[Trust is something that Ariadne has always given to Arthur willingly, without thought. Because she knows Arthur will never, ever take it for granted.
And he'll always ask permission, even though he wouldn't have to.
The fabric of the tie is soft against her skin, brushing her eyelids as her eyes fall shut and she leans into Arthur's warmth with a smile. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, trusting, always trusting.]
You'd better get me inside and out of this dress, it's getting uncomfortable. [The joke is light on her lips, though, in truth, if not for Arthur, she would never have worn something like this. The fabric is light and clings to curves she doesn't really have - delicate shoulders, small breasts, skinny waist, bony hips, pale legs.
But she doesn't need to be able to see Arthur to know the way he's looking at her - he thinks she's beautiful, sexy, and she knows the way his eyes darken when he wants her.]
[The tie is knotted (more sober and he wouldn't do it, crumpling the silk that way. Eames would have rolled his eyes and told him that he could afford to buy another) behind Ariadne's head, tight enough to stay only.] I'm sure all the air on your pale legs is a bother. [He smiles against her mouth as his hands, palms flat and blunt nails turned against skin, pull up her thighs and push the dress up over her hips.
There's no one in the hall, but other people live here.
Arthur drops to his knees and presses his mouth against her sex, humming quietly, teeth scraping against lace. His hands keep the dress up, thumbs pushing into the bony crops of her hips.]
Just because I only wear skirts on special occasions... [The joke is huffed out on a laugh, that turns into a startled gasp when he shoves the skirt up right there in the hall.
Arthur is always so private, not that she minds. He's right - what they do in their free time is no one else's business. But here, in this hallway, where anyone could walk by, the image in her head - the tie a makeshift blindfold, the fabric of her skirt bunched up around her hips, Arthur's mouth pressed to the lacy red fabric between her legs - it's enough to make her moan low in her throat, a quiet sound just for him.
Her fingers curl in his hair. She's wet, he always makes her so wet.] Someone could see...
[She's right, but it doesn't stop him running fingers under the hem of her panties, from hip down between her legs. Arthur won't stay here long but for the moment the utter disregard for privacy or polite society is a buzz against his nerves, a minor infraction so far, more arousing than not. He wouldn't fuck her out here, no, but he will press his face into the damp, scratchy material at her crotch and tease. His fingertips graze but don't invade.]
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And he'll always ask permission, even though he wouldn't have to.
The fabric of the tie is soft against her skin, brushing her eyelids as her eyes fall shut and she leans into Arthur's warmth with a smile. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, trusting, always trusting.]
You'd better get me inside and out of this dress, it's getting uncomfortable. [The joke is light on her lips, though, in truth, if not for Arthur, she would never have worn something like this. The fabric is light and clings to curves she doesn't really have - delicate shoulders, small breasts, skinny waist, bony hips, pale legs.
But she doesn't need to be able to see Arthur to know the way he's looking at her - he thinks she's beautiful, sexy, and she knows the way his eyes darken when he wants her.]
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There's no one in the hall, but other people live here.
Arthur drops to his knees and presses his mouth against her sex, humming quietly, teeth scraping against lace. His hands keep the dress up, thumbs pushing into the bony crops of her hips.]
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Arthur is always so private, not that she minds. He's right - what they do in their free time is no one else's business. But here, in this hallway, where anyone could walk by, the image in her head - the tie a makeshift blindfold, the fabric of her skirt bunched up around her hips, Arthur's mouth pressed to the lacy red fabric between her legs - it's enough to make her moan low in her throat, a quiet sound just for him.
Her fingers curl in his hair. She's wet, he always makes her so wet.] Someone could see...
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