild and randy, he wants her to finish him so he can come inside her. Marking her as his, just as she had done to his sheets. Arthur scurries to the mattress in haste pulling on her arm frantically, making her fall on his chest.

Ariadne shrieks and pushes herself up, kneeling over him as she looks down. He is red and angry, his teeth clenching and he has her hips in a tight hold. She gives him a sexy smile and leans down. "Fuck!" he shouts as she grips him firmly in her hand, her hips thrusting involuntarily. She places him near her entrance and runs him over her a few times, making his stomach tingle and his eyes roll back in his head. "I swear to fucking god, Ariadne!"

She impales herself on him quickly, making them both shout out. Arthur barely gives her any time to recover as he starts to lead her body, pushing and pulling her up and down on him as he thrusts up. Ariadne finally catches the rhythm and leans back, throwing her hair out of her face. She rides him, her hips twirling and bouncing as Arthur struggles to hold on any longer. Ariadne keeps her eyes on his face, her forehead is reflecting in his glasses. She angrily takes them off his face and throws them across the room. "Just us...just us," she groans to herself, her hands palming his cheeks.

Arthur's face clenches tightly as he feels it, feels the coil tightening in his stomach. He reaches down and thumbs Ariadne's clit, making her cry out and slam down on him. "Come for me, baby." Arthur roughly thrusts into her a few more times before he swears and lets his orgasm finally take over. She milks him as he comes inside her, gloriously noting how nice they feel mixed together. Ariadne bites her lips and grabs his hair tightly before she shudders and falls onto his chest in a sweaty, spent mess.

Ariadne's cheek meets the center of his chest with a dull thud, resting in the sheen of sweat that has collected from their efforts. Arthur is taking in deep breaths as he relaxes and she can hear the air flow into his lungs and back out again underneath her. Her sigh of contentment escapes her lips after a few brief moments of bliss, his hand moves to stroke the curvature of her spine. It takes everything in her not to purr like a cat; to curl up under his chin and stay there forever. His fingertips are warm in the cooling room, still spreading a fire under her skin. Neither of them make the move to remove themselves from each other; she is just as content as he is to have him inside of her forever.

Turning her head so she can look up at his face, Ariadne drinks in the sight of him. His eyes are closed, his hair is a disheveled mess and a smile is crossing his lips. She can't help but smile too, which turns into a tiny giggle that she tries to cover.

His eyes open slowly, blinking a bit in an attempt to see her face. "What's so funny?" his voice is gruff and full of left over emotions but the words don't come out harsh to her ears. He shifts his leg suddenly, pulling it up in a bent position to push her closer to his mouth so he can see her. She suddenly feels guilty about throwing his glasses, as they are probably shattered somewhere on the floor.

"I'm sorry about your glasses." Her delicate fingers cup his strong jawline, tipping his face down for a lazy kiss of apology. "Do you have a spare set?"

"I have contacts, the glasses are just my backup." He smiles, pressing his wet lips into hers before tracing his nose across her cheek.

"Hmm that's a shame, I was growing rather fond of them." Her usual blush colors her cheeks as she swats a wisp of his hair from his eyes, smoothing it back into the pillows below him. His jaw flexes again as he is in thought within himself instantly. It only takes her moments to realize that they are slipping back into their pre-coital routines; her embarrassed by her every action and he ever composed and guarded. The thought is rather infuriating, even if she's an active participant in the act.

She shifts slightly, rolling her hips to the side and manages to pull him with her as she occupies the cool side of the bed. Ariadne tangles her legs around him keeping him locked up next to her so he can't escape. Her eyes dart back and forth between his, as she knows there is something he wants to say. She can feel it waiting on the precipice of his tongue like a jumper waiting to take his final leap. Placing her thumb on his lip, she strokes the pinkish flesh softly, trying to coax it out of him.

She breaks first, partially due to impatience, the other part being that she can feel him retreating despite him laying right next to her.

"I love you," she whispers her words like a stranger will hear them with her gaze half lidded and fluttering. Arthur remains silent for what seems like an eternity, staring at her from his resting place in the pillow. His mind is working and she can tell; if the gears were turning any louder, Ariadne would swear she was in a factory.

He opens his mouth briefly as if to speak but Arthur snaps it closed just as quickly. His hand comes to her face, brushing the loose tendrils of her hair behind her ear before weaving them into the mass of tangles.

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that." His shield slips, even marginally as he strokes her cheek with his thumb. Ariadne smiles up at him, basking in the glow of his endearment.

Her skin is glowing but retains the smooth, porcelain feel that he has dreamt of for months. His heart is beating a mile a minute and he wants to run. Not far...never far when Ariadne is concerned. But maybe to the toilet, or the kitchen.

Then he remembers what happened in the kitchen and his cock starts to harden again slowly. Ariadne feels it, he knows that much. Her skin flushes and he can see the temptation to look down behind her eyes. But she doesn't, she locks his gaze and he wonders how he could even think of leaving this bed just to cross the room. She smells divine. Even better than before. Things will never be the same, he will never erase the memory of her like this...smelling like this. Vanilla, biscuit and now him.

Arthur feels a rare hot flush up his face as he carries on stroking her cheek and his probing her thigh with his ever hardening dick. Ariadne took a risk with him by declaring herself, something he would not have expected in a million years.

She is looking at him now, a faint smile on her lips. Something was missing. Her eyes were not as bright as they usually were and her shyness was seeping through every second that went past. He wasn't a moron, he was a Point Man. He knows why she was being like this. Living in a house full of sisters when he was younger taught him that much. She wants him to say it back.

"I should get clean," Ariadne mumbles, untangling her legs before trying to sit up. Arthur is momentarily shocked and hurt, feeling like she is suggesting that what they had done was dirty and wrong. But he pushes it aside and grabs her wrist as she reaches for the cover side.

"Don't rush...besides, I'm not finished with you yet," Arthur says, tugging her back down. She falls with a poof of air and smiles as she bounced a little.

Arthur clambers over her, resting himself on his forearms beside her head. Ariadne is wide eyed as she looks up at him, his nose bumping her forehead. "I don't...feel a lot of things, Ariadne," he mumbles as he looked at her head. "It's part of my job not to care. To go down with the sinking ship and all that. That's why Eames always jokes that I'm married to my job...in some ways, it's true."

Ariadne just nods and keeps her hands tight by her sides.

"I like my job. It's the best job in the world," he laughs and gives her a look. "In my opinion."

"Actually. I'm pretty sure arch-"

Arthur puts his finger over her mouth to stop her from talking. "What I'm getting at is...for so long I've been in a world with just me and my job. Nothing else. Care-free. But then Cobb introduced me to you and it felt like I had something else, you know? I kind of felt like I was cheating on my job," he laughs and kisses her hair. "But a job isn't real. It doesn't have emotions. It doesn't keep you warm at night or cook you breakfast in the morning. It doesn't look good naked or in my clothes...and it certainly can't love me like you can."

Ariadne raises her eyebrows a little.

"I can't love it. Not in the slightest...there was a time when I did love my job, but now, it's just a thing and it always has been...because now I know what love really is. What Cobb always tried to tell me I'd find one day. It's you. I love you."

Ariadne grins widely and bares her teeth as she kisses him hard. Her eyes watch her hands as she pulls away and strokes his chest. "You know technically, you're job does keep you warm at night because without it you'd be a broke ass bastard living on the stree-"

Arthur shuts her up with a laugh, a kiss and a good thigh thrust which makes her moan. "Still want to get up?"

Ariadne twirls her hips and pushes on his chest. "Yes, actually."

Arthur frowns and moves off her, feeling slightly dejected and high off her scent. The bed moves and Arthur sighs leaning back as she moves off the bed. A second later she bounces back on and Arthur turns to look at her. "What are you doing?"

"I needed to get these," she giggles, holding up a pair of broken glasses. His broken glasses.

"Look what you've done," he says in mock outrage, plucking them from her grasp. "You've broke my nerd glasses. I've had these since I was a teenager."

Ariadne smirks and takes them back, shoving them onto his face. The right lens has a crack and Ariadne looks distorted but her wide grin is evident. "Broken or not. You are wearing those sexy things the next time I come," she whispers erotically into his ear before straddling his waist. "Then tomorrow, I can pick you out a new pair. Just for me."

Arthur barely has time to protest before her lips are on his and his broken glasses are digging into his nose. He wouldn't have it any other way.