Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or its characters. I only wish I had the kind of creativity required to create a plot like that. I also wouldn't mind owning Arthur but that's a different story.

A/N: I was a little nervous about starting to write for Inception but I've completely fallen in love with the pairing of Arthur and Eames so I thought I'd give it a shot. I know this is a little short but I just wanted to see what I can do. I hope you enjoy it! All reviews are appreciated.

She knows there's a part of her that should be angry about what she's seeing- disgusted, even. But for some reason, Ariadne can't force herself to feel that way or anything remotely close to it. Curious? Yes. Jealous? Yes. Amazed? Most definitely.

She knows she should look away- turn away right then, leave the warehouse and go back the way she came but she can't seem to force herself to do it. Her legs don't want to move and her eyes can't seem to tear themselves away even though she knows they need to and she's just so dumbfounded that even her brain seems to have momentarily shut off.

Because there's Arthur- prim, proper, so called stick in the mud Arthur- and he's tangled up in Eames- messy, unkempt, careless Eames- and their lips are crushed together so forcefully that at first, Ariadne is certain she's seeing things.

Eames has Arthur's back pressed up against the work bench and his normally neat and tidy hair which normally has not one strand out of place is tangled and messy and knotted in between Eames' fingers- one loose curl falling waywardly across his forehead. His pristine, expensive suit, once ironed and perfectly tailored, is bunched up and wrinkled under Eames' other hand as he claws at the fabric on the hunt for bare skin.

It's sort of strange to see them this way- so relaxed and at ease with each other. Arthur wasn't scowling at one of Eames' 'witty' remarks and in fact, when they pulled away from each other, he was actually smiling- and it wasn't his half-assed smirk where just the very corner of his mouth pulled up. It was a full blown, honest, genuine smile and it kind of makes Ariadne's heart flutter a little before she remembered it wasn't directed at her.

In an uncharacteristic show of tenderness, Eames untangles his hand from Arthur's hair and trails it down to rest it on his cheek, murmuring something to him under his breath. The only word Ariadne can make out is 'darling' and judging from the way that Arthur rolls his eyes, she assumes that even in their most intimate moments, Eames is just as sarcastic as ever.

Arthur opens his mouth to respond but Eames only kisses him again- softer this time. Much more tender.

The sight causes Ariadne to smile because she can remember what it feels like to kiss Arthur that way- soft and warm and feather light. She had been so hopeful she would have another chance but now she realized the moment they had shared- a shot, he had called it- had been just that. It hadn't been about two of them- it had been about a distraction.

And somehow, as she watches him and Eames together, she's able to be comfortable with that. It's not the way that she had expected things to work out or had wanted things to work out but that's okay because that one rare, vibrant smile that had crossed Arthur's lips told her everything she needed to know.

It also reminds her that she's invading one hell of a personal moment and a light blush graces her cheeks as she finally looks away. What she's witnessed arouses many questions but she makes a promise to herself to never ask them. She's pried enough as it is and no matter how curious she is, she won't cross another boundary.

Smiling to herself, Ariadne sets her sketch book down on the nearest chair and slips out the door, trying to be as quiet as she can be so as not to alert anyone to her presence.

She's just going to have to remember to guard her thoughts a little better.