(no subject)
Title: -none- 2
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Word Count: 1467
Summary: This was not part of Plan A. Maybe Plan A.1?
Author's note: Written as a stand-alone, or as the second part to this. Your choice. And I hope it works both ways.
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"Well. This is awkward." she says, adjusting her wig. It's long, navy and blunt. The bangs cut off her forehead and ages her about 10 years, making her look her actual age.
"Which part?" he asks, holding his armrests to keep from touching her. To her credit, she plays along, instead of rolling her eyes or huffing at him.
"Is this the kind of situation you're in often? A colleague giving you a lap dance?"
"That's all I am to you?" he teases.
"It's still not the kind of thing I'd do for a friend." she shoots back. "Not that you are one of mine."
"You seem to have conveniently forgot that this was your idea." he reminds her.
"No." she states, stabbing her finger into his chest. "My idea was to dress in an appropriate manner to sneak into this joint so I could check out the dressing room and back area since you guys would cause too much suspicion. It was not part of the plan for some pervy guy to approach me near the bathroom and ask me if I was available for a private dance." She looks around furtively. "He's watching us, by the way."
"I'll talk you through it." he says, in what he hopes is a soothing tone, although the energy eminating from her is contagious, and he has to resist rubbing her shoulders to calm her down.
"Ok," she nods. "How do I look? Convincing?"
"Like every man's wet dream come true." he responds.
"Shut up." she mumbles. "If my parents ever found out, I'd die."
"They won't." he reassures her, and she casts him the hairy eyeball. "Just sway your hips a little." She does as she's told, and once she had gotten comfortable, he continues. "You should take the come-on as a compliment. It means you pull off that bra and miniskirt well."
"What, this ruffled elastic band around my waist?" she huffs. "I had no idea that was all it'd take for me to pass for a stripper."
"The heels don't hurt." he shrugs. "By the way, you're going to have to act like you're a little more into it to fool him."
"Shit." she sighs, and runs her hands through her hair slowly, shaking it out before gliding them over her chest and running them down her sides. "How's that?"
"Not bad for an amateur." and he knows he's going to have to stop goading her because she snaps out of seduction mode and looks like she wants to smack him. He grabs her wrist so she'll look at him. "Don't blow our cover. You're doing great."
She sneaks a look at the perv, and when she sees him turn around, she sticks out her tongue at Arthur. "That was one of your favourite moves, I take it?"
"Among a few." he says in a nonchalant tone. He is trying not to get distracted, but finds if he keeps talking, he is able to temporarily crowd out inappropriate thoughts of her. "Put your wrists on my shoulders, and lean forward slowly, parallel to my upper body." He hesitates for a moment, before saying, "Just pretend you're doing this to someone you want...badly."
She raises her eyebrows, but he sees a glint in her eyes as she leans forward smoothly. "My tits, your face, is what you meant to say."
"You're so crass." he says, hoping she can't feel his breathing speed up against her skin. He's about to prompt her but she's getting a feel for this, and slides her hands along the backrest of his chair to the arms. She accidentally bumps her shoulder against his lips, and he drags his mouth roughly against her skin. She's warm against his lips, and he hears a soft gasp. "Keep going." he whispers. "Put your right calf on my right armrest...keep your arms where they are...and do that thing you were doing with your hips.
She puts her knee on his armrest, and one of her bra straps slide hypnotically down her arm, his eyes followng its descent downwards. He hooks it on a finger and traces a slow path to drag it back up her arm.
She stops his hand with hers, and her touch stills his movement immediately. She grasps it lightly and returns it to his armrest with a smile. "Hey, you know the rules. No touching." she says as she pulls the strap back down to the crook of her elbow.
He is dimly aware that this is probably a rough combination of several of his fevered fantasies put together. He stares at the Sortie sign at the back of the room until it gets blurry, trying to maintain focus. "Ariadne..." he manages, softly. "You're very good at this." Her eyes snap to his, and she bites her lip, hiding a small grin.
"Don't flatter me." she says. "I can take the truth."
He's thankful for the moment of levity. "Ok. In that case, you suck."
She swats him lightly on the chest but it ends up being a bit more seductive than he thinks she had intended, her fingers trailing down to his stomach.
"I knew you couldn't keep your hands off me."
"I think its the other way around." she taunts him.
"Hardly." he hisses, and he knows he's nearing the edge of control. "Now straddle me. Your knees next to my hips."
"Tell me," she asks. "how much of this is for show and how much of this is for your personal benefit?"
"Trust me, Ariadne, this is strictly a professional obligation."
"Sure it is." she smirks, staring at his crotch just long enough to make him feel self-conscious before getting into position. "This is your dream come true, me in thigh highs, my legs around you. You just don't remember."
She's so confident, playing around with him, that he can no longer keep quiet. "That's funny. Because what I do remember is a promise you made to me when you thought I was drunk. And this wasn't it."
"What are you talking about?" she says, a bit too fast.
"Don't play dumb." he counters immediately
She is caught off guard. he can tell, but is still defiant. "You were definitely drunk."
"Maybe I was," he admits, tracing the lace on the top of her stocking. "but not enough to forget something like that. Your voice in my ear, promising I'd find out what its like to fu-"
She pulls away before he can finish his thought, her expression all business. "No touching. If you want to continue this, you're going to have to pay for the private room."
He doesn't know what she's doing, but passes her a hundred anyway, and she makes a big show out of tucking it into her bra before grabbing his hand, and dragging him to the back.
She shoves him in one of the rooms and slams the door behind her, ripping off her wig and kicking off her shoes. "I saw the guy coming. I think he figured I was almost done with you." She collapses on the couch. "I need a drink."
He stares at her and his mouth goes dry. Her hair all disheveled, makeup smudged, limp on the couch. "You all right?" Do you know what you just did to me back there? How much of that was acting?
She looks at him, about to respond, when Eames bursts in, knocking after the door was already open. "Hey, uh, ladies, we have to go. We spotted the mark two doors down. We can't let him see us, so we have to go now."
They look at each other, and he tosses her his suit jacket so she can cover up, as she stuffs her wig into a tote bag Eames hands her and fishes out a pair of flats. They run out into the cool night and into Yusuf's waiting car.
He lets her slide into the backseat first. Eames and Yusuf are arguing over the fastest route back to the warehouse, and she's still winded from their sprint.
"So that private room I paid for..." he prompts.
"Shit. I forgot." and she fumbles in her bra, handing him a tightly folded hundred dollar bill.
He's about to take it when he changes his mind. He wants to see that look in her eyes again. "Keep it. I want a raincheck."
She doesn't bite, but he sees a flash of uncertainty before she smothers it. "You're getting a refund." she says, tucking it in his shirt pocket. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"
"You tell me. You're in your underwear, wearing my jacket."
She smiles deviously before looking away. "Maybe this won't be the only time you'll see me in this, then."
He doesn't ask her to promise.