Addicted
The writer does not own Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Ellen Page, the characters they portray, or Inception.

One too many drinks tonight and I miss you,
Like you were mine.
Come Round Soon – Sara Bareilles

6:30 in the morning and she finds herself back at the warehouse, head still aching from the night before, her hair frizzy in the side ponytail she has pulled over her scarf.

He brings alcohol and flowers 'to celebrate a successful inception' and they sit and drink in her balcony that peeks out on the city of Paris, the Eiffel Tower lighting up their faces as each glass sends them just a little bit higher. They talk about the Louvre and Charles Garnier and Edith Piaf and he sings to her in his impeccable French.

Waves of pain crash against the sides of her head, and she falls into her chair, dragging a piece of cardboard across the wooden surface. Her pencil makes ghostly streaks of granite lines across the scrap material and she reaches for her craft knife.

It's dark and it's late and the radio is playing her favourite song. He's taken his jacket off and her shoes are somewhere else in the room, and they're sitting next to each other, closer than they've ever been. Heat radiates between their bodies but somehow she knows that the night is just starting.

The door to a warehouse closes with a clang, and she refuses to let her head turn. She already knows who it will be, who else would find their way to the warehouse at such an early hour? The sound of his black dress shoes clack their way across the floor and stop next to her. "Ariadne".

"Ariadne". She hears him say her name, and then she realizes that he is all but asking a question that only she can provide the answer to. She pulls his head down and feels him shiver in the cold night air before he presses his lips against hers.

His hand on her back and she's around like a shot, her eyes accusing and at the same time ashamed. She watches his cheeks colour ever so slightly, and she takes comfort knowing that she's not the only one who is embarrassed. His hair is slicked back in his usual point-man style, and she is irritated, as he almost always is, by his perfection.

It's so much more than in the dream, and she feels like her head is going to explode with all the contact. He murmurs her name in her ear over and over again and she knows that she wants more from him.

He swallows uncomfortably and moves his hands awkwardly behind his back. He runs his tongue over his lips and she flinches before he even speaks.

Somehow they have found themselves on her carpeted floor, and his fingers are in her hair, and she feels the brush of the night through her balcony door as he kicks off his shoes, and pauses just before she drags him back down to meet her.

Her eyes watch him with as little emotion as she can and she bites her lip when he leans in closer to talk. A wave of his aftershave and cologne overcomes her and she draws away instinctively.

He smells like cigarettes and tastes like wine, and she realizes that's all she really wants. His breathing matches hers as her scarf, his tie, fall to the floor and they forget about the lights and the music and focus on each other.

"About last night", he says, and she drops eye contact and carries on with her work, her knife making sharp lines, clinking every time it cuts through to the table. "I'm sorry." She turns her head and stares up at him, not caring where the knife slides against the side of her finger.

There are covers and tongues and darkness, and she can vaguely still hear the music on the radio, along with his voice murmuring in her ear. Her rasping breaths fill the room, and his voice has been hitched up a notch.

"Ari!" he scolds as he reaches for her finger, which is by now leaving dark red spots all over the table top. She pulls away instinctively, and wipes her bleeding hand against the dark denim of her jeans, leaving a dirty smear. "Its nothing." she tries to ignore the touch of his hand against hers and bites her lip.

The room closes around her and everything is just him, and there's nothing more to life at that moment except
the way that he makes her feel and the only thing she can say is
'more, more, more.'

"I don't want to see you hurt," is his statement, and she understands the underlying connotations. "Bit too late for that right now." She snaps back at him, and feels the stabbing pain in her hand and her heart.

He swears when the alcohol wears off, jerking himself out of bed and waking her up. He doesn't notice. She watches the bleary figure of him stumble through her apartment and closes her eyes, hoping it's not as she suspects.

"I just want to keep this professional!" His voice rises to a dangerous level, but she is not frightened. Her wound is almost numb right now, and she dares to push herself out of her chair and slap him right across the face. He staggers, steps backward a step or two, and then rubs his cheek. "Guess I deserved that." He mutters under his breath.

The next morning, he's gone and she clutches the covers around herself, burying her face in the pillows, inhaling the smell of just plain Arthur. She cries into the pillow so no one else will hear but her.

"You did." She wants to spit on him; the level of anger that has overcome her is beyond words. "You fucking do."

He looks down at his shoes, and he watches his point-man face fade away, replacing with the all too familiar Arthur-face. She almost sees a silvery tear escape from the side of his eye before he bites his lip and drops his totem on the floor. It bounces off the floor and rolls to a stop. She turns away before she can see the number.

"I want this to work. But I don't want it to work like last night worked." Is his reply, and for once, she finds that he's not speaking of what is sensible, what would be the best for the situation. She finds he's actually thinking about how he feels. She opens her mouth to speak, and tastes the salt of tears. "I want this to work too." Is her honest answer, and she watches him step just one step nearer to her.

"Can we just start over?" His voice cracks and he swallows hard. "Forget last night ever happened. Can we…" he trails of, "be friends for now? I'm not asking for more, Ariadne." It's the first time she has heard him so uncertain, and words from the bedroom flood back to her.

"I love you." He speaks against her lips, and thinks she doesn't hear, but she does, and she bears it down to drunken stupor. How can he love her? He barely knows her. But the look that he gives her and the way she feels in his arms make her think otherwise, and she silences him with another kiss because she's too afraid to reply.

"No." she turns away and looks back at his beautiful brown eyes.
"No." His face falls and she breathes in deep.

"You are so beautiful."
He draws a hand to her curly hair, and pushes it behind her ear. His lips are on her neck, and his teeth pull her scarf from behind her neck.
"Stop hiding behind your clothes."

He nods, a silent resignation in his eyes, and he turns to go, his shoulders just slightly more hunched than usual, but otherwise a
perfect wooden Pinocchio.

She drags him closer to her, and works on pulling his hair out of its perfection, molding herself against him and her fingers fall to undo the buttons on his shirt. It falls. "You should stop hiding behind clothes as well," is her candid reply.

She grabs his wrist, and smiles an unsure smile at him, as usual, not quite knowing what she is getting into.
"I want to be more than just friends, Arthur."

It is quiet, and he reaches his hand around her waist planting a kiss on her nose before drifting off to sleep. She watches his eyes flutter close and waits for his breathing to slow down. "I love you too."

A/N: Hello!

I hope you enjoyed this. I was supposed to be studying for exams but rushed this out instead. Dedicated to KL. I'll just call her that in case there are any creepers out there. She wanted smut; I give her almost-smut. XD
Uploaded sooner than I thought but I found some time over the weekend.
FF screwed up ALL my formatting.

Reviews are much loved.