Eames POV

Ariadne is different from all the women I've been with before.

And that's comparing to a number I'm frankly ashamed to admit to sometimes.

She's petite, young, her body—every detail is so small, fragile and perfect, especially against my lumbering build. She's inexperienced, gasping at each new feeling, tentatively taking lead, discovering what to do, relishing when I take control. She's every bit who she is in life when she's pressed against my body: kind, caring, passionate, exacting, striving for perfection and approval, strong minded to get her way. I can't help but smile as I back her up against her drafting table, hearing her soft gasp as I lift her up by her rear with ease, setting her gently on the surface, her dress hiked up. Her legs wrap around me, I run my hands up her smooth, milky thighs. It's only with her soft skin that I notice the roughness of my own, leading me to wonder how she feels about the calluses and scars that decorate my palms. She softly moans my name into my ear, barely audible as it is, it sends shivers down my spine. I cup her small face into my palms, roughly kissing her, knowing her lips will be rosy, swollen and full when we get to the restaurant.

She softly tugs at the buttons on my shirt, I let her take her time fidgeting with each one, until she finally opens it, tugging it off my shoulders. She scratches across my back as I slowly pull down the zipper on the front of her dress-the zipper I stared at earlier today, wondering what it'd be like to draw down, wondering what'd be behind it. I savor the moment, filing it away in my memory. She shimmied the dress off her shoulders, leaving her propped up, in nothing but a cream-white bra and panties, hair tousled, lips full and red. If she hadn't have checked it herself, I would swear this was a dream again.

I run my fingers down her body, tracing every curve and dip in her frame, loving how she gives a slight shudder from the touch and a trail of goosebumps follow suit. She waits, an impatient younger self gleams in her eyes, the young girl still inside the woman, as I unbuckle my belt and let my trousers fall to the ground. I'm already hard for her, it isn't difficult to be turned on with her, every breath, kiss, touch, fluidly switching from soft to passionate and rough. She starts to squirm, trying to pull her underwear down. I chuckle, stopping her efforts. Laying her back, I run a hand down her abdomen, pulling the sides of her panties, her hips raising as I slide them off in one motion. She raises back up, colliding her lips against mine, feverishly and longingly so. Pushing my boxers down, I push her legs further apart, giving a gentle squeeze to either thigh as I prepare to enter her.

I feel her wince. Pain is dulled in the dream world, and she takes a moment to get used to me inside her now that we're in reality. I ask if she's okay, moving a damp section of hair from her face. She bites her lip and nods. I apologize, kissing her forehead as she wraps her arms around my neck, alternating between kissing, nipping and moaning into my flesh as I begin to slowly thrust. She leans back, sprawled across sketches of buildings and scattered papers. She's breathing heavily, arching her back and I can't imagine anything more beautiful. I could feel myself about to come as I began pumping into her harder and harder, and I tried to stave it off a long as I could until I saw her climax, back arching at its highest before she was on her back again. I kissed every inch of her that I could before getting back to her lips, taking in her natural euphoric beauty before we'd have to be off.

"Eames," She said softly as I pulled up my boxers, handing her underwear to her.

"Yes, love?"

"This isn't just..fucking..is it?" I paused for a moment, hearing vulgarity from her sweet mouth puts me out of sorts for a moment.

"I would call it a lot of things," I started, lighting a cigarette, "But I would never reduce what we've had to such.. obscene terms."

I saw a little smile flash across her face as she shimmied on her dress. Setting the cigarette to the side of the table, I took the interconnecting sides of the zipper in my hands, drawing it up for her. "Ariadne, I would like—so very much—for you to be with me."

Ariadne's POV

I always melt a little when he says my name. I don't know if it's his accent, or the special inflection he seems to put on it, but it gets me every time. I embrace him, burying my face in his chest because I'm afraid the smile on my face is too wide. I feel him kiss the top of my head and I look up, his half-lidded eyes smiling at me.

We hurriedly made ourselves presentable and began walking to Les Halles. On the way, Eames told me about the time he first met Yusuf…

It was hot. Unbelievably, unbearable, bloody-fucking-hot. I had only just touched down in Mombasa when my contact gave me the address to an associate he wanted me to meet for the job. It took me four hours to navigate through those maddening streets and arrive at the bloke's residence only to find him out for the day. This, uh, how should I put it lightly? Frustration…lead me to inquire about a nearby pub. Something strictly locals. As I sat at the bar and ordered a drink, a full and quite haughty, I might add, laugh boomed through the other end. There he was, five drinks past tipsy, flashing smiles at the lady to his right as he "corrected" the bartender on the precise way to concoct a Screaming Orgasm. The man behind the counter was becoming more and more visibly upset, cleaning the glass in his hand so feverishly that it actually shattered. Poor Yusuf, lord knows the guy meant no harm, he was just trying to win the lady over. He had no foresight as to what would happen next, but I'd been observing the trio since I walked in, and had already begun making my way over after the bartender shattered the glass. Yusuf muttered something to the guy, I couldn't make out the exact words, but I knew it had to be something along the lines of "Well, if you can't give her a proper Screaming Orgasm, I'll take it upon myself to give one to her" because the man immediately lunged across the bar at him, knocking him off his stool, and begun fiercely pounding his fists into the poor chap. I pulled him off before too much damage was done, grabbing our little drunken chemist by the collar and hoisting him up. I explained to the bartender that my friend here can't hold his liquor, and had no idea that the lady in question was his wife. After that, I got Yusuf a cup of coffee to sober him up, we got to chatting and well, the rest is history—as they say

I was still giggling as we entered the restaurant and sat down. The crew were already there when we arrived and had just begun ordering drinks.

"What are you two going on about?" Yusuf asked after giving his order.

"Oh, nothing." I smiled at Eames and bit my lip. I motioned at the waiter, "Yes, I'll have a Screaming Orgasm please."

What'd you think?

The Eames/Yusuf meeting story has been in my head for a while now, it just seemed by the way Eames suggested him that they got on rather well, and this seemed like a fitting way for them to meet.

As always, R&R!