Burning Up
Title : Burning Up
Summary : “Yes I did. And I’ll do it again if need be.” He says it so seriously Ariadne swears her heart stops for a moment.
Rating : pg-13
Notes : Done for this inception_kink prompt. When anons request fluff, I feel like it's my duty to provide them with it.
Ariadne wakes up the morning after Eames’ thirty-fourth birthday party with the worst headache she can remember having. It makes her head throb painfully, her bones ache, her stomach churn and consequentially her finger tips are cold, freezing even.
The light peeking through the windows is torture on her eyes, so she pulls the covers over her head. The simple movement makes her entire body ache. She knows she didn’t drink nearly enough the night before for this to be a hangover. Besides, she can clearly remember coming undone because of Arthur’s talented tongue the night before. Twice. No, this is definitely something worse than a hangover courtesy of Eames’ party and Yusuf’s special tonic.
Shuffling at the foot of her bed catches her attention. Bravely, she opens an eye. It hurts to do so, but her curiosity gets the better of her. Arthur is standing in her doorway, peering at her curiously. She’s not expecting him to be there. Whenever he does happen to fall asleep after sex, which is rare, he’s usually gone before she wakes and she knows for sure she didn’t wake at six. The sun is too high in the sky.
“Ariadne, are you going to get up today?” she hears Arthur’s voice address her through the covers. “It’s almost ten.” He spits out the word ten reproachfully and if Ariadne could laugh at that moment, she would. She may as well have slept until three in the afternoon. It was just as bad in his opinion.
“Go away,” she rasps. Speaking, it appears is just as bad an idea as laughing. The effort it takes her to talk starts a series of throaty coughs she can’t stop.
“Are you okay?” Arthur asks, his voice being muffled by the layers of sheets and the thick duvet.
Ariadne coughs again in response and holds her aching head when the sheets are peeled back gently. She feels the bed dip with Arthur’s weight and then he’s staring down at her concernedly. She feels his warm hand on her forehead and she moves her face closer to it. It’s like an oasis to her. His touch is soft and comforting.
“God, you’re burning up,” he says and she isn’t sure if it’s directed at her or himself, it comes out so softly. She doesn’t feel him on the bed anymore. She hears more shuffling around her, but she’s not nearly as brave the second time around. She doesn’t dare open her eyes.
Ariadne doesn’t realize she’s shivering, and nearly violently at that, until Arthur comes back and draw the covers back around her. “Open up.” His mouth is near her ear and she can feel something pressing against her lips. She obeys his command obediently, trapping the thermometer under her tongue.
“You definitely have a fever. Ninety-nine degrees.” He sighs, pressing his hand to her face again. “Does any part of your body ache?”
Ariadne nods and starts coughing again. At this rate she thinks she may cough up a lung, but she doesn’t care. If that’s what it takes to make the pain go away, she will gladly do it. She just wants the pain and the cold to disappear. She can feel his strong hand pushing the hair away from her face and Ariadne wants to open her eyes to look up at him, but her body is plotting against her. Her stomach churns and a groan escapes her lips. With more strength than she thinks she has at the moment, Ariadne throws the covers back and bolts towards the bathroom.
She empties the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl and she can’t say she feels one hundred percent better. Weakly, she opens her eyes and she feels like she can retch again. This isn’t her bathroom. This is Arthur’s bathroom. Memories of the night before come flooding back to her. She didn’t quite make it back to her apartment last night and now she’s certain someone in the world wants her to have a horrible day. She slumps against the immaculate bowl, and clutches her stomach.
She hears water running in the distance and then Arthur is before her, pressing a cold wash cloth against her forehead, before he wipes her face with it. If she could, Ariadne knows she would crawl into the deepest hole available at that moment and never come out. This isn’t the most ideal situation for Arthur to see her in. She’s nothing more than an invalid at the moment.
“Are you done throwing up?” His voice is soft as he continues to dab at her face with the washcloth. She nods weakly.
He picks her up off the floor and she curls to his body instantly. He provides the warmth she so desperately craves. When he deposits her into his bed, she draws the covers around herself with a firm grip. He kneels next to bed and wipes the beads of her cold sweat from her forehead.
“Late,” she whispers through her chattering teeth. “Yusuf is waiting.”
“Work and Yusuf can both wait today,” Arthur tells her, as he moves to his closet. “I’m going to put a fresh change of clothes on you and then I’m going to get you medicine.”
“S’not necessary. I’m fine.” She knows it’s a lie, and she knows Arthur knows it’s a lie, but she really doesn’t want to be a burden to him. All she needs is a few hours sleep and then she will be strong enough to make the commute back to her apartment where she can suffer in peace.
He says nothing in return and Ariadne is left to wonder if she insulted his hospitality. She doesn’t know where she stands with him, not really, not ever, so having him tend to her, is awkward and it lures her into a false sense of security. He’s on the bed again. Reluctantly, she lets him pull off one of his t-shirt she must have crawled into before bed and he replaces it with a pair of his pajamas. She shivers and he instantly pulls the duvet around her.
“I’ll be back.” It’s all he says before he’s out of the room, carrying the dirty t-shirt and the wash cloth in both hands.
She fights the call of sleep. She lays on her side, eyes open, and she stares sullenly at nothing. Arthur is gone, has been gone for a while, and she thinks she may have driven him to go to the warehouse. Her throat hurts, she’s hungry and she’s tired. She can’t help but think Arthur may have lied to her to get away from her germs. She sneezes and wipes her runny nose with the t-shirt she’s wearing. Arthur is going to be cross.
Ariadne closes her eyes for a moment, the enticing lure of sleep is difficult to resist, and her eyes, which when open had a very good view of the front door of his Parisian apartment, miss the sight of Arthur trying to enter discreetly with several bags in his hands. She misses the sounds of Arthur busying himself in the kitchen while assuring Eames that she is perfectly fine and that he’ll take care of everything. She doesn’t, however, miss his whisper in her ear when he gently shakes her awake.
“Nnnghh.” Is her response to his gentle nudging. She rolls over and her eyes hurt even more now. Her short nap isn’t helpful.
“You have to eat something,” he whispers to her and she shakes her head no. She imagines she looks like a petulant child right now, but all she wants to do is crawl into a hole and die. “Ariadne, you have to eat something.”
It’s only when he repeats his words does she realize who’s talking to her. “Arthur?”
“Come on, sit up,” he urges her. With his help, her back presses against the mahogany headboard and he sits on the bed before her, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She reaches her hands out for the bowl of soup he brought into the room, but he doesn’t hand it over. Dipping the silver spoon into the bowl, Arthur scoops the soup onto it, wipes off the excess soup on the bottom of the spoon on the side of the bowl with meticulous strokes before his steady hand presses the spoon to her lips.
Ariadne can’t remember the last time someone fed her. It must have been her mother when she was younger, but this is different. It’s much more intimate. Arthur doesn’t take his eyes off her all the while and when she asks for water, in a small voice, he smiles and feeds that to her as well. His thumb brushes her cheek gently while she drinks her water and the sensation is enough to give her goosebumps. If Arthur notices, he says nothing.
With his help she gulps down the array of medicines he provides and then takes a greedy sip of water to wash the taste out of her mouth. “The medicine will take a while to work.”
She closes her eyes and nods. His voice seems far away now, but she refuses to relinquish her hold of him. A word of protest doesn’t escape his lips when she intertwines their fingers and holds onto him.
“Stay,” she whispers.
When she makes her request Ariadne isn’t anticipating Arthur’s next move. She doesn’t expect him to climb into bed with her, but he does. His warmth, his irreplaceable warmth, engulfs her and Ariadne is weak to resist. She moves closer, his arm clamps around her waist, trying to absorb his body heat.
“Better?” He asks, his voice muffled by the top of her head, and she nods. Her body is inhumanly warm against his, but he says nothing. Sweat gathers on the side Ariadne is pressed against, and still he says nothing. He presses a kiss to the top of her head before she drifts off, finally able to sleep peacefully.
She feels like she’s on fire. She groggily opens her eyes, her head still aches, but her body feels like it’s going to spontaneously combust at any moment. Her shirt and pants stick to her body with her sweat and the mountain of blankets she’s buried under isn’t helping her mild heat stroke. Before she can throw the pile off her body, she comes to the realization she isn’t alone. Arthur is still next to her, face buried in his pillow, arm still wrapped around her waist. She inches the blankets off her burning body trying her best not to wake him. He looks far too peaceful for her to disturb him. Even in her post-fever haze, Ariadne can’t help but smile. She reaches a hand down and pushes his hair out of his face as he slumbers on. He stayed with her.
She feels a cough building and she turns her head trying to suppress it, so as not to disturb Arthur, but it doesn’t work. It comes out stronger and startles Arthur out of his sleep.
“Ariadne?” His voice is husky and he wipes at his face when he sits up. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” she answers. “Really.”
“How are you feeling?” He repeats.
“My head hurts a little, but I’m not cold anymore.”
He reaches forward and presses his hand to her forehead and cheeks. “Your fever is mostly gone. I’ll make you a cup of tea. Eames advised me to make you drink as much of it as possible.”
“You consulted Eames about a fever?” Ariadne arches a brow.
“Admittedly, I don’t know much about taking care of the sick,” Arthur confesses as he mops her brow with his hand.
“You were more than passable as a nurse,” she smiles and he returns it. “Thank you Arthur, you didn’t have to take care of me, but, thank you.”
“Yes I did. And I’ll do it again if need be.” He says it so seriously Ariadne swears her heart stops for a moment. “You stay put. I’ll get you that cup of tea.”
Arthur disappears out the bedroom door and Ariadne can’t fight her grin any longer. He stayed. He took care of her.
Summary : “Yes I did. And I’ll do it again if need be.” He says it so seriously Ariadne swears her heart stops for a moment.
Rating : pg-13
Notes : Done for this inception_kink prompt. When anons request fluff, I feel like it's my duty to provide them with it.
Ariadne wakes up the morning after Eames’ thirty-fourth birthday party with the worst headache she can remember having. It makes her head throb painfully, her bones ache, her stomach churn and consequentially her finger tips are cold, freezing even.
The light peeking through the windows is torture on her eyes, so she pulls the covers over her head. The simple movement makes her entire body ache. She knows she didn’t drink nearly enough the night before for this to be a hangover. Besides, she can clearly remember coming undone because of Arthur’s talented tongue the night before. Twice. No, this is definitely something worse than a hangover courtesy of Eames’ party and Yusuf’s special tonic.
Shuffling at the foot of her bed catches her attention. Bravely, she opens an eye. It hurts to do so, but her curiosity gets the better of her. Arthur is standing in her doorway, peering at her curiously. She’s not expecting him to be there. Whenever he does happen to fall asleep after sex, which is rare, he’s usually gone before she wakes and she knows for sure she didn’t wake at six. The sun is too high in the sky.
“Ariadne, are you going to get up today?” she hears Arthur’s voice address her through the covers. “It’s almost ten.” He spits out the word ten reproachfully and if Ariadne could laugh at that moment, she would. She may as well have slept until three in the afternoon. It was just as bad in his opinion.
“Go away,” she rasps. Speaking, it appears is just as bad an idea as laughing. The effort it takes her to talk starts a series of throaty coughs she can’t stop.
“Are you okay?” Arthur asks, his voice being muffled by the layers of sheets and the thick duvet.
Ariadne coughs again in response and holds her aching head when the sheets are peeled back gently. She feels the bed dip with Arthur’s weight and then he’s staring down at her concernedly. She feels his warm hand on her forehead and she moves her face closer to it. It’s like an oasis to her. His touch is soft and comforting.
“God, you’re burning up,” he says and she isn’t sure if it’s directed at her or himself, it comes out so softly. She doesn’t feel him on the bed anymore. She hears more shuffling around her, but she’s not nearly as brave the second time around. She doesn’t dare open her eyes.
Ariadne doesn’t realize she’s shivering, and nearly violently at that, until Arthur comes back and draw the covers back around her. “Open up.” His mouth is near her ear and she can feel something pressing against her lips. She obeys his command obediently, trapping the thermometer under her tongue.
“You definitely have a fever. Ninety-nine degrees.” He sighs, pressing his hand to her face again. “Does any part of your body ache?”
Ariadne nods and starts coughing again. At this rate she thinks she may cough up a lung, but she doesn’t care. If that’s what it takes to make the pain go away, she will gladly do it. She just wants the pain and the cold to disappear. She can feel his strong hand pushing the hair away from her face and Ariadne wants to open her eyes to look up at him, but her body is plotting against her. Her stomach churns and a groan escapes her lips. With more strength than she thinks she has at the moment, Ariadne throws the covers back and bolts towards the bathroom.
She empties the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl and she can’t say she feels one hundred percent better. Weakly, she opens her eyes and she feels like she can retch again. This isn’t her bathroom. This is Arthur’s bathroom. Memories of the night before come flooding back to her. She didn’t quite make it back to her apartment last night and now she’s certain someone in the world wants her to have a horrible day. She slumps against the immaculate bowl, and clutches her stomach.
She hears water running in the distance and then Arthur is before her, pressing a cold wash cloth against her forehead, before he wipes her face with it. If she could, Ariadne knows she would crawl into the deepest hole available at that moment and never come out. This isn’t the most ideal situation for Arthur to see her in. She’s nothing more than an invalid at the moment.
“Are you done throwing up?” His voice is soft as he continues to dab at her face with the washcloth. She nods weakly.
He picks her up off the floor and she curls to his body instantly. He provides the warmth she so desperately craves. When he deposits her into his bed, she draws the covers around herself with a firm grip. He kneels next to bed and wipes the beads of her cold sweat from her forehead.
“Late,” she whispers through her chattering teeth. “Yusuf is waiting.”
“Work and Yusuf can both wait today,” Arthur tells her, as he moves to his closet. “I’m going to put a fresh change of clothes on you and then I’m going to get you medicine.”
“S’not necessary. I’m fine.” She knows it’s a lie, and she knows Arthur knows it’s a lie, but she really doesn’t want to be a burden to him. All she needs is a few hours sleep and then she will be strong enough to make the commute back to her apartment where she can suffer in peace.
He says nothing in return and Ariadne is left to wonder if she insulted his hospitality. She doesn’t know where she stands with him, not really, not ever, so having him tend to her, is awkward and it lures her into a false sense of security. He’s on the bed again. Reluctantly, she lets him pull off one of his t-shirt she must have crawled into before bed and he replaces it with a pair of his pajamas. She shivers and he instantly pulls the duvet around her.
“I’ll be back.” It’s all he says before he’s out of the room, carrying the dirty t-shirt and the wash cloth in both hands.
She fights the call of sleep. She lays on her side, eyes open, and she stares sullenly at nothing. Arthur is gone, has been gone for a while, and she thinks she may have driven him to go to the warehouse. Her throat hurts, she’s hungry and she’s tired. She can’t help but think Arthur may have lied to her to get away from her germs. She sneezes and wipes her runny nose with the t-shirt she’s wearing. Arthur is going to be cross.
Ariadne closes her eyes for a moment, the enticing lure of sleep is difficult to resist, and her eyes, which when open had a very good view of the front door of his Parisian apartment, miss the sight of Arthur trying to enter discreetly with several bags in his hands. She misses the sounds of Arthur busying himself in the kitchen while assuring Eames that she is perfectly fine and that he’ll take care of everything. She doesn’t, however, miss his whisper in her ear when he gently shakes her awake.
“Nnnghh.” Is her response to his gentle nudging. She rolls over and her eyes hurt even more now. Her short nap isn’t helpful.
“You have to eat something,” he whispers to her and she shakes her head no. She imagines she looks like a petulant child right now, but all she wants to do is crawl into a hole and die. “Ariadne, you have to eat something.”
It’s only when he repeats his words does she realize who’s talking to her. “Arthur?”
“Come on, sit up,” he urges her. With his help, her back presses against the mahogany headboard and he sits on the bed before her, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She reaches her hands out for the bowl of soup he brought into the room, but he doesn’t hand it over. Dipping the silver spoon into the bowl, Arthur scoops the soup onto it, wipes off the excess soup on the bottom of the spoon on the side of the bowl with meticulous strokes before his steady hand presses the spoon to her lips.
Ariadne can’t remember the last time someone fed her. It must have been her mother when she was younger, but this is different. It’s much more intimate. Arthur doesn’t take his eyes off her all the while and when she asks for water, in a small voice, he smiles and feeds that to her as well. His thumb brushes her cheek gently while she drinks her water and the sensation is enough to give her goosebumps. If Arthur notices, he says nothing.
With his help she gulps down the array of medicines he provides and then takes a greedy sip of water to wash the taste out of her mouth. “The medicine will take a while to work.”
She closes her eyes and nods. His voice seems far away now, but she refuses to relinquish her hold of him. A word of protest doesn’t escape his lips when she intertwines their fingers and holds onto him.
“Stay,” she whispers.
When she makes her request Ariadne isn’t anticipating Arthur’s next move. She doesn’t expect him to climb into bed with her, but he does. His warmth, his irreplaceable warmth, engulfs her and Ariadne is weak to resist. She moves closer, his arm clamps around her waist, trying to absorb his body heat.
“Better?” He asks, his voice muffled by the top of her head, and she nods. Her body is inhumanly warm against his, but he says nothing. Sweat gathers on the side Ariadne is pressed against, and still he says nothing. He presses a kiss to the top of her head before she drifts off, finally able to sleep peacefully.
She feels like she’s on fire. She groggily opens her eyes, her head still aches, but her body feels like it’s going to spontaneously combust at any moment. Her shirt and pants stick to her body with her sweat and the mountain of blankets she’s buried under isn’t helping her mild heat stroke. Before she can throw the pile off her body, she comes to the realization she isn’t alone. Arthur is still next to her, face buried in his pillow, arm still wrapped around her waist. She inches the blankets off her burning body trying her best not to wake him. He looks far too peaceful for her to disturb him. Even in her post-fever haze, Ariadne can’t help but smile. She reaches a hand down and pushes his hair out of his face as he slumbers on. He stayed with her.
She feels a cough building and she turns her head trying to suppress it, so as not to disturb Arthur, but it doesn’t work. It comes out stronger and startles Arthur out of his sleep.
“Ariadne?” His voice is husky and he wipes at his face when he sits up. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” she answers. “Really.”
“How are you feeling?” He repeats.
“My head hurts a little, but I’m not cold anymore.”
He reaches forward and presses his hand to her forehead and cheeks. “Your fever is mostly gone. I’ll make you a cup of tea. Eames advised me to make you drink as much of it as possible.”
“You consulted Eames about a fever?” Ariadne arches a brow.
“Admittedly, I don’t know much about taking care of the sick,” Arthur confesses as he mops her brow with his hand.
“You were more than passable as a nurse,” she smiles and he returns it. “Thank you Arthur, you didn’t have to take care of me, but, thank you.”
“Yes I did. And I’ll do it again if need be.” He says it so seriously Ariadne swears her heart stops for a moment. “You stay put. I’ll get you that cup of tea.”
Arthur disappears out the bedroom door and Ariadne can’t fight her grin any longer. He stayed. He took care of her.