The Science of Things (1/1)
They establish a routine.
After inception, Ariadne returns to Paris, to her studies, determined to fulfill a promise to Cobb to graduate before making the decision on whether or not to return to mind crime. She already knows what she wants, but she owes Cobb. He is the one who introduced her to the world of dream sharing in the first place; it is only fair that she give him something in return - if it is the notion that he hasn’t completely corrupted her then so be it.
Arthur returns to work. He has done it for so long he does not know life without it. Of course, he is in the unique situation of having to find new colleagues but clever Arthur manages to locate just the right criminals. He rarely works with the same people twice, makes enough money to retire comfortably, but still pushes on. He calls Ariadne once a week to see how she is doing. He visits Eames on a regular basis - they bicker, push and pull, and vow never to change a thing.
Eames returns to Mombasa. He enjoys the sticky heat, the easy availability of alcohol and the safety in the knowledge that he is not a wanted man there - yet. He sends Ariadne postcards filled with trivial (and sometimes lewd) things. He works with Arthur when Arthur calls - no matter if he has prior arrangements or not.
Together they come to Ariadne after ever job they work together. She is always happy to see them, no matter how busy she is with projects and mid-terms. They go to movies with subtitles that Eames complains loudly he doesn’t want to read. Arthur and Ariadne threaten to gag him. They go clubs where Arthur complains loudly he can’t himself think. Eames and Ariadne threaten to pull him into their dancing. They go to cafes where the boys discuss upcoming jobs and Ariadne complains loudly that she isn’t supposed to be hearing any of this. Eames and Arthur threaten to tie her up to force her to listen.
She thinks she’s never been happier.
It is her birthday and Eames and Arthur show up at her apartment unannounced. Ariadne is having a few of her fellow classmates over but the discussion has digressed to their usual shop talk and she finds herself getting bored. When there is a knock at the door, she is sure that they don’t even notice her pulling away.
Eames has an expensive bottle of wine. Arthur has a box of petit fours. Ariadne smiles widely, her boredom suddenly lifted. “Ariadne, when are you going to leave this shoebox behind and get a proper place?” Eames asks by way of a greeting.
“It wouldn’t look right, a student living in something besides a hole in the wall. Where would I tell them I got the money for it?” Ariadne asks as she steps out the way to allow them in.
Her classmates don’t mix well with Eames and Arthur. They dress like her but don’t have the luxury of knowing what she knows. Eames is charming, dispensing the wine amongst them all even though she knows he meant it only for them. Arthur sets the petit fours aside, and watches them watch him.
Between eight, the lovely red wine doesn’t last and Ariadne is forced to dig a bottle of cheap stuff out of her cupboard. She dusts it before screwing off the cap as Eames makes a face that she pointedly ignores. She suddenly wishes that the rest would go away so that they could celebrate her birthday properly.
It is Jana who inadvertently clears the room for her. The tiny blonde never could hold her alcohol and after her third glass, she eyes Eames and Arthur, who are settled on the small stained sofa. Eames has his arm slung over the back and he is attempting to drink Ariadne’s wine. Jana smiles and turns to Ariadne. “C’mon, tell us which one of them you are fucking!”
The small conversations that are going on stop and her classmates turn to her expectantly. Ariadne is caught between the urge to blush and the urge to laugh. Finally Alain, perceptive man that he is, breaks the silence, “Jana, you idiot, it’s quite clear that they are fucking each other.”
Ariadne laughs now, and the party soon dies off. She is closing the door behind five retreating forms and for a moment leans against it still giggling. Eames and Arthur are standing now - Arthur clearing away the empty glasses and Eames flipping through her CDs trying to find something suitable but failing. “Christ, Ariadne, are you sure you are not an emo boy?”
She ignores him and goes off in search of the box of sweets, stuffing one in her mouth whole. When she turns back, they are standing in the middle of the living room watching her. When she speaks, her mouth is still full, “Oh come on, he only spoke the truth!” She notices the two relax and she shakes her head as she swallows way too much sugar. “Just because you never thought to actually tell me doesn’t mean I haven’t figured it out. Jackasses.”
Eames finally settles on some French singer, enticing Ariadne into a dance around the small living quarters. Arthur watches in amusement before pulling the pair down onto the sofa with him. They lay there together, Arthur squeezed in the middle. “Happy Birthday, Ariadne,” he tells her, dropping a kiss to her temple.
She smiles.
****
It is her graduation when they show up unannounced again. They have been to Paris in between but have always called. She is sitting among her fellow graduates when she notices them sitting near the back together. She can’t help but smile broadly and she thinks she hears a cheer when her name is called. Eames, of course.
They meet her in the reception room, Eames scooping her up with a huge hug and Arthur landing a kiss on her cheek. She makes one of them take a photo of her with her degree which she promptly sends to Cobb through text message. “How long are you in Paris for?” She asks as she takes off her gown and hands it to the nearest usher. She doesn’t need to be here anymore.
“Just for tonight I am afraid, love,” Eames tells her and he has one arm looped over her shoulders, leading her toward a taxi. “Enough time to go to a fabulous celebration dinner.” She is squeezed in between them, grinning from ear to ear.
Arthur picks the restaurant and a bottle of wine is ordered. Liberated, Ariadne makes them tell her stories of their series of jobs, smiling widely and offering suggestions after the fact. She expects to be asked to join them but neither extends the invitation over dinner.
She is a bit light headed by the time the three of them stumble back into her apartment. She bumps into the table where she usually sets her keys. “Opps.” Then she dissolves into giggles.
She turns to look at them and finds Arthur pressed against the wall by Eames, his lips devouring the other man’s mouth. Her own falls open slightly and she is transfixed by the sight. It is the first time she has ever seen them do something like this - she knows they are a couple; she has admired the fact that they don’t need to be all over each other around others to confirm it. But hell, if she knew she was going to react like this she would have prodded them into it long ago. She can’t contain a little squeak when Arthur presses his body against Eames.
The noise is enough to break the moment between them and Ariadne wants to kick herself. “Sorry,” she says and knows she is red.
“Quite all right,” Eames assures her, a wicked glint in his eyes. Arthur’s hair a little askew, his lips are slightly swollen and Ariadne thinks that she has never seen him more attractive.
Between the alcohol and her sudden urge to fantasize just what might go on between them, Ariadne is finding it difficult to think straight. She offers them coffee, they decline but she busies herself making a pot anyway. When she enters her sitting room with a steaming cup in hand she finds them locked in an embrace on her sofa.
“Jesus Christ,” she says sitting down the coffee cup for fear that she spill it and stain the carpet. She crosses her arms and clears her throat, hoping the pair will take pity on her and stop trying to short circuit her brain. A few moments later, Eames pulls away slowly, feigning innocence. “Problem?”
Not a problem per say. More so a concern. If they keep this up, she thinks she might end up feeling like a peeping tom. In her own apartment. “I am sure that you two have a nice hotel room you can do that in,” she says quietly, hoping she hasn’t offended.
“A bloody good one. Excellent bed,” Eames confirms, his hand stroking Arthur’s neck. She swallows hard. “However, if we went there then you would be here. Counter productive move really.”
Ariadne can feel herself grow hot at his words and senses that Arthur is watching her closely. “Um, sorry, but I am not into the whole voyeur thing,” she says lamely. She knows now that it is a lie of course but she is desperate to save face.
“Who said anything regarding voyeurism?”
It takes her a moment to truly digest the meaning behind Eames’ words. “Oh,” she says and she figures her eyes are bigger than saucers.
Arthur is sitting up straight now, his eyes shifting from her to him. “Very smooth, Mr. Eames,” he retorts, and she thinks there is annoyance laced in his voice. He manages to untangle himself from the other man and comes to stand before her. “Ariadne, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to…”
“Oh,” she repeats. This isn’t just Eames being Eames. She blinks and then finally manages to find her tongue. “But you two…you two are a couple. A cute couple. What the hell are you doing, you idiots?”
Eames snorts a laugh and Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Ariadne,” her name just rolls out of his mouth and she is hard pressed to deny that it doesn’t go straight to the pit of her stomach. Arthur reaches out to touch her arm under the guise of concern, but the way his fingers stroke her bared skin, she knows he has ulterior motives. “Since the moment you woke up spitting fire at Cobb I’ve been attracted to you…”
Ariadne wishes she were one hundred percent sober. Sober Ariadne would drop kick him out of here, telling him to take his boyfriend with him. At least she hopes sober Ariadne would do so. Instead she tries to ignore the effects of his words by peering around him to glance at Eames who is watching the proceedings with rapt attention. “Your boyfriend is hitting on me. This should be a problem!” She cries as if she is the only one who has any sense in the room. Eames merely smiles, shrugs, and Ariadne groans in frustration.
Arthur is slowly moving his hand up her arm and she reaches up to brush it off. “Stop that!” She protests as she steps back and surveys them. “I can’t believe you both! You are so happy together. Why the hell are you trying to ruin it?”
“I am not sure ‘ruin’ is even close to the word I had in mind. I was thinking more a long the lines of ‘enhance’,” Eames says as he moves to stand next to Arthur. He places his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. “Clearly we have overwhelmed the poor thing. Come along,” he ushers Arthur toward the door and Ariadne is desperately wondering where she put her totem. She wants desperately to dig it out when Eames stops at the doorway and considers her for a moment. “You should know that we don’t respond to the word ‘no’ very well.”
She blinks and he is gone.
****
Ariadne doesn’t see either of them for a few months. She still gets a phone call from Arthur once a week but neither of them brings up the night of her graduation. Eames still sends her postcards but thankfully has cut back on the number of lascivious things he includes. She begins to wonder if the night was all a dream - or the side effect of fine cuisine and even finer wine.
Still, that doesn’t stop her from over thinking. Every touch, every kiss that she had once thought was innocent suddenly takes on new meaning. She finds herself fantasizing and she hasn’t done that in years. Worse yet, she lies on her bed her hand firmly between her thighs with visions of Eames and Arthur on either side of her. Some times she mentally curses herself for not sandwiching herself between them in her doorframe and other times she tells herself she did the right thing. They are her friends and she only wants them to be happy - becoming an interloper in their relationship is not the way to ensure that.
She is packing her things into boxes; finally using some of the Fischer money to get herself a ‘proper place’, when there is a knock at the door. She drops a handful of books on the floor before heading to open it. She is surprised to find Eames standing there. Alone. “Where is Arthur?”
“In London,” Eames doesn’t wait to be invited in, simply pushing past her.
She closes the door and frowns. “Did you two have a fight?”
He turns quickly. “What? No. Good Lord, Ariadne, you are certainly doom and gloom when it comes to this relationship aren’t you?” He leans against the wall and takes in the boxes littering the living room. “About bloody time. I do hope your new place has a bigger bathroom.”
“It does,” she confirms, and then realizes she has been momentarily led astray. “Eames, what on earth are you doing here?”
“I am on a lay over, scheduled to fly to London in a few hours. I thought I would come visit my favorite girl,” Eames tells her nonchalantly.
“I am not your girl,” Ariadne retorts immediately.
“But you could be.”
The words lie heavy in the air and Ariadne isn’t quite sure what to say. He takes a step toward her and she puts up her hand, stopping him where he is. “Eames, this is crazy.”
“I fail to see how a man desiring a woman is considered insanity,” Eames says quietly. This is the most serious Ariadne thinks she has ever seen him. “Tell me you don’t desire me and I’ll go away.”
“That’s not fair,” Ariadne frowns. She can’t muster up the will to lie. She knows he will see right through her. “You and Arthur…”
“Arthur knows I am here,” Eames states, halting her train of thought. “He knows exactly why I came here. In fact we discussed it at great length last night after he put his lips…”
“STOP!” Ariadne almost feels like plugging her ears but she knows that she will resemble a child if she does so. Her resolve is crumbling. If he starts describing one of her fantasies she thinks she will wrap her legs around his waist.
“Oh come now, Ariadne,” he teases, and then his voice takes on a low husky quality that has her shifting uncomfortably. “Are you really going to stand there and tell me that you don’t want me to kiss you? To touch you? I have been thinking about touching you for some time now. I wonder how long it would take me to discover just what makes you gasp, moan. I wonder how fast I could make you come apart in my hands.”
Ariadne nearly whimpers right then and there. Her hands are curled into her sides, and she can feel her fingernails biting into her skin. “Oh God…” It’s meant to be a protest but instead comes out as a whispered moan. Eames’ face seems to shift, light up at the sound, and he moves toward her. She doesn’t stop him, and instead welcomes his hands as they curl around her waist.
She expects him to pull her into him so he can kiss her and lets out a surprised squeal when he hefts her over his shoulder. Eames navigates the boxes to her tiny room easily, depositing her on the bed. Finally he claims her mouth and she is kissing him back with as much ferocity as she can muster. Weeks of thinking about it, trying not to think about it, touching herself, making herself come while wishing it was him, or Arthur or both.
She whimpers a protest when he pulls back. He is filling her vision, a smirk on his perfect lips. “Now, love, you just lie there and let me take care of you, hmm?”
Not that she can do anything but. She feels like she has been sedated, her body too heavy with anticipation to do anything but still as he runs his hands down the sides of her torso. Even through the fabric she can feel the heat of his skin and shivers. He chuckles before his fingers deftly pluck at the button of her jeans. She can hear him encouraging her to lift her hips. She wonders if this is the point of no return - she can tell him to leave, to go to Arthur and forget all about this insane idea…or she can lift her hips.
Ariadne lifts her hips.
The jeans slide down her legs revealing a pair of Betty Boop underwear. He makes a sound that she assumes is a laugh and sits up a little. “Fuck,” she mutters, ever so slightly horrified. She hadn’t put them on in the morning assuming that this would be happening.
He shakes his head, “No no, I think it’s rather cute.” He proceeds to show her just how much by tracing the cartoon figure from head to toe. The panties mold to her, clinging to damp flesh. “Adorable.”
Ariadne falls back on her bed again, her eyes shifting to the ceiling, caught between desire and mortification. His fingers are still tracing her through her underwear and she is growing wetter. She whimpers when he stops but he is shushing her like one would an impatient child. His fingers slide under the band of the garment and he pulls them away, exposing her to his touch.
She hears his jacket slide from his shoulders. It hits the floor and she looks up to see him rolling his sleeves up. Clearly he has no intention of losing his clothing. She sits up on her elbows again. “Eames?”
Eames looks down at her, giving her a half smile before placing a hand on her shoulder. “Remember what I said, love - let me take care of you.” He uses gentle pressure to ease her flat on her back again and disappears from her line of vision.
His hands curl around her hips and she is being dragged down until her legs dangle off the edge of the bed. She feels his fingers dance across the part of her stomach that is exposed before running over her sensitive skin and leaving her all together. Her hips lift, begging to be touched. Her movements earn her another chuckle but his hands do not return.
“Eames?” She repeats, suddenly feeling exposed. Her legs have splayed on their own accord, and he seems to be taking his sweet time. Oh God, what if he is having second thoughts. “Eames, please…”
It is not his fingers this time but his lips that press against her thighs. Her eyes widen and she lets out a startled gasp as he runs his chin across her flesh, his stubble scraping her soft skin. “Oh God…” she repeats, the sound hitching her throat as she feels his breath on her. She tries to move her body forward, to close the gap, but his hands are on her hips again, holding her down, holding her in place. She almost screams in frustration.
Finally he presses his mouth to her, his tongue darting into her folds, moving slowly, exploring her as she begins to squirm under him. It narrowly misses her clit and she knows he has done that on purpose - just like everything he does.
When he finally does capture the sensitive nub between his teeth she is making incoherent noises, her hands clenched in the sheets, her eyes screwed tightly shut. She tries desperately to buck her hips, to move, to do anything but he hasn’t released her from his death grip.
She is close - she can feel her orgasm building, threatening to consume her. She knows he knows this too because he is pulling one hand away, sliding two fingers into her, curling them against her as he moves them in and out. He alternates between sucking and swirling his tongue around her clit and she can’t hold back anymore. She comes with a loud cry, clenching around his fingers, her hips bucking off the bed before she falls limp, her eyes open but not really focused on anything.
He is pulling back from her, letting her recover. Leaning over the bed, he uses one hand to pull her head off the bed, his lips closing over hers. She can taste herself on him, and he uses his tongue to coax her mouth open further, to explore before letting her fall back. She doesn’t have it in her to move yet. She just stares at him wide eyed and he laughs, “Arthur was right. You are a sensitive little thing,” he tells her as he leans over to grab his jacket.
He is pulling down his shirt sleeves before she realizes what is happening and forces herself to sit up. “Wait, where are you going?” It hardly seems fair - she feels as if she owes him even just a fraction of what he has given her.
“I have a plane to catch. Remember, love?” He says as he slips into his jacket. He disappears into the bathroom for a moment and when he returns she is still sprawled on the bed, content not to move for the rest of the day. “I see you soon.”
It isn’t until he is gone that she realizes that his goodbye isn’t so much of a question as a statement of fact. As she scrambles for her clothes, she mutters to herself, “I am in so much trouble.”
****
Ariadne reasons Arthur will show up next. And like Eames he’ll be unexpected and ready to do his part in convincing her just why she should insert herself directly in between them. Despite knowing she should be trying to figure out how to derail their plan, she doesn’t even bother to pretend that she isn’t anticipating his arrival. Eames’ visit has sent her mind into overdrive and no matter how much she tries, she can’t replicate the way she had come apart under his hands.
A few weeks pass and in the meantime, Ariadne moves and begins to set up her new life. She realizes she will need to buy more things to help fill the space and she can’t help but miss the closeness of her old place but she knows that she’ll be happy here. She has nearly finished unpacking her belongings in her new home when Arthur comes.
Ariadne opens the door already knowing that it is him. He is standing there impeccably dressed and she can already feel her body reacting at just the sight of him and what it represents. “Hello,” she says, feeling the need to keep some semblance of normal conversation. “Do you want to come in?”
He nods, slipping past her, his body just barely brushing hers. He takes in her new surroundings. “This is a great spot,” he summarizes before turning back to her. “You’ve chosen well.”
“I figured with the amount I am paying it better be worth it,” Ariadne tells him as she shuts the door. Arthur is walking into sitting room, toward the balcony doors as if he owns the place. She follows a few steps behind. “I need to buy new furniture. I didn’t realize how pitiful mine looked until I brought it here…” She trails off to watch him step out onto the balcony and she does as well, taking in what she thinks is one of the best views of Paris. “This…this is why I chose this place,” she tells him quietly as she leans on the railing. When she turns back to face him, he places a hand on either side of her, effectively pinning her in but she doesn’t protest. “Your boyfriend cheated on you with me,” she finds herself saying.
“I know, I told him too. He has an amazing mouth,” Arthur says bluntly. Right now it seems that his eyes are set on her mouth. “When he arrived in London I think I tasted you on him.”
“Jesus,” Ariadne breathes. She hadn’t expected Arthur to be so forward. But then again she shouldn’t be so surprised - the phrase ‘quick give me a kiss’ comes to mind. He kisses her again, but this time it is not the chaste peck she is used to from him. He practically devours her, leaving her clutching his shoulders. When he pulls back for air, he rests his forehead against hers. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long now.”
Ariadne lets him take her hand, lets him lead her to the bedroom. They are slow at first, kissing languidly, hands roaming as if they are trying to memorize the contours of the other’s body. Then she becomes impatient with the amount of buttons lining his shirt and it sets off a frenzy. He helps her, shrugging off the shirt and hissing when she buries her face in the crock of his neck. She can feel his hands under the back of her shirt - warm hands on warm flesh and she pulls back to raise her arms so she can be rid of the constricting fabric. She feels better prepared this time - wearing a new red bra with matching underwear that he discovers when he drags her jeans down and she steps out of them.
For a moment he takes her in and she flushes a little under his scrutinizing gaze. “Just beautiful,” he tells her quietly as his hands trace along her sides, fingers finally hooking under the straps of her bra. He pushes them down, baring her breasts to him and her fingers are in his hair when he leans down to capture a nipple between his teeth.
She is impatient, weeks of waiting having her more than ready for this moment. She is tugging at him, pulling him toward her bed, stumbling against it and falling with him on top of her. She takes a moment to let out a giggle, but it dies on her lips when he thrusts against her, and she can feel his erection through their remaining clothes. “God, now, please now,” she mumbles, crying out in protest when he pulls away long enough to shed his pants and briefs.
She swallows on reflex when he looms over her, completely naked to her eyes. Her fantasies have captured him well but the real thing - it is so much better. She lifts her hips to help him rid her of the panties, and parts her legs with no real instruction. He fits himself between them, and she cries out when he is finally inside of her.
They move at a hurried pace, unable to keep their hands and lips still. She can’t help but be vocal when his fingers find her clit. He circles it slowly as he moves against her. She has her legs wrapped around his waist now, urging him deeper. His name falls off her lips and she begins to repeat it over and over as her orgasm finally takes control. He stills and smiles into the crook of her neck as she arches her back and then clamps down on him in a manner that elicits a loud groan.
She is still coming down when he begins to move again, his thrusts more erratic, the semblance of control gone. He is hard and fast, finishing with a shout. His body falls on hers, his head coming to rest on her breast and both struggle to regain their breath.
Ariadne manages to wiggle out from underneath him and turns so she is lying on her stomach. He sits up on the bed beside her, his hand reaching out to trace patterns on her bare back. They stay like that for awhile before Arthur finally speaks, “It’s called a triad.”
Ariadne is half dozing, feeling sluggish and content. She shifts her head so she is looking at him. He is gazing down at her as he continues to run his fingers across her back. “What?”
“When three people are in a relationship together, it’s called a triad,” Arthur tells her and she can see that he is serious.
“Arthur, did you do research on this?” Ariadne asks, pulling her upper half up onto her elbows. In her mind he is bent over the computer reading furiously at anything he can get. She decides against teasing him, knowing that Eames will have done more than enough for the both of them. “Is this what you want?”
“Not just me,” Arthur tells her. “Eames, and I think you want it too. You might not have realized it yet but think about it, Ariadne. Think about what makes you happy, truly happy.” He moves, so he is resting on his side, his head cradled by his hand. He leans forward to let his lips ghost over her shoulder. “Why haven’t you taken on a job?”
“I was waiting for you to ask me to join your team,” she confesses as she feels his lips touch her shoulder again.
“And why don’t you have real friends? Friends who understand just who you are…” Arthur’s lips have moved beyond her shoulder toward her neck. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend? Surely you weren’t planning on becoming celibate…”
Ariadne has no real answers to his questions. She can only let her head fall to the side as he latches onto a particularly sensitive area, pulling back only when there is a dark bruise there. “I think you don’t have any of those things because that is not what you truly want,” Arthur continues. “I think you are only truly happy when you are with us.”
“That is a rather cocky assumption on your part, Arthur,” Ariadne tells him with a raised eyebrow.
“Perhaps, but I am right,” Arthur insists. He pulls his head back and she makes a face to protest the loss of contact. He moves off the bed, finding his clothes from where they have been tossed. “We are in town for a few more days,” he explains as he dresses. He reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out a grey card, setting it on her beside table. “We - and I mean all of us - can leave for Germany Friday morning.” He stops beside her to give her one last kiss before leaving.
When she hears the click of the front door she reaches over to the table. It’s a key card to their hotel room.
****
Ariadne waits a full day.
She prides herself on the fact that she doesn’t rush into any decisions. She doesn’t exactly make a list of pros and cons but she does weigh the facts and is not surprised to find that the scales tip decidedly toward one outcome.
She will never, as long as she lives, tell Arthur that he is right. He will know it - he doesn’t need her to tell him.
It is early morning when she enters the lobby of the hotel, the key card clutched so tightly in her hand she is worried she is going to have a permanent imprint of the name in her skin. However, her step never falters as finds their room and inserts the card. The lock releases and she pushes the door open.
It’s a suite, larger than her old apartment. She sets the card down on the nearest available surface. The sitting room is empty. There are signs that they have been here - a file folder, a half empty glass leaving a ring on the coffee table. She thinks that perhaps she should call out but instead is heading down the hall, her hand on the bedroom door to push it open. It is empty as well but she can see each of them in the room. Eames’ clothes are in a pile on a chair; Arthur’s suits are hung in the wardrobe.
She knows where they are now. The bathroom door is open, there is steam filtering out and she can hear a throaty groan. Arthur. As if her feet have a mind of their own, she moves toward the door. She peers around the frame, feeling a bit foolish but not wanting to walk right in and announce her arrival. She is greeted with the site of Arthur standing under the spray of the shower with Eames on his knees in front of him. Even given her position she can see Arthur’s cock disappearing between Eames’ plump lips. She sucks in a breath and watches as if glued to the spot. Arthur curls his hand around Eames’ head in what seems like a loving gesture. She can hear him muttering things softly, but can’t quite make them out. She thinks they are probably words of encouragement. Arthur’s head falls back and his eyes screw shut. His hips thrust forward and she has the insane urge to touch herself as she watches Arthur lose the last vestige of his control and come with a shout.
Her hands are clutching the doorframe so tightly that her knuckles are white. It takes a moment for her to realize that Arthur is now looking at her. She feels twin sensations of excitement and fear, both which intensify as Arthur smiles, his hand still playing with Eames’ hair. “Ariadne...”
Eames turns his head now, and he too smiles as he stands to his full height. “Well well, it’s about bloody time.” They neither cover themselves nor move to get out of the shower. “Time’s wasting, love. Get those clothes off of you…”
Ariadne lets go of the door frame long enough to step inside the room. The steam causes her clothes to immediately stick to her and she is having trouble breathing. She chews her bottom lip into her mouth as she thinks about how long she has fantasized of this, how Eames’ mouth felt on her, how Arthur felt inside of her. She finds herself slowly peeling off her shirt, kicking off her shoes. Her pants are next, and she is trying to be as graceful as she can knowing she has two sets of eyes on her. She is down to her underwear, carefully chosen for the occasion, when she gets a little bold, slowing her hands down, letting them run over her skin. She hears twin murmurs of appreciation and smiles before finally removing the rest of her clothes.
Arthur extends his hand and she accepts it, letting herself be pulled into the hot spray. Whatever nerves she has left disappear when she is pulled flush against Arthur, her back coming into contact with his chest. Her head automatically tips and Arthur immediately sucks a mark to match the one he has left the other night. Her eyes are on Eames, who is stroking himself hard as he watches Arthur’s hands roam over her body. She gasps as his fingers find the sensitive flesh between her legs. He moves in circles until she feels like her legs are going to give out from under her. However, Arthur’s grip is tight, ensuring that she stays upright.
Ariadne’s tongue darts out to lick her lips unconsciously as Eames steps toward her, his intentions clear. Arthur is helping him to lift her and her legs automatically go around Eames’ waist. He slides inside her effortlessly and she lets out a startled cry that is smothered when Arthur turns her head so he can cover her lips with his own. Eames has his hands on her hips and begins to move at a furious pace. Ariadne’s hands twine around his neck and Arthur helps support her from behind. She has her head thrown back, resting on Arthur’s shoulders, and her mouth is open to allow her pleasured gasps to escape freely.
Neither of them last long. Ariadne comes first, thanks to Arthur who manages to snake his arm in between them to play with her clit again. Eames shouts when she clenches around him so tightly it is impossible to move. The pair nearly falls over but thankfully Arthur is there to steady them.
Ariadne stands on shaky legs as Arthur shuts the water off. Eames wraps her in a towel before scooping her up over his shoulder. She gives his ass a playful smack and he just laughs. “It’s not my fault you weigh as much as a feather. Makes me feel like a bit of a caveman carrying you around.”
She is settled on the bed, quickly noticing that Arthur has grown hard again. She raises an eyebrow and Eames just grins. She soon is treated to the sight of Arthur taking Eames while he leans over to kiss her. He is growling with each thrust, his teeth nipping at her lips. When Arthur settles into an easy rhythm, Eames shoves her towel away, lifts her hips to meet his mouth and teases another orgasm out of her. Arthur follows suit not long after.
Ariadne feels worn and allows them to manipulate her so she is settled in between them. Her eyes are falling shut when she hears Arthur’s voice low in her ear, “We will make you truly happy…”
It sounds like a vow.
They establish a new routine.
Ariadne returns to a life of mind crime, working her magic in the dreamscape. She allows Arthur to choose the extractors, and chemists but of course they only use one forger when needed. She assures Cobb that she is safe and will stay away from the dangers that nearly consumed him. She knows this is exactly what she wants to do, and makes it her personal goal to outdo herself with each job. She doesn’t always manage to do so but they have never once failed.
Arthur insists they limit the number of jobs they take a year. They are financially set and he no longer sees the need to push themselves into the ground. It serves to make them more sought out - they hold auditions for jobs and pick the ones that are the safest, or interest them the most. He talks of using some of the money to buy a real home but no one can seem to decide on a location. Fortunately for all, the bickering always ends in a rather raucous session of love making.
Eames does not spend as much time in Mombasa as he once did. He finds himself on jobs that don’t require a forger, giving his suggestions and begrudgingly watching over the PASIV device while the rest are under. Ariadne always smacks him when he whispers lewd things in his ears but promises to indulge him when she is not busy with work. When he becomes too much of distraction, Arthur suggests a short trip to his favorite city but Eames points out that thanks to a rather wild weekend with Yusuf, he is now a wanted man there as well.
Together, they still return to Paris between jobs, staying at Ariadne’s apartment. They spend most of their time in bed - sometimes all together, sometimes just Ariadne and Eames, sometimes just Ariadne and Arthur, sometimes just Arthur and Eames. They still go to movies, clubs, and talk shop when they should be relaxing. There are still complaints that are easily ignored or kissed away.
She knows she has never been happier.