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

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

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.

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She gave a heavy sigh. "Doesn't that make it worse? If he would normally be inclined to... Wait, you're still sleeping together?"

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.

"You're putting words in my mouth, Ariadne. You might want to refrain from doing that," Still, that wasn't a denial. That would be a lie, and he wasn't so much in the habit of lying as bending the truth. Which, coincidentally, was what he was currently doing.

Edited 2010-09-14 00:03 (UTC)

"Don't, just..." She wasn't stupid. Even if Arthur wasn't deliberately stringing her along, whatever he was doing was pretty assholish. And Ariadne hadn't even gotten any sex out of the bargain. He could've at least fucked her before making her feel like crap.

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.

Eames did not kiss back. This wasn't a romance novel, where the universe would work it's magic and Eames would be swept up in a sudden passion. He was easy, sure, but not that easy. Now, he was more confused than anything else. When Ariadne pulled away he just looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not Arthur, Ariadne. What are you trying to achieve?"

"I know who you are." There wasn't any hesitation in her voice. "I don't want a substitute, I just... want."

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.

To say that Eames wasn't interested would be a lie. Ariadne was beautiful. She wasn't the type of woman he usually fucked and ran away from. She was the type of woman he could fall in love with if he let himself, which he never would. No, that was something he kept a tight lock on, never getting close enough for that. Still, the fact still stood true, Eames was not uninterested.

But that didn't mean he wasn't cautious.

"If you want a connection, you're not going to get it from me."

Ariadne made a sound in the back of her throat that was half-exasperated, half-amused. "I'm not stupid, Eames. Just horny." And possibly out for a little revenge, if she was being really honest with herself.

And Eames was sexy.

She straddled his lap, not caring how her dress bunched up around her thighs as she did so.

Well. That was something else entirely, wasn't it? On one hand, he knew this was a bad idea. This would not end well, not with a mildly intoxicated coworker who had a thing for the man he found himself currently infatuated with. No, this could not possibly end well. Still, who was he to deny something put so clearly?

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.

This was what she wanted, right now. Someone warm and willing (and broad and strong, he was that, too). If Arthur didn't want what she was offering, that was his loss.

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.

For Eames, it was like flipping a switch. He could be gentle, loving, a good friend with soft hands, but that wasn't what either of them wanted. No, he would give her what he gave Arthur, or at least, what he started out giving Arthur before he fell in a bit too deep.

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.

She let her hands wander over his skin, tracing tattoos and mapping it out - it was her nature to be tactile, to learn by reaching out and touching a thing.

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.

It was something the two had in common, to learn by usage of every sense possible, touch most definitely included. Eames undid the back of her dress, pulling away from her lips only to pull it up and tossing it away. He nipped and licked at her neck, running fingers along her shoulder blades, her spine, the dip of her hips, the line of her pelvis.

Ariadne hadn't been kidding when she said she was horny. Eames' hands on her made her skin tingle deliciously. It had been a while since anyone had touched her like that, and she moaned, rolling her hips against him invitingly.

Eames couldn't help but chuckle into her neck, licking a trail down to her collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave marks. "Eager, aren't we?" One hand stayed on her lower back, but the other slipped down, pressing against her panties, rubbing circles through her clothes, anything but gently.

It had to be easy for him to tell - she was already wet, and her eyes fell closed at his touch. She didn't even care that he was leaving marks. It felt good. "It's been a while," she managed, one hand sliding down to stroke him gently.

"I'm glad I can't say the same," He didn't go into details, humming a pleased sort of hum into her skin as he jerked his hips gently into her hand. Regaling her stories about how Arthur fucked him into the mattress might work so well right at that very moment. He pressed his palm harder against her, his thumb rubbing her clit through lace before he moved his hand away and grabbed her hips and pulled her close, sitting up.

They were relocating.

"As lovely as this couch is, I think you should wrap your legs around me so you don't go tumbling."

He warned before heaving her up and stepping quickly over to the bed and sitting back down with her on his lap. Much better.

Ariadne was happy to comply with his request - much more room on the bed, much softer, easier to maneuver.

She had no doubt that she was far from the most experienced lover Eames had ever had, but she knew what felt good, and what felt good right now was her hand braced on his shoulder as she rocked herself against him. She discarded her bra, another irrelevant piece of fabric, nothing more than an obstacle to more contact with skin.

She was hot, her skin flushed and breath ragged.

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