Fic Title: Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want
Summary: "The first time it happens, it’s purely accidental. Ariadne will swear that up and down." In which Ariadne gets awfully friendly with her projections.
Why This Must Be Read: I've been waiting and waiting for the dream-kink fic, and this one is supremely satisfying. Also, bonus!Eames. :D Completely rereadable.
Ariadne’s wandering around the rich manor she’s crafted, and her attention is drawn to some curtains – are they too heavy? Too deep? She’s running the material through her fingers, debating if it feels real, when she hears a cough behind her.
After a year of working with the team, she definitely knows that cough.
“Arthur?” she says with surprise, turning her head to look at him.
He’s leaning against the doorjamb, hands resting loosely in the pockets of his trousers. He’s studying her, his expression unreadable, and she wonders fleetingly how long he’s been standing there.
Arthur surprises her when he gently pushes himself away from the doorframe and takes a few steps into the lush parlour. He hasn’t spoken one word, and that strikes Ariadne as a little odd. Any other time that he’s shared a dream with her, he’s made his opinions perfectly well known; whether he was pointing out an unrealistic object or a flaw in the maze, he always had something to say.
“What are you doing here?” she asks as he approaches, almost a little annoyed. Did he not trust her to explore a dream alone? She’d had more experience by this point; she knew what she was doing. “Seriously, Arthur, I didn’t invite you. I can take care of this – ”
But his lips cut her off.
The kiss isn’t a long one; short and chaste, it reminds Ariadne of their first kiss almost a year ago, there in Fischer’s dream. But that time, the kiss had been done out of what she thought was necessity. There is nothing necessary about this.
“ – by myself,” she finishes when he pulls away. She’s a little breathless – from shock and nothing more, she insists in her head – and her eyes flick up to meet his. He stares down at her, so self-confident and sure, and a dozen questions sit at the tip of her tongue. They range from “What are you thinking?” to “What gives you the right?”, and there’s even some weird ones like “What kind of aftershave do you use?” floating around in the mix.
She takes a breath to ask, and ends up bringing her mouth up to meet his instead.