Woke Up In Vegas (Inception - Eames/Ariadne)
Title: Woke Up In Vegas
Rating: PG13ish for brief mentions of sexytimes!
Pairing: Eames/Ariadne
Disclaimer: Nolan owns all...seriously.
Summary: Because Vegas = getting drunk and getting married!
Author's Note: Written in response to a prompt at inception_kink that called for either Ariadne/Arthur or Ariadne/Eames to wake up married in Vegas
It’s the pain that wakes her…a pain like she has never known before. In her life time she has been stabbed, shot, roughed up (all while she was dreaming, mind you) but she has never been hungover - at least not like this.
Her head is pounding like a thousand jackhammers, her mouth is dry, and her stomach is rolling. She shifts slightly, hoping to ease the nausea and suddenly aware of a new pain - albeit a more pleasant one. A familiar ache that tells her she has done more than polish off a bottle of tequila. She reaches blindly now, her arm coming into contact with warm flesh. It feels so comforting that she cannot help but burrow against it. Before she can help it, she’s breathing, “Arthur…”
“Not even close, love…”
Ariadne’s eyes are open now, the stabs of light nothing compared to shear shock that is running through her system. She is scrambling, tangled in blankets and him. She is aware of his yelp of protest as her knee comes in close contact with a rather delicate part of his anatomy. In her haste to escape, she does not care, not even when she topples onto the floor, blanket in tow. She lands with a thud and groan and just lies there for a moment looking at the ceiling.
Then his face appears in her line vision, only he’s spinning. “Are you alright, darling?”
“I’m going to be sick,” Ariadne tells him.
****
It had been his idea in the first place. They were in Vegas on a job, extracting secrets from a pervy old casino owner who preferred to fill his dream with projections of scantily clad women (a waste of her layout, Ariadne had complained), and Eames had suggested they ‘extract’ a little money from him as well. To celebrate a job well done, he put it. Cobbs had begged off - saying something about needing to phone his kids, Arthur was up for it - and this was Ariadne’s first time in Vegas and she wanted to see everything. So off the three of them went.
Ariadne would soon learn that Eames was, of course, a good cheat and Arthur preferred to drink beer, which she told him didn’t really go with his slick suit. For her part, she was downing shots of pretty colored liquids and ignoring multiple warnings from the both of them. When Arthur announced that he was going to turn in, Ariadne was probably well on her way to being drunk out of her mind. She had pouted and called him a stick in the mud (no doubt an insult picked up from Eames). She can’t be quite sure now, but she may have begged him to stay. Eames was returning, pocketful of freshly ‘won’ cash, and two drinks in hand. He heard the tail end of the conversation and promised to keep an eye on her. And well, that…that is really the last thing she can remember.
****
She’s lying on her side with her flushed face pressed against the cool tile floor. Her stomach has been more than emptied and thankfully the room is not spinning - at least not as fast as it once was. She is breathing slowly, trying to calm herself so she can think this through. Use logic.
There is a knock on the door. She had the good sense to lock it when she was done hugging the toilet. Eames is calling her name and she ignores him - how can she calm herself when the very thing that is causing her emotions to flare up wants to talk to her? But she can’t stop herself from listening and she hears him slide down the door on the other side. She imagines he is leaning against it and wonders if he is still naked.
“Are you going to stay in there all day, love?” He asks after a time. She shifts slightly, still wrapped in the blanket she had dragged with her. “I just might,” She tells him, and then decides to turn to other side. In doing so, the blanket falls away and she catches sight of something that has her eyes widening. “You…you bit me!” She cries as she fingers the definite teeth marks on her inner thigh. She gets a brief flash of his dark head between her legs and her stomach clenches.
Eames chuckles. “If it is any consolation I have a few battles wounds myself. You really should consider trimming your nails.”
Ariadne cannot help but blush. She had never considered herself particularly adventurous. Hell, she was not even that experienced. No once wants to sleep with the art geek in high school. “Uh…how much…what do you remember?” Ariadne asks, her fingers still absent mindedly running over the teeth marks.
He seems to know just what she is asking because through the door he tells her, “You on top, me behind you, against a wall…oh and you begging me to stuff my tongue…”
“You seem to remember more than me…” Ariadne says hurriedly to cut him off. She is blushing now and notices that her hand has trailed slightly closer to between her thighs as he spoke.
There is a hint of anger in his voice when he speaks again, “If you are implying that I took advantage of you, I can assure you that my morals were just as compromised as yours. Perhaps the only difference is that you weigh as much as a duck and drank far more than I thought humanly possible.”
She believes him. He might be a bastard - but he isn’t that kind of a bastard. She lets her hand fall away from her thigh and for the first time she notices. A simple gold band wrapped around that all important finger. She sits up quickly, cracking her head on the porcelain sink.
Ariadne cries out.
Eames breaks down the door.
****
She is sitting on the bed, still wrapped in the blanket. In her hand is the brass bishop. She has been flipping it back and forth for nearly five minutes, ignoring Eames when he had told her that this was most definitely no dream. She knows that already but she can’t stop clutching the bishop.
Eames has gone in search of ice and she is left to survey the damage. The hotel room is a mess of scattered clothes, a toppled chair and now a splintered bathroom door. The bishop clinks against the ring (because she can’t bring herself to refer to it as a wedding ring just quite yet) and she sets it aside for now.
Eames is back with a bucket of ice. He wraps some in a towel, walks to sit beside her. She doesn’t quite meet his eyes as he reaches over and carefully touches her head where a knot is already forming. She winces. “I imagine it does it hurt quite a bit,” he comments as he slowly places the ice against it.
“What are we going to do?” Ariadne asks quietly.
“We are going to go for breakfast with Cobb and Arthur,” Eames tells her.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Ariadne scoffs. She glances over to see his matching ring. Her husband (now that doesn’t sound right) takes her hand and examines her own ring. A flash of him taking her hand to his mouth has her blushing again. Maybe it is for the best that she does not remember every detail of the night. “We could get an annulment?”
Eames lets her hand go. “I would say we consummated the hell out of it…”
Ariadne frowns, “A divorce then?”
“Breakfast,” Eames tells her. He can see that she is getting frustrated and reaches over and touches the side of her face, tilting it so that their eyes met. “Some decisions are not meant to be worked out in a dirty hotel suite on an empty stomach.”
Food is the last thing she wants at the moment, but he’s right. They need time to let this sink in before making any lasting decisions. She nods and he takes the ice away. They spend the next few minutes searching for clothes (I’ve found your panties, Eames exclaims with glee) and dressing.
“Ready to go, darling?” Eames asks as she winds her scarf around her neck, hoping to cover a love bite he has left there. She stops and looks at him for a moment. “You know, under the circumstances, it feels strange for you to call me that.”
Eames furrows his brows. “Would you prefer Mrs. Eames?” The look on her face made him laugh. “Now that we have cleared that up, darling, let’s go.”
****
On the elevator, Ariadne is playing with her ring much like she played with her totem. Eames notices but does not say anything. Finally she sighs and speaks, “Do you remember the…eh, ceremony?”
“Not quite as well as the honeymoon,” Eames retorts. She’s blushing again and Eames is beginning to think it’s quite cute. He realizes, in the years to come, all he’ll have to do is mention this night to have her turning a lovely shade of red.
“Well…it wasn’t Elvis, you know, who performed the ceremony?” She asks.
“No, I can remember that much,” He assures her as the door opens.
She seems relieved as she brushes past him and they head for the dining room. When she spots Cobb and Arthur sipping coffee at a table, she realizes that they should have discussed what they were going to say to their fellow team mates. She turns to him, but Cobb is already calling her name, and Eames is giving her a little push forward.
She finds herself seated across from Arthur and isn’t quite sure what to say. Eames has settled into conversation like nothing happened and she wishes, just for once, she could be that at ease in any situation. Her ringed hand rests on her lap, out of sight and she takes a sip of her coffee, knowing she would rather have some aspirin and water instead.
“Darling?”
Ariadne makes a face as she snaps out of her stream of consciousness. She blinks and looks around to realize that the three men were staring at her. “Sorry…”
“I was just asking if you enjoyed your time in Vegas,” Cobb tells her.
“Oh. I guess…” Ariadne answers.
“The way she was going last night I am sure that she does not remember much,” Arthur says. Although it is not doubt meant to be a joke Ariadne notices that his tone is a little tense. She wonders if he has picked up on the fact that she and Eames have come into together…that they are wearing the same clothes as the night before. She manages a little smile. “Not to worry, I’ve learned my lesson.” Oh boy, has she ever.
Thankfully, the conversation turns inevitably to the next job and she manages to eat a piece of dry toast and finish her coffee. When they stand, Ariadne is glad that they didn’t spend their last meal in Las Vegas discussing what the situation at hand. As a group they head for the lobby and she has her hands stuffed her jacket pockets. As does Eames.
“We meet back here in 20 minutes. Our plane leaves in an hour,” Cobb tells them and they are all about to head off when a rather enthusiastic looking man comes barreling their way.
“Mr. Eames! Oh I am so glad I found you!” He is carrying a rather large looking manila envelope. “I was hoping to catch you before you checked out. Here it is!” He tells the forger giddily as his thrusts the envelope in his direction.
“Here what is?” Eames questions. The rest look perplexed, except for Ariadne who is suddenly nauseous again.
“The photo! I know you said you wanted it ‘as big as a billboard’ but I am afraid that this is as large as we could do,” The man is tearing at the envelope now. “Such a loving couple…” He announces as he turns the photo around for all to see.
Ariadne covers her mouth with her hand (yes *that* hand) as she takes in her wedding portrait. She has some poor excuse of a veil on and she’s got her legs wrapped around Eames’ waist and perhaps her tongue down his throat. For his part, he is cupping her ass with one hand and tangling the other in her dark locks.
“Christ,” Her husband mutters taking the photo quickly from the man. Eames shoves some money at him and sends him on his way.
She’s aware that all eyes are on her again and she’s looking at the floor, trying to decide what the hell she was feeling. Embarrassment? Well that was a given…but perhaps a bit of relief now that everything was out in the open. She can feel a hand on her arm to steady her. It’s Eames and she looks up. Arthur is watching now closely, his hands thrust firmly into his pockets, his lips pursed. She can see something brewing behind his eyes - jealously?
Ariadne wants to laugh as she allows Eames to lead her away. She knows Arthur is watching and she can’t help but lean into her husband. For a split second she thinks - perhaps there is a benefit to being married to Eames. Well, that and apparently great sex.
Rating: PG13ish for brief mentions of sexytimes!
Pairing: Eames/Ariadne
Disclaimer: Nolan owns all...seriously.
Summary: Because Vegas = getting drunk and getting married!
Author's Note: Written in response to a prompt at inception_kink that called for either Ariadne/Arthur or Ariadne/Eames to wake up married in Vegas
It’s the pain that wakes her…a pain like she has never known before. In her life time she has been stabbed, shot, roughed up (all while she was dreaming, mind you) but she has never been hungover - at least not like this.
Her head is pounding like a thousand jackhammers, her mouth is dry, and her stomach is rolling. She shifts slightly, hoping to ease the nausea and suddenly aware of a new pain - albeit a more pleasant one. A familiar ache that tells her she has done more than polish off a bottle of tequila. She reaches blindly now, her arm coming into contact with warm flesh. It feels so comforting that she cannot help but burrow against it. Before she can help it, she’s breathing, “Arthur…”
“Not even close, love…”
Ariadne’s eyes are open now, the stabs of light nothing compared to shear shock that is running through her system. She is scrambling, tangled in blankets and him. She is aware of his yelp of protest as her knee comes in close contact with a rather delicate part of his anatomy. In her haste to escape, she does not care, not even when she topples onto the floor, blanket in tow. She lands with a thud and groan and just lies there for a moment looking at the ceiling.
Then his face appears in her line vision, only he’s spinning. “Are you alright, darling?”
“I’m going to be sick,” Ariadne tells him.
****
It had been his idea in the first place. They were in Vegas on a job, extracting secrets from a pervy old casino owner who preferred to fill his dream with projections of scantily clad women (a waste of her layout, Ariadne had complained), and Eames had suggested they ‘extract’ a little money from him as well. To celebrate a job well done, he put it. Cobbs had begged off - saying something about needing to phone his kids, Arthur was up for it - and this was Ariadne’s first time in Vegas and she wanted to see everything. So off the three of them went.
Ariadne would soon learn that Eames was, of course, a good cheat and Arthur preferred to drink beer, which she told him didn’t really go with his slick suit. For her part, she was downing shots of pretty colored liquids and ignoring multiple warnings from the both of them. When Arthur announced that he was going to turn in, Ariadne was probably well on her way to being drunk out of her mind. She had pouted and called him a stick in the mud (no doubt an insult picked up from Eames). She can’t be quite sure now, but she may have begged him to stay. Eames was returning, pocketful of freshly ‘won’ cash, and two drinks in hand. He heard the tail end of the conversation and promised to keep an eye on her. And well, that…that is really the last thing she can remember.
****
She’s lying on her side with her flushed face pressed against the cool tile floor. Her stomach has been more than emptied and thankfully the room is not spinning - at least not as fast as it once was. She is breathing slowly, trying to calm herself so she can think this through. Use logic.
There is a knock on the door. She had the good sense to lock it when she was done hugging the toilet. Eames is calling her name and she ignores him - how can she calm herself when the very thing that is causing her emotions to flare up wants to talk to her? But she can’t stop herself from listening and she hears him slide down the door on the other side. She imagines he is leaning against it and wonders if he is still naked.
“Are you going to stay in there all day, love?” He asks after a time. She shifts slightly, still wrapped in the blanket she had dragged with her. “I just might,” She tells him, and then decides to turn to other side. In doing so, the blanket falls away and she catches sight of something that has her eyes widening. “You…you bit me!” She cries as she fingers the definite teeth marks on her inner thigh. She gets a brief flash of his dark head between her legs and her stomach clenches.
Eames chuckles. “If it is any consolation I have a few battles wounds myself. You really should consider trimming your nails.”
Ariadne cannot help but blush. She had never considered herself particularly adventurous. Hell, she was not even that experienced. No once wants to sleep with the art geek in high school. “Uh…how much…what do you remember?” Ariadne asks, her fingers still absent mindedly running over the teeth marks.
He seems to know just what she is asking because through the door he tells her, “You on top, me behind you, against a wall…oh and you begging me to stuff my tongue…”
“You seem to remember more than me…” Ariadne says hurriedly to cut him off. She is blushing now and notices that her hand has trailed slightly closer to between her thighs as he spoke.
There is a hint of anger in his voice when he speaks again, “If you are implying that I took advantage of you, I can assure you that my morals were just as compromised as yours. Perhaps the only difference is that you weigh as much as a duck and drank far more than I thought humanly possible.”
She believes him. He might be a bastard - but he isn’t that kind of a bastard. She lets her hand fall away from her thigh and for the first time she notices. A simple gold band wrapped around that all important finger. She sits up quickly, cracking her head on the porcelain sink.
Ariadne cries out.
Eames breaks down the door.
****
She is sitting on the bed, still wrapped in the blanket. In her hand is the brass bishop. She has been flipping it back and forth for nearly five minutes, ignoring Eames when he had told her that this was most definitely no dream. She knows that already but she can’t stop clutching the bishop.
Eames has gone in search of ice and she is left to survey the damage. The hotel room is a mess of scattered clothes, a toppled chair and now a splintered bathroom door. The bishop clinks against the ring (because she can’t bring herself to refer to it as a wedding ring just quite yet) and she sets it aside for now.
Eames is back with a bucket of ice. He wraps some in a towel, walks to sit beside her. She doesn’t quite meet his eyes as he reaches over and carefully touches her head where a knot is already forming. She winces. “I imagine it does it hurt quite a bit,” he comments as he slowly places the ice against it.
“What are we going to do?” Ariadne asks quietly.
“We are going to go for breakfast with Cobb and Arthur,” Eames tells her.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Ariadne scoffs. She glances over to see his matching ring. Her husband (now that doesn’t sound right) takes her hand and examines her own ring. A flash of him taking her hand to his mouth has her blushing again. Maybe it is for the best that she does not remember every detail of the night. “We could get an annulment?”
Eames lets her hand go. “I would say we consummated the hell out of it…”
Ariadne frowns, “A divorce then?”
“Breakfast,” Eames tells her. He can see that she is getting frustrated and reaches over and touches the side of her face, tilting it so that their eyes met. “Some decisions are not meant to be worked out in a dirty hotel suite on an empty stomach.”
Food is the last thing she wants at the moment, but he’s right. They need time to let this sink in before making any lasting decisions. She nods and he takes the ice away. They spend the next few minutes searching for clothes (I’ve found your panties, Eames exclaims with glee) and dressing.
“Ready to go, darling?” Eames asks as she winds her scarf around her neck, hoping to cover a love bite he has left there. She stops and looks at him for a moment. “You know, under the circumstances, it feels strange for you to call me that.”
Eames furrows his brows. “Would you prefer Mrs. Eames?” The look on her face made him laugh. “Now that we have cleared that up, darling, let’s go.”
****
On the elevator, Ariadne is playing with her ring much like she played with her totem. Eames notices but does not say anything. Finally she sighs and speaks, “Do you remember the…eh, ceremony?”
“Not quite as well as the honeymoon,” Eames retorts. She’s blushing again and Eames is beginning to think it’s quite cute. He realizes, in the years to come, all he’ll have to do is mention this night to have her turning a lovely shade of red.
“Well…it wasn’t Elvis, you know, who performed the ceremony?” She asks.
“No, I can remember that much,” He assures her as the door opens.
She seems relieved as she brushes past him and they head for the dining room. When she spots Cobb and Arthur sipping coffee at a table, she realizes that they should have discussed what they were going to say to their fellow team mates. She turns to him, but Cobb is already calling her name, and Eames is giving her a little push forward.
She finds herself seated across from Arthur and isn’t quite sure what to say. Eames has settled into conversation like nothing happened and she wishes, just for once, she could be that at ease in any situation. Her ringed hand rests on her lap, out of sight and she takes a sip of her coffee, knowing she would rather have some aspirin and water instead.
“Darling?”
Ariadne makes a face as she snaps out of her stream of consciousness. She blinks and looks around to realize that the three men were staring at her. “Sorry…”
“I was just asking if you enjoyed your time in Vegas,” Cobb tells her.
“Oh. I guess…” Ariadne answers.
“The way she was going last night I am sure that she does not remember much,” Arthur says. Although it is not doubt meant to be a joke Ariadne notices that his tone is a little tense. She wonders if he has picked up on the fact that she and Eames have come into together…that they are wearing the same clothes as the night before. She manages a little smile. “Not to worry, I’ve learned my lesson.” Oh boy, has she ever.
Thankfully, the conversation turns inevitably to the next job and she manages to eat a piece of dry toast and finish her coffee. When they stand, Ariadne is glad that they didn’t spend their last meal in Las Vegas discussing what the situation at hand. As a group they head for the lobby and she has her hands stuffed her jacket pockets. As does Eames.
“We meet back here in 20 minutes. Our plane leaves in an hour,” Cobb tells them and they are all about to head off when a rather enthusiastic looking man comes barreling their way.
“Mr. Eames! Oh I am so glad I found you!” He is carrying a rather large looking manila envelope. “I was hoping to catch you before you checked out. Here it is!” He tells the forger giddily as his thrusts the envelope in his direction.
“Here what is?” Eames questions. The rest look perplexed, except for Ariadne who is suddenly nauseous again.
“The photo! I know you said you wanted it ‘as big as a billboard’ but I am afraid that this is as large as we could do,” The man is tearing at the envelope now. “Such a loving couple…” He announces as he turns the photo around for all to see.
Ariadne covers her mouth with her hand (yes *that* hand) as she takes in her wedding portrait. She has some poor excuse of a veil on and she’s got her legs wrapped around Eames’ waist and perhaps her tongue down his throat. For his part, he is cupping her ass with one hand and tangling the other in her dark locks.
“Christ,” Her husband mutters taking the photo quickly from the man. Eames shoves some money at him and sends him on his way.
She’s aware that all eyes are on her again and she’s looking at the floor, trying to decide what the hell she was feeling. Embarrassment? Well that was a given…but perhaps a bit of relief now that everything was out in the open. She can feel a hand on her arm to steady her. It’s Eames and she looks up. Arthur is watching now closely, his hands thrust firmly into his pockets, his lips pursed. She can see something brewing behind his eyes - jealously?
Ariadne wants to laugh as she allows Eames to lead her away. She knows Arthur is watching and she can’t help but lean into her husband. For a split second she thinks - perhaps there is a benefit to being married to Eames. Well, that and apparently great sex.