twentysomething

Title: The Gun Show

Fandom: Inception

Pairing: Arthur/Ariadne

Summary: "It's two months after the Fischer job when Arthur shows up in Paris. She's been expecting him for a little over a week, now. "

Length: 2900 wordsish.

Warnings: Sex, sex, sex. Sex.

Notes: Written for the Inception Kink Mere, here- I was actually the OP for this and then I was like FUCK IT IMMA FILL THIS, so. Based off of: "After the Fischer Job, Arthur tells Ariadne that if she's going to stay on with the team, she should learn how to use a gun- for her own protection, etc. Dreamworld gun range UST touching as Arthur teaches her how. (Ideally leading to sex, but hey, I'm easy.)"


It's two months after the Fischer job when Arthur shows up in Paris. She's been expecting him for a little over a week, now.

"Where's Dom?" she asks him by way of greeting, as he slips next to her in line at her favorite cafe. Arthur shrugs, eloquently.

"He's done." Arthur says simply, and when she stares at him in disbelief, Arthur simply shrugs again. "After what he went through to get there, he's not keen on leaving. Or doing anything that could stop him from staying again." Arthur smiles at her.

"You look well, Ariadne," he redirects- but warmly, like he really means it and she wishes she couldn't feel a blush traveling up her neck, thankfully hidden under her scarf.

"I have giant bags under my eyes," she protests, because she knows she looks like death reheated three days late for lunch, even if Arthur's bizarre chivalry has blinded him to it. Which is unlikely- he notices everything.

"You haven't been sleeping well," Arthur murmurs, and it's not a question. Ariadne sighs and orders two coffees.

"Let's just say my sleep hasn't exactly been restful," she mutters back, because now when she dreams, she's always looking over her shoulder- tense and terrible. Arthur cocks his head to one side.

"I'm starting a team," Arthur states, frowning, like maybe it's not what he'd intended to say. "I think it goes without saying that I'd like you to be on it." Ariadne raises her eyebrows, fixing her coffee- three sugars, no cream- to stall for time, passing Arthur the other cup.

Pros: not working within the constraints of reality, undiluted creation, working with Arthur. Cons: exponentially higher likelihood of being arrested or murdered, not finishing grad school, honestly, working with Arthur.

Schoolgirl crushes are one thing when you'll probably never see someone again- but they're another thing entirely when you're planning on working with that person for the indefinite future and you're inviting him into your mind on a near-constant basis.

Then again, she's not kidding anyone- she certainly doesn't think Arthur is fooled- so instead she just nods.

"All right," Ariadne agrees, because- if she's being truthful here- she's been ruined for everything else. There's nothing quite like it.

Arthur smiles.

If she thought Dom was demanding, working for Arthur- not with Arthur- is a whole new universe of exacting.

That being said, she doesn't think working for Eames would be any better.

"We need three people in," Eames drawls, the loose, insolent lines of his body specifically aimed to irk Arthur. Arthur grits his teeth.

"She's not- no." Arthur says with a glare. Ariadne rolls her eyes.

"She's right here," Ariadne reminds them. Arthur spares a second to look at least faintly apologetic, whereas Eames just beams at her awfully.

"Ariadne, I certainly don't mean to offend you," Arthur amends with a sigh. "But we know that Goldman has been trained by an extractor. We can't afford to be distracted by protecting you." Eames crosses his arms- great, in preparation to be really annoying- and grins at Ariadne again.

"Why don't you just give her a bloody gun, dear?" Eames suggests. "Our girl can take care of herself, I'm sure." Arthur frowns, like the idea just doesn't sit well with him.

"I'm not a child," she argues. "We need three people." Arthur sighs again, averting his face from where Eames are Ariadne are united in a common goal.

"I suppose it was inevitable," he mutters. "Alright. If you're determined to go, I'll teach you."

Which is why they're in a shooting range of Arthur's creation, meaning it's architecturally sexy and sleek in a really merciless way. Ariadne wonders if she should have just tricked Eames into teaching her.

Because Arthur has escalated from attractive-because-she-has-eyes to untouchably-want-to-touch-fuckable outside of her dreams- so Arthur expertly loading a gun, jacket discarded, pristine white shirtsleeves rolled crisply to his elbows is just unnecessary punishment. Or maybe reward.

Maybe she has a secret gun kink she didn't even know about. All she knows is that her skin feels kind of hot and she wonders if she looks flushed in the slightly dim light of the range.

"Ariadne," Arthur prompts, like he's tried to get her attention before- which is ridiculous, he almost always has her attention anyway. "I said, "have you used a gun before?"" Ariadne tips her hand back and forth in the accepted gesture for "so-so/kinda."

"Well, I shot Mal once." she explains. Upon Arthur's puzzled and almost alarmed look, she elaborates. "In Limbo. I sort of had to, she was stabbing Dom, like, a lot." Arthur's raised eyebrows stay up, but his expression evens out a little.

"I see," he says, calmly. "Well, then, that covers some bases." He passes her the gun, this dark, snub-nosed little thing.

"It's a Walther PPK," he tells her, somewhat uselessly- it means next to nothing to her. His lips quirk in an uneven smile that makes her stomach feel funny. "It's the same gun Ian Fleming gave Bond." Ariadne summons up a smile that she hopes doesn't look too strange.

"So, you're giving me a license to kill," she quips and Arthur huffs a little silent laugh.

"Something like that," he agrees, and Ariadne curiously feels the weight of it in her hand, holds it experimentally in front of her, copying her pose from movies, squinting down toward the paper target. She hears another amused puff of breath escape Arthur's lips- from way too freaking close to her.

"Arthur-" she starts, turning to do something, but he's so close- staggered only half a step back and to her right. He shakes his head, and he's close enough that she can see the fine lines around his eyes. She sort of wants to kiss them.

"Just fire a clip, let's see what happens," he instructs, still too close and warm behind her. She thinks- just for a moment- about missing on purpose- just to draw this out, but she's so dizzily distracted by Arthur that she doesn't think it'll be an issue. Although, who knows, maybe that's his game plan- because if she can shoot with Arthur a fraction of a second's worth of motion away from her, she can do anything.

"Okay," she whispers back, pausing too long. Arthur's squeezes her left shoulder, slowly.

"Just relax. Take a deep breath," he says quietly. Ariadne takes a shuddering, useless breath, only marginally more composed than she was a moment ago. "The safety is off. Just shoot."

She struggles to empty her mind, and then squeezes off three shots, hesitating as the graze the edge of the target, still outside of the silhouette.

"Keep going," Arthur pushes, his exhale making a wisp of her hair tickle her neck, and Ariadne shivers, tries to correct and fires again. The next four bullets are scattered in the outermost parts of the form, one last bullet vaguely more centered.

"Okay," he says and all of a sudden his hands are on her shoulders. "Not bad, not bad at all." Ariadne opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out as he presses down on her shoulders.

"First, relax your shoulders. Second, in our line of work, you don't have a lot of options, most of the time about how you're shooting, but this," Arthur nudges his thigh between hers, and it's all she can do not to gasp. He pushes her right leg forward. "Is a much better stance. Dominant leg and shoulder forward," Arthur is molded to her back like a second skin or a shadow, changing the angles of her body. Ariadne knew this was going to be a bad idea, but she just focuses on breathing normally.

"Now, bring your weaker hand up," he wraps his arm around her, bringing her left hand up to cradle the bottom of the stock. Ariadne tries not to smell him- some clean, light cologne, gunpowder and coffee- but it's still heady and intoxicating. "Right there."

He hands her another loaded gun, from who knows- who cares- where.

"Now try again," Arthur tells her, and this time, all the shots are in the silhouette, if not perfectly centered.

"Good, excellent," he says softly in her ear. Ariadne thinks she's never wanted to kiss someone more. She exhales, shakily. Her hands are buzzing from the recoil of the gun and she wants him so badly.

But this is a lesson, nothing more. Arthur's probably not even affected.

Except he takes a step back and while most of Ariadne's body is screaming out for that warmth back, she turns and sees him tugging his tie loose, taking a silent deep breath of his own, struggling to collect himself.

Oh. Oh.

"Now, let's try again," he starts, turning back around with yet another pistol, but he never finishes the sentence because Ariadne kisses him hard. She drops her gun on the table as he fumbles to put his gun down too, impatient for more of him.

"Ariadne-" he hisses as she insistently threads her fingers up into his neat hair. He sets the gun down with a clatter, tugging her close, palms hot over her hips.

"God, Arthur, I've been- I thought you weren't-" she breaks off as he bends to bite a bruising hickey on her neck, choking on a moan.

"Oh, I'm interested," he says smoothly, kissing gently over the already red and purple mark. "I don't kiss just anyone, even in a dream within a dream. If I was going to end up in Limbo, I was going to get one little taste of you first." Ariadne gasps, arching into the feel of his hands running up her sides. The plain black t-shirt she's wearing is hardly any barrier to the heat of his touch, the smooth pad of one thumb tracing over her bare skin as they kiss, and she spares a moment to wonder if she should be waiting for them to wake up, to do this in reality, but she just doesn't care. She's waited too long. It's actually probably fitting, in some weird symbolic way.

"I thought I was going to die when you wrapped yourself around me like that," she confesses against his mouth. "I wanted you to touch me, just like this." Arthur smirks, dirty and full of promise, and Ariadne feels that sweet clench of anticipation between her legs.

"I'll do whatever you want," he offers, tucking two long, clever fingers into the waistband of her jeans. "Just ask." Ariadne's mind floods with possibility- she might not be much of a lover, but she's got a very active imagination, thank you- Arthur's face buried between her thighs, him buried all the way in her to the hilt with her bent back over the table, even just lazily kissing as he fingers her. It all seems so, so good- and she hasn't even gotten to what she wants to do to him, yet.

"Arthur, I want- I want it all," she complains, thoughts of riding him hard dancing through her mind. Arthur's actual, voiced chuckle sends a whiskey burn of pleasure through her, shivering down her spine.

"There's plenty of time," he assures her. "But believe me, I appreciate the enthusiasm." Arthur scoops her up, her legs instinctively twining around his waist as he takes them into the next room which is- which is the most ridiculously lavish room she's ever seen.

"Presumptuous," she teases with careful nip at his lower lip. Arthur grins.

"I promise this wasn't here five minutes ago," he vows, but she doesn't care because he drops her down gently on the bed- which is already sinfully good- and Ariadne tugs him down with a hand fisted in his vest.

"It's nice. Take your clothes off." she says, already slipping the buttons loose as Arthur barks out a surprised laugh.

"My pleasure," he replies, shrugging the vest off his shoulders, reaching for his tie, stripping it off in three fast jerks. She's really not content to just watch the show, so she's pulling his shirt free, even as he unbuttons it. In a second, he's naked from the waist up and it's really- really extremely good for her. But she's greedy for this, after pushing it to the back of her mind for so long, so Ariadne claws at his belt buckle, whipping it free from his slacks, while Arthur kicks his shoes off. And then he's left in his boxers, his arousal delightfully obvious and Ariadne's already reaching when Arthur pins both of her wrists above her head.

"Now, I think it's time for a little reciprocity," he suggests, letting go with one final squeeze. Arthur peels her shirt up, carefully tugging it up and over her head, and throwing it somewhere behind him. He pauses for a second, like he's memorizing how she looks at this exact moment in time- hair messily tumbled all over the pillows, cheeks undoubtedly stained dark pink, her breasts straining against her dark gray bra- like he's going to keep that for a long time, and Ariadne wants this to go somewhere now.

"Arthur," she complains, because kneeling between her legs isn't getting either of them any nakeder. He smiles, presses a kiss to the edge of her hipbone just above her jeans.

"Patience is a virtue," he whispers against her skin. Ariadne rolls her eyes and lets her head flop back against the pillow.

"I should have guessed you'd be a tease," she sighs as she can feel Arthur's smile grow into a smirk.

"Oh, this isn't teasing, Ariadne. I'm honestly a little too impatient right now, but some day I'll show you what a tease is," he promises and the thought that they're going to do this again is like Christmas, but in order for them to do it again, they have to do it once, so, Arthur needs to get a move on.

"In the meantime, Arthur, can you please fuck me so hard that I'll have trouble walking?" she asks, leaning up on her elbows, as sweetly as she can, watching Arthur's eyes go dark.

"I did promise you whatever you wanted tonight," he says thoughtfully, finally popping the button on her jeans and unzipping the fly. She nods quickly.

"It'd be rude." she adds. Arthur laughs again, that sharp crack of amusement.

"Well, if it'd be rude," he demurs, pulling her pants down and off. She thinks maybe she should be more embarrassed, in just a bra and panties in front of Arthur, but the way he's looking at her, like he doesn't know where to start, even, makes her skin feel liquid-hot and too tight, and it's still not enough.

"It would be extremely rude. Fuck me." she pushes, hooking a finger on the waistband of his boxers. Arthur smiles slightly and brushes a finger against the damp fabric of her panties. Ariadne gasps again and her hips cant up to follow him, Arthur pressing a kiss to the curve of her breast as he pulls them down and off, using his other hand to tug the cup of her bra down, exposing her left breast to the cool air, making her nipple hard under his thumb, rubbing over it carefully.

"Arthur," she grits out again, because she's literally aching for it, but thank god, he just smiles and kicks off his boxers, and that's it, she takes the situation in hand, Arthur's dick hot and heavy in her hand as she guides him into her pussy.

"Christ, Ariadne," Arthur groans as he slowly pushes his way home, and she's aching in a different way now, so full and stretched out and it's so fucking good.

"We can't have that much time left, come on, come on," she chants as she rocks her hips up toward him, anything to get him moving. Arthur bites at her neck.

"I should have guessed you'd be pushy," he purrs against her neck, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into her and it's so good she's seeing stars.

"Can you blame me?" she pants, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders and Arthur just chuckles and sets this insane, delirious, perfect rhythm that has him swearing and her moaning like cheap porn, because this is so much better than she'd thought it'd be and it's not even technically real.

"Fuck- I'm not going to last long," he hisses as he flexes his fingers against her hips, pulling her up to meet him.

"It doesn't matter," she breathes, her toes curling somewhere down the bed. "We're going to wake up, and then we're going to do this again." Arthur shuts his eyes like he's in pain, groaning again.

"You're going to kill me, here," he mutters, rubbing his thumb over her clit, hard and Ariadne feels her mouth open in a silent scream and comes and comes and comes.

When she's vaguely cognizant of anything other than her own pleasure, she feels Arthur drive into her once, twice more and then freeze before slumping on top of her, totally spent.

"That was- God, you're-" he breaks off after a second, breathing hard. Ariande can't imagine what they look like, her bra still askew, him still buried inside of her, running a hand over her sweat-slick side, but she's going to find out, eventually.

She wakes up, knocks the bishop over twice in her palm while Arthur's eyes are still opening hazily, and wonders if her apartment is too messy for sex.

"How'd it go?" Eames asks, casually leaning in the door frame, waggling his eyebrows.

"She's a natural," Arthur replies casually and just smirks as Eames frowns at Ariadne's choked-off laughter.