Ariadne; The Architect (
chesstotem) wrote2010-09-12 07:06 pm
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the one where Arthur is a douche (for
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Ariadne was a little surprised, truth be told, at how well her date with Arthur was going - not that she'd thought it would be bad, per se, but she'd expected a bit more awkwardness about the whole thing.
Instead, what she got was Arthur being charming, handsome and just plain nice, talking easily about work and music and wine, while Ariadne chatted about designing and weird architectural details and they compared notes on a few of the cities they'd both been to.
It was still pretty early, but Ariadne had never really been able to hold her alcohol, so she demurred at the bartender's suggestion of another drink.
"We should get out of here before I start stumbling around in these shoes." They were sensible enough shoes, though still pretty new and liable to hurt her feet if she wasn't careful.
Instead, what she got was Arthur being charming, handsome and just plain nice, talking easily about work and music and wine, while Ariadne chatted about designing and weird architectural details and they compared notes on a few of the cities they'd both been to.
It was still pretty early, but Ariadne had never really been able to hold her alcohol, so she demurred at the bartender's suggestion of another drink.
"We should get out of here before I start stumbling around in these shoes." They were sensible enough shoes, though still pretty new and liable to hurt her feet if she wasn't careful.
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"Do you want the long answer or the short one? Either way they're both horribly bias."
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"He wouldn't go back with me to my hotel. Which is fine," she hastened to add, "but he made it sound like it's because we're coworkers, and then he got pissy and implied that inviting him back with me was..." She waved her hand in the air eloquently. Even as vague as the insinuation had been - more implied in the tone of his voice than the words he'd actually said - it had hurt, coming from Arthur. Thinking that, even for a moment, even angry as he was right then, he'd thought that about her.
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It wasn't that he didn't believe her, that much should have been obvious. No, it was that, depending on what actually happened, it could be very much like Arthur or very much not, and his curiosity easily got the best of him.
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"He didn't want to go home with me, and he said he doesn't date coworkers, so I can't imagine why he went out with me in the first place if both of those things are true, that's all."
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"The thing about Arthur is that he has a set of standards that, frankly, do make some degree of sense. He just takes it all a bit too far and lacks the tact and subtly needed."
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"Ariadne, you're beautiful--and you look especially lovely in that dress. I know for a fact that he finds you attractive, it's his personality that's riddled with flaws. Also keep in mind that he may have a point, underneath all of that failure to communicate." He said as he sat back down next to her, meeting her eyes in the way he did when he wanted people to know--or at least thing--that he was telling the truth.
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"Thank you," she said in response to his compliment. "I know he - he didn't mean it like that, and he didn't have to sleep with me, but all he had to say was that he wants to take it slow, or something like that.
Why did he have to say, 'we're coworkers' like that makes any difference at all. Like it made any difference with you."
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Taking another sip of his scotch, he leaned back into the couch, making himself more comfortable as he continued. "The difference is that Arthur and I have never, in any context, gone on a date. It's purely physical," He had been telling himself that lie all day, but it was enough of a truth to pass as one.
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When Eames had said that the sexual tension with Arthur was resolved, Ariadne had assumed he meant that they had slept together once or twice, at some point in the nebulous past.
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Eames would've.
That was why she did it, she supposed. Because she was frustrated, and Arthur had made her feel like crap, while Eames was here, making her feel better. And if Arthur could do it, well.
Ariadne was a little drunk, too. So it was easy, really easy, to shift around, leaning into Eames' warmth as she pressed her lips to his.
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"I'm not Arthur, Ariadne. What are you trying to achieve?"
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She'd be kidding herself if she didn't admit to fantasizing about Eames, once in a while. And he was here, and Arthur was an asshole, and she wanted to get laid, dammit.
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But that didn't mean he wasn't cautious.
"If you want a connection, you're not going to get it from me."
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And Eames was sexy.
She straddled his lap, not caring how her dress bunched up around her thighs as she did so.
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Shit, he was a hypocrite. Arthur was going to murder him anyway, so what was the harm?
"Alright," He said as he glanced down at Ariadne's lace panties and shifted upwards, burying a hand in her hair and pulling her into a kiss.
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Her hands slid into the robe he was wearing, over the skin of his shoulders as they kissed, her tongue exploring his mouth with the same sort of curious impertinence that she did everything.
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He pressed into the kiss, tongue and teeth and lips, placing his scotch glass on the table to free his hand before working the tie of his robe off. He removed his other hand from Ariadne's hair only to push his robe off, to allow it to pool underneath him, before returning it to it's previous position, his lips never leaving Ariadne's.
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Eames was naked under the robe, not that she minded in the least. She shifted her hips, humming in the back of her throat as the fabric of her dress rode up even higher.
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