chesstotem | the one where Arthur is a douche (for thesecurity and <lj site="l

Eames released a breathy chuckle, catching her lips with his again and lifting her hips, sliding her down onto his cock. His breath caught against her lips with a grumble at the back of his throat, his fingers pressing hard on her hips without his consent. "Mmm, Arthur doesn't know what he's missing,"

"Oh yeah?" she asked with a little laugh, squirming and gripping his shoulders hard. He was stretching her in places she hadn't been stretched in over a year, though she was kind of embarrassed to admit that to him.

Her hips moved up, then she seated herself on him again, squirming and tightening herself around him with a moan. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Right at this moment, this was exactly what she needed.

"Absolutely," Right at this moment, Arthur should have been the last thing on his mind. Too be fair, he was pretty close to the last thing, but there he was nagging away, even in the background. But the master of distraction could distract himself well enough, and he thrust up hard into Ariadne's warm heat to start the rhythm, chuckling against her lips with his own smirk of a grin.

God, that felt good. She met his thrust with her hips, groaning into his mouth. It wasn't gentle, and that was perfect. She didn't want to be treated like she would break. "Eames..."

...was an asshole.

That was all Arthur could think as he walked through the hotel lobby toward the elevators--and then back toward the front doors--and then back to the elevator. He jammed the button with too much force and dragged a hand over his face without bothering to try and look less pissed off than he was. Whiskey... might not have been the best idea. Neither was being here, certainly, but he wouldn't be able to sleep without letting Eames know exactly what he thought of the man's 'third-party' passing on of their private life.

Or private... whatever it was, it wasn't as if life really counted for what they had. Or didn't have.

Or wouldn't have again, if Arthur had his way tonight, because, goddamnit. Eames knew how he felt! And worse was that Arthur knew Eames well enough to know that the man, for all his oh-so-convincing openness, was about as honestly forthcoming with most personal details as fucking Fort Knox. So why in the hell would he tell Ariadne that they'd slept together?

Arthur was in the mood to beat to decent answer to that question out of him. And then maybe fuck him if he asked nicely enough.

No, more whiskey had not been a good idea.

He stumbled slightly getting off the elevator and threw a look over his shoulder at the couple that had ridden up with him as he steadied himself against the closest wall to dig out his wallet. Key, key... Eames had given him a key. Because they were the best of fuck-buddies, weren't they? Of course. And everyone knew it, thank you very much Mr Eames. The condemning piece of plastic was wrenched free from behind his driver's license (fake name, why was everything in his life fake?) and Arthur glared at it before loosening his tie and setting off down the hallway to match the number on the card to a door.

809... 811... 813. Arthur rolled up his sleeves and switched his draped jacket to his left arm to jam the keycard into the door with his right. He had to do it once, twice, before the little light turned green and let him in. Arthur was still trying to decide as he stepped inside whether he should stay quiet and just deck Eames, or alert him enough to make it a fair fight.

He snorted.

Couch, empty. Arthur wandered toward the middle of the room. A half-drank something was on the coffee table. Probably scotch. His lip curled a little into a drunk approximation of a sneer for no other reason than right then Arthur more than a little hated that he knew what Eames drank. Knew what he drank in specific situations, because it was all about appearance, wasn't it? And so long as Eames wasn't ruining people perceptions of his own image--whatever the hell that happened to be on that given day--then the man didn't give a...

He knew those shoes. Strappy. Cute but sensible.

Frowning, Arthur took another step into the room, far enough that it gave him a clear line of sight. Far enough that motion from the revealed bed caught his attention, lifted his eyes from the shoes to the pair of people. Ariadne was unmistakable; it was the fall of her hair. Her voice, making those little noises. And Eames--Eames' hands were on her, big enough to make her look small in comparison.

Something nasty and sharp unwound in Arthur's chest. "What the hell?"

Ariadne was making little noises, all right. Whimpers, sighs, moans. She rode Eames hard, her hips rising and falling with each breath. She kissed Eames again, hearing something behind her with the part of her brain that wasn't thinking fuck, yes, more, I'm close, but she didn't fully register it because a twist of her hips against him pushed her over the edge.

She moaned, low in the back of her throat, clinging to Eames as she shuddered with orgasm. Somewhere in the haze of pleasure, however, she realized there was someone else in the room.

Eames was not so lucky. He had been more than enjoying himself, pulling Ariadne down onto his cock and dispelling every thought of how much he really, truly hated Arthur--hate being a relative term he didn't quite focus on at the present time as, really, he's only human.

But he wasn't so lucky, and the moment the door opened, Eames knew. "Ariadne..." Her name was a quiet warning on his ragged breath, so easily confused with a moan. He kept trying to pull her attention to the fact that they needed to stop, unable to do it himself because Jesus Christ, he was close, and he body just wasn't doing what he told it to do. He groaned when she came but didn't follow, breathing hard and looking over Ariadne's shoulder, right at Arthur.

I can explain was probably the right way to go, but right now, he had far too much pride to go with anything but, "You look absolutely wrecked, darling,"

I can explain wouldn't have won Eames any favors from Arthur, but at least it wouldn't have actively pissed him off. As it was, what he did say--plus the fucking darling tacked onto the end like the bastard that Eames was at all times--dispelled any notions of a fair fight from Arthur's head.

It was very, very fortunate for Eames that Ariadne was in front of him, a lovely, naked, shaking shield... because she was the only thing that stopped him from picking up the heavy scotch glass and throwing it at Eames' head. Arthur was just sober enough to realize that he was drunk enough that he might hit her instead. And she...

Arthur looked away, his mouth set in tight line. "Wonderful." He dropped the keycard on the coffee table and headed back to the door. He couldn't hit Eames with Ariadne on his lap and he couldn't apologize (though why he wanted to apologize to her was beyond him) to Ariadne while Eames was inside of her.

He let the door slam behind him.

Edited 2010-09-14 17:50 (UTC)

Ariadne turned her head to look, and got a view of Arthur looking angrier than she'd ever seen him before. Her eyes widened with surprise and she pulled away from Eames hastily, scrambling for a sheet or, or... something, but Arthur was already out the door again anyway.

For once, Ariadne couldn't think of anything to say.

Which was a good thing, because Eames would not have wanted to hear it. He was glad that Ariadne scrambled off of him, because it meant he didn't have to remove her by force. The moment Arthur turned to leave Eames cursed and jumped up, grabbing his robe from the couch and slipping it on quickly.

"Stay here, don't do anything, and don't leave." Was all he said to Ariadne in the most serious of tones. This was not the time to joke, so the humor that laced his voice on most occasions was entirely absent. It was all so quick, as if it had been calculated beforehand, and he grabbed Arthur's key before heading out the door and chasing him down.

"Arthur."

It didn't work out in Eames' favor for once, being so quick on the draw. If he'd had a little time--or better yet, space--Arthur might have reacted differently. But he hadn't gotten far from the door when it opened and he only needed to hear the inflection in that English tone before he was turning, throwing a punch that he'd been nursing along with his whiskey for the last hour.

Why did he care so much?

Okay, he deserved that. He really deserved it, but it didn't stop him from cursing in pain, holding his face afterward. Oh yeah, that might have knocked out a tooth. He would have to check for real later. Right then, he grabbed Arthur's arms in an attempt to stop him from hitting again.

"Arthur--Arthur, calm down."

In hindsight Eames might realize that restraining Arthur had probably not been the smart thing to do. "You fucked her, Eames?" It was rhetorical, which was fine, because Arthur didn't really plan to give Eames the opportunity to answer; he brought a hard knee up toward the man's gut.

in hindsight perhaps, but Eames had enough foresight to see the knee coming, so he let go of one of Arthur's arms to block it, holding the other one tight and trying to keep himself from receiving more bodily harm without inflicting too much right back.

"Yes, obviously, but technically she came on to me--Arthur--let's get back inside and not make a scene, alright--Arthur, listen to me."

"Listen to you?" Arthur wrenched his arm free and stepped back, losing a bit of balance and nearly overturning a vase from a table in the hallway before catching himself. "Like I should have listened to you when you told me to tell her we were--"

Even with the whiskey it wasn't easy to say. Arthur shook his head. His right hand throbbed slowly and he curled it into a fist. "Why would you do that?" That, in Arthur's mind, was a bigger trespass than having sex with Ariadne, who he had laid no claim on.

Ariadne sat there on the bed for a moment or two, sort of wishing she could curl up in a hole and disappear. But she'd never been the sort of girl to succumb to self-pity or mortification. And from the sounds in the hall, someone was going to need to remind Eames and Arthur of exactly where they were.

She slipped her dress back on and padded to the door, sticking her head out. It looked like Arthur had punched Eames, like they'd been grappling there in the middle of a hotel hallway.

"Jesus, get in here, and stop acting like idiots," she hissed. "Everyone in the building is going to know."

Why would you do that. Eames had plenty of answers, but a good one? The only good one wasn't something he quite wanted to admit to himself just yet, much less to it's subject. He would have come up with something, anything but the truth, but Ariadne had picked the perfect time to interrupt.

He was so glad he could kiss her, but that wouldn't work out so well right at that moment.

"My thoughts exactly. Can we please move this inside, Arthur? Feel free to hit me again once we've got some much needed privacy."

Arthur stared at Ariadne for a moment, a little surprised to actually find hurt underneath his general overwhelming desire to neuter Eames--which was something else that he wasn't going to examine in his present company or state of drink because he knew it would look too far too green in the current light.

But... she was right. The last thing they needed was to use their one call to get Cobb to bail them out of jail for disturbing the peace--Arthur had no desire to get acquainted with the overcrowded Italian penal system on a first-person basis.

Straightening up, Arthur took a deep breath. Best thing to do was what Eames was good at--cutting his loses. He glanced down the hallway toward the elevator.

Hell, even Ariadne was feeling bad by this point. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Don't leave, Arthur." Her voice was low, and wary. "We obviously need to hash this out, otherwise we won't be able to work together..."

Eames frowned when Arthur looked towards the elevator, and he met the other man's eyes with a raised eyebrow. He didn't need to say it for Arthur to get the message. If Arthur went for the elevator, Eames would follow him. He would follow him despite being in just a robe with no shoes or socks or underpants. It wasn't as if Rome hadn't seen worse.

"Arthur, please."

Arthur wished he couldn't read Eames' look, because it was actually mollifying and he didn't want to be mollified. He shook his head and walked toward the doorway. He brushed by Eames. "Which," he said to Ariadne, mostly though his teeth, "is the reasoning I gave you in the first place."

He didn't sit. He wanted another drink but refrained from that as well. His jacket, wrinkled now, was dumped over the sofa arm.

She shot Arthur a Look. "If you'd taken your own advice, maybe this wouldn't have happened. If you'd been honest with me from the start, maybe this wouldn't have happened. If you'd told me you're seeing Eames, if you'd explained it, maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"Okay wait, both of you, shut it." Eames never signed on to be a peacemaker, but this was ridiculous. This was getting way too far out of hand, and he shot Ariadne a look that asked--no--insisted that she be quiet. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, wanting nothing more than to put some underwear on and not be in this robe right now of all times. Being the most sober person in the room was usually far more fun than this.

"Ariadne, Arthur and I are not...seeing each other. Arthur, in my defense I never outright told her anything. If we could sit down and discuss this like adults, that would be lovely."

What Arthur hated the most was that he knew he was acting like the wronged woman in this whole situation and that went noways to helping his nerves. Eames was not his and Ariadne was not his and he...

Fuck.

Arthur slumped into an armchair specifically so that no one could next to him. He still, however, glared at Eames. "Adults. Good idea, Eames. Perhaps you'd like to take off the condom and join us?" It was a guess, but, Arthur was betting (considering Eames and how fast he'd gotten out the door), a good one.

Ariadne flopped onto the sofa, legs tucked underneath her in much the same way she'd been sitting earlier, before she'd misguidedly wrapped herself around Eames like sticky tape. She was a lot more mussed now, though. Her hair was tangled, and Eames had given her a few hickeys, as well.

That was sure to improve Arthur's mood.

She frowned at his comment but didn't say anything about it, just turned to Arthur with a contrite look on her face. "Eames vaguely implied that you'd had sex. That's all. I'm sorry for overreacting. I let my feelings get hurt, and I just..." Fucked Eames silly, it was such a cliche.

the one where Arthur is a douche (for thesecurity and <lj site="l

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