My Dear Mrs. Dixon
Title: My Dear Mrs. Dixon
Rating: PG for now, rating will go up
Part: 3 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.
Shopping with Eames is so much worse than she had imagined.
He does not act in the way she has predicted, which should be a relief to her.
Instead Ariadne is well out of her comfort zone and agitation is starting to set in. After she had managed to get Eames away from her delicates and locked the bedroom door, she showered, threw on some clothes and grabbed a bagel. She is still chewing on it when their taxi passed the nearest mall. She sends a questioning glance in his direction.
“Mrs. Dixon doesn’t do factory made carbon copies of last season’s designs…”
So she soon finds herself in one of the city’s high end boutiques. Her skin is crawling just a little as she pulls the drapes on the dressing room. Her choices…no, make that, the sales lady’s choices, are lining the walls. She takes a minute, just a minute, to collect herself. At least here she is away from that horrid employee who seemed more than ready to bend over for them (perhaps more so Eames if her not so subtle flirting was any indication).
She opens her eyes and isn’t sure where to start. She has at least a dozen dresses surrounding her in a variety of colors. There are buttons, zippers, straps, bows, and slits. No wonder she is overwhelmed.
“How is it going in there, love?” Eames asks, his voice closer than she thought it should be. He is probably lingering right outside the curtain.
Ariadne turns and sticks her head out to find that she is right. Since he’s close she lowers her voice when she tells him, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t exactly do dresses.”
“I’ve noticed. However, Mrs. Dixon does,” he points out.
“If you say that one more time, I am going to strangle you with your own tie,” Ariadne promises. Of course he grins instead of taking her seriously and it only serves to up her current level of frustration. She wishes she has a door to slam but in the end makes do with giving the curtain a hard yank. She turns toward the collection and reaches out for the least offensive one she can find. It is simple, black - free of any sort of embellishment.
A moment later she is slipping it over her head and watches as it falls slightly away from her body just above the knee. The neckline dips a little lower than she would like but she doesn’t feel too terribly self conscious. In fact, she thinks for a few hours she can wear this.
Taking a breath, Ariadne opens the curtain and steps out. Eames steps back to take her in and she tries not to blush. She hates the feeling of being on display. “I don’t like it,” he announces a moment later.
Ariadne frowns and her arms cross. She is immediately on the defense. “I think I look fine.”
“You do, darling. But is fine really good enough?” Eames asks, putting a finger to his lips and appearing to be in thought. “No, no, I am quite sure of it now. This is too plain for our purposes…”
The sales clerk has returned and is standing just a little too close to Eames. She is blonde, curvy and wearing too much makeup. She makes it easy for Ariadne to hate the sight of her. “Oh I agree. There are much better choices in the dressing room. Try the pink one. I think it will look fabulous.”
Of course, Ariadne muses, the dim bulb would favor that one. She manages a phony smile and disappears back behind the curtain. The black dress slides to the floor and she sighs, reaching for the pink concoction. She knows she will hate it - she doesn’t need to try it on to realize that. Still, doing so may get the blonde off her back.
Ariadne is pulling up the zipper before she looks at herself in the mirror. “Oh good, I’ve been swallowed by a cupcake,” she mutters before she can stop herself.
“What’s that?” Eames asks.
Ariadne decides not to repeat her words and instead show him instead. She steps out, her face a mask of control. Her hands are clenched into the flouncy pink material. It’s too poofy, and there is a bow large enough to engulf her chest. She notices the quirk in Eames’ face before the blonde is there to gush. “Oh that’s lovely.”
“No,” Eames says immediately and Ariadne forgets how annoyed she is with him. She is sure the relief is showing plainly on her face.
“Are you sure?” The blonde is behind Ariadne now, pulling at something and suddenly the dress is a little tighter around the waist. “It is brand new and in high demand.”
Ariadne is glad that the blonde is behind her because the look on her face is clear - sheer annoyance. Eames waves his hand, a clear sign of dismissal. “If it is in high demand then we don’t want now do we? We want something that no one else is wearing. I think we have had all the help we need for the moment.” The woman clearly does not want to leave. “We’ll call you if we need you, I promise.”
Satisfied, the blonde heads to the other side of the store with Ariadne shooting daggers at her retreating form. She shifts her gaze to Eames. “Thank you. I was ready to shove this dress down her throat.”
Eames makes a face, clearly amused. “Shopping brings out the violent side of you.” He gives her a little push toward the dressing room and then thoughtfully adds, “I like it.”
She is about to pull the curtain closed when he steps in. Suddenly she feels a little crowded with the multitude of dresses behind her and Eames’ towering frame in front. “Eames, get out,” she says simply. She doesn’t want to be in the pink dress and he is just prolonging her agony.
“In a minute, darling. Let’s make this simpler, shall we?” Eames asks as he steps around her and surveys the dresses selected for her by the overly perky blonde. He picks off the brighter colors as well as anything pastel. He grimaces at a leopard print number and takes anything that contains a bow larger than her head. She is left with two - red and black.
“I could kiss you!” Ariadne exclaims in sweet relief. When he leans down, his cheek expectantly pointed toward her, she shakes her head. “I said could. Get out.”
Eames complies and she reaches for the red first. It’s a form fitting number, hugging what little curves she had. Once again, it ended above the knee and Ariadne realizes that this is a qualification of all cocktail dresses. It was high in the front but certainly made up for it in the back. She turns slightly, noting that her nearly her entire back is exposed. She isn’t quite sure how she feels about that.
Stepping out, she is once again under Eames’ scrutinizing gaze. This time he walks around her and she is sure that she is as red as the dress. Suddenly his fingers are trailing lightly across her back - a cool hand on her warmed skin. She jumps and turns, her eyes narrowing.
“Clearly, you are not comfortable,” Eames points out.
Ariadne’s response is to return to the dressing room. She is out of the red dress quickly and then is reaching for her last chance. She slips it on - it’s one shouldered, pleated on the top, has ruching at the waist and glistening with sequins on the bottom (which is thankfully free of poof). She does not look a moment longer knowing that she will begin to find fault with it and instead steps out.
“There we go,” Eames tells her with a wide smile. “Perfect for Mrs. Dixon in her first public outing.”
“Really?” Ariadne’s entire body sags in relief. She retreats to the dressing room and changes back into the comfort of her own clothes. She can hear Eames calling for the blonde, and cannot bring herself to be annoyed.
The torture is over.
Rating: PG for now, rating will go up
Part: 3 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.
Shopping with Eames is so much worse than she had imagined.
He does not act in the way she has predicted, which should be a relief to her.
Instead Ariadne is well out of her comfort zone and agitation is starting to set in. After she had managed to get Eames away from her delicates and locked the bedroom door, she showered, threw on some clothes and grabbed a bagel. She is still chewing on it when their taxi passed the nearest mall. She sends a questioning glance in his direction.
“Mrs. Dixon doesn’t do factory made carbon copies of last season’s designs…”
So she soon finds herself in one of the city’s high end boutiques. Her skin is crawling just a little as she pulls the drapes on the dressing room. Her choices…no, make that, the sales lady’s choices, are lining the walls. She takes a minute, just a minute, to collect herself. At least here she is away from that horrid employee who seemed more than ready to bend over for them (perhaps more so Eames if her not so subtle flirting was any indication).
She opens her eyes and isn’t sure where to start. She has at least a dozen dresses surrounding her in a variety of colors. There are buttons, zippers, straps, bows, and slits. No wonder she is overwhelmed.
“How is it going in there, love?” Eames asks, his voice closer than she thought it should be. He is probably lingering right outside the curtain.
Ariadne turns and sticks her head out to find that she is right. Since he’s close she lowers her voice when she tells him, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t exactly do dresses.”
“I’ve noticed. However, Mrs. Dixon does,” he points out.
“If you say that one more time, I am going to strangle you with your own tie,” Ariadne promises. Of course he grins instead of taking her seriously and it only serves to up her current level of frustration. She wishes she has a door to slam but in the end makes do with giving the curtain a hard yank. She turns toward the collection and reaches out for the least offensive one she can find. It is simple, black - free of any sort of embellishment.
A moment later she is slipping it over her head and watches as it falls slightly away from her body just above the knee. The neckline dips a little lower than she would like but she doesn’t feel too terribly self conscious. In fact, she thinks for a few hours she can wear this.
Taking a breath, Ariadne opens the curtain and steps out. Eames steps back to take her in and she tries not to blush. She hates the feeling of being on display. “I don’t like it,” he announces a moment later.
Ariadne frowns and her arms cross. She is immediately on the defense. “I think I look fine.”
“You do, darling. But is fine really good enough?” Eames asks, putting a finger to his lips and appearing to be in thought. “No, no, I am quite sure of it now. This is too plain for our purposes…”
The sales clerk has returned and is standing just a little too close to Eames. She is blonde, curvy and wearing too much makeup. She makes it easy for Ariadne to hate the sight of her. “Oh I agree. There are much better choices in the dressing room. Try the pink one. I think it will look fabulous.”
Of course, Ariadne muses, the dim bulb would favor that one. She manages a phony smile and disappears back behind the curtain. The black dress slides to the floor and she sighs, reaching for the pink concoction. She knows she will hate it - she doesn’t need to try it on to realize that. Still, doing so may get the blonde off her back.
Ariadne is pulling up the zipper before she looks at herself in the mirror. “Oh good, I’ve been swallowed by a cupcake,” she mutters before she can stop herself.
“What’s that?” Eames asks.
Ariadne decides not to repeat her words and instead show him instead. She steps out, her face a mask of control. Her hands are clenched into the flouncy pink material. It’s too poofy, and there is a bow large enough to engulf her chest. She notices the quirk in Eames’ face before the blonde is there to gush. “Oh that’s lovely.”
“No,” Eames says immediately and Ariadne forgets how annoyed she is with him. She is sure the relief is showing plainly on her face.
“Are you sure?” The blonde is behind Ariadne now, pulling at something and suddenly the dress is a little tighter around the waist. “It is brand new and in high demand.”
Ariadne is glad that the blonde is behind her because the look on her face is clear - sheer annoyance. Eames waves his hand, a clear sign of dismissal. “If it is in high demand then we don’t want now do we? We want something that no one else is wearing. I think we have had all the help we need for the moment.” The woman clearly does not want to leave. “We’ll call you if we need you, I promise.”
Satisfied, the blonde heads to the other side of the store with Ariadne shooting daggers at her retreating form. She shifts her gaze to Eames. “Thank you. I was ready to shove this dress down her throat.”
Eames makes a face, clearly amused. “Shopping brings out the violent side of you.” He gives her a little push toward the dressing room and then thoughtfully adds, “I like it.”
She is about to pull the curtain closed when he steps in. Suddenly she feels a little crowded with the multitude of dresses behind her and Eames’ towering frame in front. “Eames, get out,” she says simply. She doesn’t want to be in the pink dress and he is just prolonging her agony.
“In a minute, darling. Let’s make this simpler, shall we?” Eames asks as he steps around her and surveys the dresses selected for her by the overly perky blonde. He picks off the brighter colors as well as anything pastel. He grimaces at a leopard print number and takes anything that contains a bow larger than her head. She is left with two - red and black.
“I could kiss you!” Ariadne exclaims in sweet relief. When he leans down, his cheek expectantly pointed toward her, she shakes her head. “I said could. Get out.”
Eames complies and she reaches for the red first. It’s a form fitting number, hugging what little curves she had. Once again, it ended above the knee and Ariadne realizes that this is a qualification of all cocktail dresses. It was high in the front but certainly made up for it in the back. She turns slightly, noting that her nearly her entire back is exposed. She isn’t quite sure how she feels about that.
Stepping out, she is once again under Eames’ scrutinizing gaze. This time he walks around her and she is sure that she is as red as the dress. Suddenly his fingers are trailing lightly across her back - a cool hand on her warmed skin. She jumps and turns, her eyes narrowing.
“Clearly, you are not comfortable,” Eames points out.
Ariadne’s response is to return to the dressing room. She is out of the red dress quickly and then is reaching for her last chance. She slips it on - it’s one shouldered, pleated on the top, has ruching at the waist and glistening with sequins on the bottom (which is thankfully free of poof). She does not look a moment longer knowing that she will begin to find fault with it and instead steps out.
“There we go,” Eames tells her with a wide smile. “Perfect for Mrs. Dixon in her first public outing.”
“Really?” Ariadne’s entire body sags in relief. She retreats to the dressing room and changes back into the comfort of her own clothes. She can hear Eames calling for the blonde, and cannot bring herself to be annoyed.
The torture is over.