My Dear Mrs. Dixon (17/?)
Title: My Dear Mrs. Dixon
Rating: NC-17 (<-- ahem, huge rating jump from the usual PG13, you've been warned folks)
Part: 17 of ?
Pairing: Eames/Ariadne
Disclaimer: I am just playing with Nolan's toys
Summary: The only sensible solution to their current problem is to get 'married' of course!
Author's Note: Written in response to a prompt at inception_kink that called for Ariadne and Eames to go undercover as a couple for a job. Woot! I managed to hold true to my promise to post before the end of the weekend. This upcoming week is one of the busiest for me - I am thinking it will be this time next week before I can update again. I am sorry. As a gift for all you loyal readers I bring you a chapter that is rated NC17 and is longer than my usual. Hopefully that will tide you over!!! Enjoy!
“I never realized talking, sipping champagne and dancing was so exhausting,” she comments as she lets her head fall back on the soft leather of the limo seat. Her eyes fall shut even as Eames chuckles beside her.
“Poor thing, tuckered out? Lying is hard business. You always have to remember exactly what you have said so you don’t contradict yourself. It becomes easier with practice but for the newcomer it can be overwhelming. No wonder you are tired,” Eames explains as the car follows the line of vehicles exiting the Collins’ estate.
Ariadne opens one eye to look at him. “How do you know I am not an experienced liar? How do you know that my real name isn’t Muriel? How do you know I am not an undercover FBI agent or something?”
“Well, for one thing, you are too young to be an FBI agent, or at least an undercover one. And for another - Arthur has a file on you,” He tells her and laughs when she sits up, her eyes open wide. “He has one on me too, darling. I can ensure you that mine is double the size of yours. It’s procedure.”
“How can there be procedure when it comes to illegal activities?” Ariadne scoffs. It’s not that she doesn’t see the point of being sure of just who you are letting in your head. It’s just that - well, Arthur has never told her that he knows triple the amount of things about her than she does him.
“In Arthur’s mind, there is always procedure,” Eames says and raises an eyebrow when she laughs. “What? No passionate defense of your darling point man?”
“Not when it is the truth,” Ariadne can feel the limo pick speed and she is glad for it. It has been a long day. Now that they are not in the line of fire, she can relax. “I can’t wait to get out of this dress and these godawful shoes. I am surprised I have made it this long.”
Eames is silent for a moment, appearing in thought. “I take it this is my only opportunity to see you dressed like this.”
“If I can help it,” Ariadne confirms. She falls silent, relaxing, letting the night’s activities play through her head. She had been right to want to see the Collins again - as the night had worn on she had found herself wondering further just what sort of relationship they truly had. Hopefully their lunch together will give them a better idea.
She is nearly asleep when the car slows down. She opens her eyes, glancing out the window as the limo pulls up slowly to the front of the Four Seasons. “We could have just made reservations at the restaurant tomorrow.”
“What if Collins calls the hotel looking for us? No, it is better to have a paper trail in this case,” Eames tells her as the doorman opens the door on his side. He slides out and offers his hand to her. She takes it and together they enter the lobby. She tries not to react - she has never seen that much marble in her life, let alone gold trim. She forces herself to slip back into the role of Elizabeth Dixon. She belongs here. This is nothing new to her.
Eames handles the receptionist easily in French and soon they are being escorted to a heavy wooden door. Eames is given the key card and when they enter, Ariadne immediately goes into sensory overload. “Oh holy shit.”
This is not a room - this is a palace stuffed inside a hotel. There is a foyer that she thinks she can fit her entire apartment in. It opens up into an area that could easily sit at least ten. A glass topped dining room table separates the sitting area from a kitchen any chef would die for. She wanders aimlessly, wondering when she will find the boundaries. She soon finds herself in the bedroom, and she decides she could probably live comfortably in that room alone. There is another sitting area, a bed large enough to sleep three at least, and not one but two entrances to a private terrace. She resists the urge to step out, no not until she sees the bathroom. It doesn’t surprise her to find the tub to be the size of small swimming pool. The entire suite is decorated in a style that reminds her of the Palace of Versailles, with modern touches hidden away and white marble lining the floor.
She slips off her shoes before finally pushing the doors of the terrace to step outside. She immediately grins when she sees the fountain of the Three Graces laid out in front of her. She can hear the laughing chatter of a group walking the street below and she swears she hears music playing. In the distance, she can see the Eiffel Tower lit up in the night sky. It feels like everything that makes Paris famous is being thrown at her at once. She hears Eames’ footsteps and turns her head to see him emerging into the night air with two glasses of champagne. “My God, this place…” She is at a loss for words. “I don’t want to know how much it costs do I?”
“No, no you don’t,” Eames confirms as he hands her a glass. She takes it, turning to lean on the thick stone railing and look out over the city. In the corner of her eye she can see him pulling at his bowtie and then leaning on the railing as well. They both watch as the Eiffel Tower suddenly changes, beginning to sparkle wildly like diamonds in the sun. “Good Lord, that is gaudy.”
“Just a little. But at the same time, you can’t help but feel pulled in by it. It is part of Paris’ identity,” she points out, setting her glass untouched on the railing. She watches as the tower finishes its hourly show and goes back to an orange glow. “It’s a love hate thing really.” She turns to find Eames looking at her in a way that is slightly unnerving. She sees that his glass is half gone. “Are you working your way into numbness?” She asks.
Eames shakes his head. “Celebrating a job well done.”
“It is not over yet,” she reminds him. She stifles a yawn. “I should catch a taxi, get home so I can sleep and find something, anything that will fit in to wear tomorrow.” She’ll probably end up wearing the same thing that she wore when he took her to the café. She pushes herself off the railing. “Goodnight Eames.”
His hand curls around her arm before she gets more than a few steps. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere,” he tells her, his voice barely above a whisper. His intentions are written all over his face. She swallows on reflex.
“Eames…”
“We’ve just spent the entire night teasing one another into a frenzy and you want to leave?” He asks, his voice incredulous. “Or maybe you truly don’t. Maybe you are afraid.”
“Maybe,” she confesses and sighs softly because he is doing it again - he’s stroking his thumb on the inside of her wrist and she is close to falling apart from one simple movement. “Aren’t you worried that we’ll ruin everything?”
Thankfully, she doesn’t have to explain any further. He nods. “There is always that risk. But sometimes, a risk is worth it. God, Ariadne, I think this is worth it…”
The last tiny shred of resolve slips away. Ariadne takes a deep breathe and steps into his arms. He immediately wraps them around her, his hands coming to rest on the small of her back. She shivers, a mixture of nerves and anticipation. “Cold?”
“Not in the slightest,” she tells him her own hands coming to rest at the back of his neck. Her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck and she is surprised that he hasn’t pounced yet. She moves so she is fully pressed against him and quirks her eyebrows when he doesn’t even budge.
“Why rush this? We have all night,” Eames tells her and she is surprised how easily the words go straight to the pit of her stomach. While they may be true, she doesn’t want to wait any longer and uses her grip on the back of his neck to pull his head down. She practically moans when his lips finally close over hers. It starts chaste, simple but soon develops into something fiery, almost a battle for control. She can feel his teeth, his tongue against her own, and lets out a surprised cry when he lifts her, settling her on the railing of the terrace. She pulls away, a quick glance over her left shoulder to calculate just how far she could fall. He chuckles. “Ah, love, don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
He is kissing her again, his hands firmly holding her place. She feels his knee nudge at her legs and she automatically parts them, her dress riding up slightly to allow him to step between them. She is holding on to him for dear life; however the fear of falling has passed. This time he pulls back and his hands are moving swiftly up her sides, tickling her before he attempts to bury them in her hair. He finds it stiff and unmovable. “Christ, Ariadne.”
“Blame you friend Nadia,” she tells him and helps him remove the various pins. She is about to shake her head but he stops her, running his hands through her hair until it is wild around her face. She almost laughs but it dies when she sees the look in his eyes. He looks as if he could devour her. It is almost overwhelming.
His hands fall to her thighs now, running slowly over the soft exposed skin. Her own fall to the edge of the railing, her fingers curving over the cool stone as his creep closer and closer to between her legs. She feels her breath hitch in her throat when one finger traces her inner thigh and finally comes to rest against her. She lets her head fall back as he moves it slowly and then stops suddenly. She furrows her brows together and looks to his face. “Wait a minute,” he begins, and the delicious friction is gone as his hands move to the hem of her dress. It pushes up and suddenly she feels modest - they aren’t exactly secluded in their current position. “These are not the knickers I picked out!”
It takes a moment for Ariadne to make the connection. “Of course they are not, you idiot,” she hisses, annoyed at the loss of contact.
Eames just laughs before he leans in to lift her off the railing. “Put you legs around my waist, love.”
She sends him a playful glare but complies. She is treated to one final view of the Eiffel Tower as he carries her into the room. With her arms wrapped around his neck she nuzzles her head below his chin. She can hear his heart beat, strong and steady beneath her ear and knows that her own is beating at a much more rapid pace. He sets her on the edge of the bed and she watches him shrug off the jacket, letting it fall to the floor. As he kicks off his shoes, she thinks about making some off handed remark about how Arthur would kill him for that but it dies on her tongue when he unhooks his cufflinks and starts on the buttons of his shirt. It’s a not a strip tease - he is all business, sliding the crisp white shirt so it joins the jacket on the floor. Still, she can’t take her eyes off him.
Without thinking, her hands come up to unbuckle his belt. He helps her with the buttons and zipper, and pulls them down, taking his boxers with them. She can hear his intake of breath when she reaches out to touch him. He feels warm and hard to her touch and she grows bolder, her hand moving in simple strokes. She finds herself watching the pleasured reactions playing across his face. He soon reaches down, his hand curling around her wrist to stop her movements. “Ariadne, darling, if you continue to do that I will revert to my school boy days. Hardly the desired outcome.”
She releases him and he uses the grip on her wrist to pull her to feet. He turns her away from him, his arm snaking around her waist. Her eyes immediately fall shut when he pulls her against him and buries his face in her hair. She concentrates on the touch of his lips on her neck as his free hand lands on the zipper of her dress. She can feel it drag down her back, exposing her skin to him. His hand travels across her back to slide under the fabric draped across her one shoulder. It falls away and he releases her so she can push the dress down and step out of it. She can hear him chuckle as he runs a hand over her cotton clad bottom and she turns a shade of red. Perhaps the others would have been a better choice after all.
Eames wastes no time with the clasp of her bra letting it fall away. His hands move to a familiar position, cupping her breasts. Only this time she arches into his touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as moves his hands slowly, teasing her until she has had enough.
She pulls herself free and turns to face him as his hands encircled her waist. She can feel his erection nestled in between them and the anticipation of what is to come seems unbearable. “Oh God, please…”
He is lifting her and she is wrapping her legs around his waist again as he carries her a few steps to the bed. She pulls him down with her enjoying the feel of his weight on her. As he leans in for another kiss, his hand moves quickly, sliding down her stomach dipping beneath the band of her underwear. He draws lazy circles, his fingers teasing yet firm and she moans in his mouth. She pulls away unable to fully concentrate on his kiss with him touching her so. Her breath comes out in short gasps as he continues his assault and finally her back arches and a loud cry escapes her lips. She falls back on the bed, her limbs feeling surprisingly heavy.
“Lift your hips,” he is telling her. It takes a moment to register but she manages to lift them ever so slightly so he can remove the last piece of clothing. When he pulls away from her, she comes to her senses fully to see him reaching for a condom on the bedside table. He must have put it there when she was gazing at the sights of Paris.
“Sure of yourself?” She says when she finds her voice.
“Always,” he retorts immediately.
A moment later he is settling himself between her legs, guiding himself inside of her. He moves slow and she screws her eyes shut at the sensation of being filled. “Alright?” He asks, but his own voice is strained. She nods before moaning as he pulls back and fills her again. He seems content to go in slow, even thrusts. Her hands are on his shoulders, her fingers curled into his skin, incoherent noises falling from her lips as he moves.
She is unsure of just how more she can handle. “Eames,” she says quietly, an unspoken plea evident in her voice. He begins to move faster now, his rhythm not quite as perfect as when they had begun. She lifts her hips, finding the perfect counterbalance to his thrusts after a few attempts. She can feel his lips on the slender column of her throat, his teeth grazing her as she instinctively brings a leg over his hip. Her lips seek him blindly, finally landing on his own after a few missed attempts.
One of his hands falls between her legs and she feels her body stiffen as he again touches the sensitive skin. She is not going to last much longer, not with his oh so precise thrusts and nimble fingers. When she does come again, she clenches around him and he can’t stifle a groan as he stills himself to allow her to ride it out. This time she is afforded no recovery period as he begins to move again, no real rhythm - just hard fast thrusts that have her gasping for air. She can tell he is close and runs a hand along his back when he finally shouts.
They are a tangle of limbs, both too sated to move right away. She finally mutters a protests and he shifts his weight, settling at her side. He drops a kiss on the nearest expanse of skin, her shoulder, as he slings his arm over her. She feels totally relaxed, on the verge of drifting off as soon as her heart beat returns to normal. Her eyelids are heavy and she feels his lips near her ear. “Rest,” he urges. “Your poor body deserves it…”
She lets her eyes fall shut but she can’t help but smile. “Your ego is astounding.” He is chuckling to himself as he pulls away. She hears his footsteps walk toward the bathroom and knows that by the time he returns she’ll be fast asleep.