Professor Eames. 2/?
"Masturbation and Surprises"
Note: Ok so I started writing this and a brain bunny told me to throw in the twist. I swear the brain bunny's name was Eames. So blame Eames for this.
"Eames," Ariadne sighed, laying back on her bed, staring into space as she replayed the events of yesterday evening in her head. She had never been kissed like that before and certainly hadn't kissed any man like that before.
'Asking him was a good idea. It'll just be lessons and then I'll be able to actually find a lover who will stay…' she mentally reasoned, sitting up and grabbing a sketch pad, beginning to start on a new building layout.
- Several Hours Later.
"Hello, darling." The conman crooned into the receiver of his hotel phone. Ariadne fought the urge to roll her eyes as she answered.
"Eames, what's up"
"Are you free tonight Miss Papaellis?" Ariadne laughed at his sudden formality.
"I have some classes tonight, but you're more than welcome to tag along and then I'll be all yours for the rest of the evening."
"All mine for the rest of the evening? That's an invitation I can't bring myself to turn down. Shall I meet you at the class."
"Sure" Ariadne quickly told Ian the location of her class and ran into the bathroom. Showering was a quick and mildly painful affair - one too many razor cuts from shaving, but the rest of her preparatory process was quick. She combed her hair straight; pulling it into a pony tail; dressed in gray yoga pants, a white tank and put on some flats before grabbing her bag and all but running to the studio.
The architect thankfully made it there before Eames did and informed her teacher there would be a male observer for the night. Instructor Gillespie thanked her for the heads up and then informed the rest of the class. By the time Eames made it in the door, the ladies who didn't feel comfortable being watched had left.
The thief waltzed into the classroom dressed in his usual - slightly rumpled cotton slacks, an equally rumpled but tucked in printed dress shirt and a sports jacket. Ariadne's heart was pounding in her chest as he took a seat and the Instructor began the nights class. Gradually the architect focused more and more on the class, nearly forgetting about Eames until the music started.
The slow, heavy tones of Razor Sharp filtered through the class room and the women began their practical applications of the described dance moves. Ariadne leaned against her mirror, sliding down a bit and pushing herself back up, hands sliding over her thighs and stomach, eyes roving the room before settling on Eames.
To say Ian was shocked little Ariadne took exotic dance lessons was a slight understatement. He watched the dances begin and felt his mouth go dry. Teetering on her platform heels, the lithe brunette transformed from a naïve untried girl into a sultry and sexy woman. Her hips thrust forward with her back leaning on the glass, undulating slowly with the music, her hands trailing paths his eyes followed heatedly. Blue eyes met brown and Eames saw the woman's breath catch, uncertainty flicker in brown depths. In an effort to put her at ease, the forger leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to relax and look casual.
For the next fifty minutes Eames watched as Ariadne danced with an aim to seduce. It was maddening to watch those small hands ghost over her breasts, watch her back arch and her hips swing. He loved the look she unwittingly adopted - her lips parted ever so slightly with her eyes nearly closed, but open enough to tell where she was looking because her hair pulled away from her face - it was a heated look without even trying. The confidence she exuded while dancing was astonishing. He wondered what happened to the shy woman he'd held in his lap the previous night, before remembering a demanding kiss and tentative roll of her hips. Eames smirked when he tossed aside his mental plans for tonight's lesson, penciling in one that would no doubt make the sweet little lady blush but, ultimately help her.
When the class ended, Eames sauntered over and let his fingers brush over Ariadne's shoulders, feeling the heat over her skin as she slipped the monster heels off and slid each foot into a sensible flat ballerina style shoe. The pair left the dance studio wordlessly, though truth be told Eames was replaying the show in his mind's eye already. A half block away and the architect spoke up, a quaver in her voice betraying her nervousness.
"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you by telling you to come to the class, Eames."
"Not at all, love. I quite enjoyed the show."
"Oh…"
"So I do recall something being said about you being at my mercy for the rest of the evening."
Ariadne laughed, soft and gentle eyes darting to Ian's face before answering.
"We had a deal, you go to my class and I'd be yours for the night."
"Fabulous. Back to the hotel then, we've got a lesson to tend to and room service to order."
"Is that in priority order?"
"Not really - the food needs to be eaten before the lesson. Else we'll starve for the night."
"Must be some lesson."
"Oh, love, you have no idea."
Back in the suite, Eames and Ariadne sit full from the ordered room service. The little architect is curled against Eames, eyes glued to the television, lips reciting Scarlett O'Hara's lines. It had taken a little digging to find out what the brunette's favorite movie was, but the forger was pleased to have done so. Tonight Ariadne was comfortable, relaxed and most of all - not thinking about the lesson. It would make it a bit easier to keep the plan straight if she wasn't prodding him for information.
When the credits rolled, the forger looked at Ariadne and smiled when he saw her fast asleep, leaning on his shoulder. Somewhere during intermission she'd wormed her way under his arm and stayed there. Mentally flipping through his options, Ian settled for scooping the slight girl up in his arms, striding the few yards to his bedroom, settling Ariadne down amidst the fluffy comforter and pillows. Leaving her to sleep for a bit, Eames called room service and nipped off to the bathroom to freshen up. In about fifteen minutes, the architect was roused by a knock on the door.
Sitting up she rubbed at her eyes, hearing her forger answer and tip the delivery person. When Eames and a simple cart with some domed trays rounded the corner, Ariadne had her fingers caught in her hair, trying to settle the mess it had become. Ian bit back a surge of laughter at the picture she made, fluffy comforter wrapped around her calves, hair wild with her slender fingers tugging against a not.
The girl being observed was quickly becoming cherry red, the tugs to her hair more frequent. The older man simply sauntered forward and sat on the bed beside Ariadne, his larger hand reaching out and helping to free her fingers from the dreaded hair trap. A nervous, self-depreciating laugh trickles from Ariadne and Eames mentally sighs.
'There's the insecure Ari, back with a vengeance'
"So…I'm guessing your lesson isn't going to be about falling asleep and waking up beautiful" The brunette murmurs, face turned away as red stains her cheeks.
"Right you are love, you've already go that one down."
"Don't be a prick." Ariadne snaps, fire in the depths of her brown orbs as she whips around to face he forger.
"I'm not." He retorted simply, before standing. In a few long strides he has the lights off, service tray utterly forgotten in his now single minded need to start his lesson. Ignoring his pupils questioning squeak of surprise Eames stations himself in a chair across the room.
"Tonight's lesson is about pleasing yourself."
"What?"
"If you don't know what makes your toes curl or your eyes cross, how do you expect someone else to."
"I still don't see exactly where this is going."
"Do you touch yourself Ariadne" Eames ground out, becoming slightly frustrated with the girl's obtuse behavior.
"W-what? No!"
"You can't be serious."
"It's a disgusting habit."
"Where your parent's catholic?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Ariadne shrieked, moving across the bed certain the offending, perverted male was somewhere on it.
"Everything. Get undressed, I'm going to teach you how to masturbate."
"Eames this is ridiculous."
"Do you want to have a lover who stays around longer than a month or two past the first shag?" The remark was biting but it was enough to make the architect think.
"You wanted my help little girl, take it or leave it." Eames continued, frustrated by the fact that not only did Ariadne not know her way around her own body, she was being stubborn, and it was all her damned pious parents fault - or so he assumed.
"All right…" The soft words barely made it to his ears before the gray yoga pants landed at his feet. Vaguely one and than another sock could be seen being flung through the air, a pair of very small panties also took flight, landing on his right and causing the man to grin.
"there"
"I said, undressed, not bare from the waist down Miss Papaellis." The quip was rewarded by a frustrated groan, Ariadne ripping her tank top over her head and flinging it in the general direction of Eames' voice. Last was her bra and she flung that just as hard when she heard a shift in the darkest corner directly to the left.
Sitting atop the bed, legs curled under her, Ariadne felt vulnerable and silly. The room was absolutely silent, drenched in darkness with one of its occupants presumably fully clothed the other about to be taught how to please herself.
"This feels absurd…" The lithe young woman murmured, arms curling around her modest round breasts in the darkness.
"Of course it will when you're just sitting there. Lay back darling."
Or a moment Ariadne stayed still before slowly laying herself down on the bed, nerves making her blood pump faster, breaths becomes soft puffs.
"Now, close your eyes, sweet heart think of the person you want to be touching you. Those little hands of yours are going to be that persons, ok?"
"..Kay" Ariadne squeaked, mind racing around past boyfriends before settling on the owner of the instructing voice. Seeing Eames looming over her sent a shock down her body, and guilty frantic thoughts running through her mind.
"…start with just running your hands up and down your body, get used to touching your own skin in a sensual manner."
Her hands, which she never thought of being anything but hands before this, are already moving, flowing the sound of his voice. Finger tips tickle her ribcage and her palms ghost against the swell of her breasts, simple motions that shouldn't elicit gasps and do. Touching her stomach makes her giggle and Eames is speaking again.
"Don't just concentrate on your torso, your neck, your arms, pet your thighs, feel the skin of your arms…"
His voice is slightly deeper than before, and it's enveloping her before she realizes it. The words drill into her mind and take hold of her hands - they smooth over her neck, scratch lightly down her arms. Nimble fingers sneak over her thighs, passing over her mons, her gently curved hips jumping, Eames speaks again, dark-rumbling laughter in his voice.
"Such a quick student. That's right, do what feels good, let your thighs part, explore your sweet breasts, pluck at those pebbled nipples, squeeze them - tease yourself, love - feel."
A stunned moan slipped past the architects lips, her mind formulating a fantasy to coincide with Eames' instructions. Its not her fingers that massage and pluck at the peaks of her breasts making her squirm, it is Ian's hands. She can almost feel the gun callused palms slide over her rapidly heating skin, hear him speaking in her ear. The memory of his weigh settles between her parted thighs and one of her hands begins to sneak down to the growing ache at her center.
Eames had thought this hands off lesson would be an easy one. The dark shapes and bodiless moans coming from his bed, however, are waking his libido. Slacks that are usually so roomy and comfortable are becoming rapidly tighter the more he urges Ariadne on. The movement south makes him smirk- the girl has no patience for this but, that will come later with practice. His pants are unzipped and the weight of his cock warms his hand before he really has a chance to think about it. The forger fights to keep his voice level and fails miserably.
"Find your clit, don't worry about having trouble, slide your fingers just between your lips - you'll feel a shock but it will be good."
'It should be illegal' she decides one set of fingers exploring between her lips, hips bucking when she finds the little nub he told her to. 'Ian's voice is a in' Her other fingers are pulling and twisting her nipples, eyes closed even in the darkness, small moans filtering into the room as she caresses the nub again and again.
'God I wonder what she looks like. Does she shave, or just trim…' Eames' thoughts are less and less coherent as his hand slides up and down his length in a furious pace, eyes trained on the writhing shadow. He could go over - give an advanced lesson - be he won't.
"Feel good, love?" The question is breathless, hoarse and deep. It makes Ariadne shiver, her fingers moving up and down then curiously in circles, finding what feels best. Her answer is little more than a broken moan - the sound makes Eames swear.
Belatedly when Ariadne is whimpering, thrashing and then yelling as she has her first self induced orgasm, Eames remembers he's got to sleep in that bed. Knowing her scent will cling to the comforter, the scent of sex hang in the air when he finally wants to sleep sends him over - his free hand coming to circle the base of his cock mercilessly as he bucks and groans before both fall quiet. A pregnant silence hangs between them before Eames stands and shuffles to the bathroom. The light flicks on and Ariadne is to drained to care.
The thief however does, and catches a glimpse of milk white curves, cherry lips and pink pebbled nipples. He can't help but smirk and wonder what the hell that bloke was thinking - it didn't really matter in the long run. Ariadne was in his bed tonight.