Endgame [Arthur/Ariadne]
response to a prompt on inception_kink
specifically unexpected erogenous zones
Saw Inception, and now Arthur/Ariadne is like the BEST PAIRING OF ALL TIME I'M SORRY SASUHINA CAN WE STILL BE FRIENDS?
She hasn't worn her hair up since prom, save for one curling tendril that tangled in the silver earring it was this exact bun too. She remembers her dress was pink with some frilly to it.
This suit, the suit Arthur saw fit to put her in, is nothing like that dress, and this hotel is nothing like prom. For one thing, the guy she was with had a powder blue tux for reasons she still can not fathom, and for another, no one was staring at her. She blames the hostile projections for the prickle of tensionanticipationfrustratedwaiting that skitters down the back of her neck and curls around the base of her properly postured spine.
Arthur is too tall to unexpectedly breathe warm air and lust over the exposed nape of her neck in this dream, so she doesn't discover until much later, when her hair is in a towel and beads of water are rapidly cooling on her over-sensitized skin, that the point man has an oral fixation with her neck. Specifically the back of it.
His teeth press pinpoints of promise into her and she doesn't even realize her knees buckled when his tongue traces a Moebius strip on her trembling flesh until his arm is beneath her breasts, holding her steady. He laughs then, a short rush of heat escaping his lips and dancing on the damp and then the rest of her gives way. Her head falls forward, sending the towel the ground, and she watches water rain onto his expensive pressed slacks.
She insists, between muted gasps, that if she doesn't dry her hair properly it will strangle him in the night. And not in the fun way.
He stops to look at her with amusement and something she can't identify beyond smoldering. The fun way? he asks.
She tries to wriggle out of his hold, but only manages to get his shirtsleeves a little wet.
If you plan on sleeping with me now, I have to dry my hair, and you have to get naked, she reasons. So why don't we do that? The point man should respond to logic right?
His actual response is to smile into the curve of her jaw and walk her to the bed. He stripped the ugly hotel coverlet while she was showering and they topple into a nest of white cotton. She's half expecting this to be the kick and in two seconds she'll wake up in a lawnchair decidedly not naked and probably alone.
She doesn't.
specifically unexpected erogenous zones
Saw Inception, and now Arthur/Ariadne is like the BEST PAIRING OF ALL TIME I'M SORRY SASUHINA CAN WE STILL BE FRIENDS?
She hasn't worn her hair up since prom, save for one curling tendril that tangled in the silver earring it was this exact bun too. She remembers her dress was pink with some frilly to it.
This suit, the suit Arthur saw fit to put her in, is nothing like that dress, and this hotel is nothing like prom. For one thing, the guy she was with had a powder blue tux for reasons she still can not fathom, and for another, no one was staring at her. She blames the hostile projections for the prickle of tensionanticipationfrustratedwaiting that skitters down the back of her neck and curls around the base of her properly postured spine.
Arthur is too tall to unexpectedly breathe warm air and lust over the exposed nape of her neck in this dream, so she doesn't discover until much later, when her hair is in a towel and beads of water are rapidly cooling on her over-sensitized skin, that the point man has an oral fixation with her neck. Specifically the back of it.
His teeth press pinpoints of promise into her and she doesn't even realize her knees buckled when his tongue traces a Moebius strip on her trembling flesh until his arm is beneath her breasts, holding her steady. He laughs then, a short rush of heat escaping his lips and dancing on the damp and then the rest of her gives way. Her head falls forward, sending the towel the ground, and she watches water rain onto his expensive pressed slacks.
She insists, between muted gasps, that if she doesn't dry her hair properly it will strangle him in the night. And not in the fun way.
He stops to look at her with amusement and something she can't identify beyond smoldering. The fun way? he asks.
She tries to wriggle out of his hold, but only manages to get his shirtsleeves a little wet.
If you plan on sleeping with me now, I have to dry my hair, and you have to get naked, she reasons. So why don't we do that? The point man should respond to logic right?
His actual response is to smile into the curve of her jaw and walk her to the bed. He stripped the ugly hotel coverlet while she was showering and they topple into a nest of white cotton. She's half expecting this to be the kick and in two seconds she'll wake up in a lawnchair decidedly not naked and probably alone.
She doesn't.