Hours later, Eames insisted on taking them out to dinner, and Arthur couldn't see any way out of it. Therefore they ended up in a tiny little restaurant in Montmarte, squeezed in a horseshoe-shaped booth of such antiquity that Ariadne was nearly lost between Arthur and Eames.
"We're here for the food, not the ambience," Eames insisted, waving over the nearest garçon and shifting into rapid-fire French, his tone expansive and confident. The waiter took the order without a pad, nodding respectfully and gliding off as Arthur savored the warm press of Ariadne against his side.
He wanted her, in too many ways to sort out, and that revelation kept him quieter than usual. Ariadne was busy plying Eames with questions and studying the restaurant but he didn't mind; the Englishman was clearly in his element, nattering away about wines and supplying background noise as Arthur considered matters.
The sex was good. The sex was more than good, and had the potential to become incendiary if they spent any sort of quality time together, Arthur knew. Despite her waif appearance, Ariadne had a confident sensuality, even if her repertoire was narrow. The challenge of broadening her erotic horizons made Arthur fight back another surge of lust, and he tried to look calm as Eames asked him a question.
"Earth to Arthur; really darling, are we boring you that much?"
"Sorry. I was thinking about bed; I didn't get too much sleep last night," he replied with a straight face.
"That's terrible; you should have said something earlier," Ariadne chided him, her expression innocent, but mischievous heat in her eyes.
"What you need is sex," Eames informed him, accepting a glass of wine from the waiter. When Ariadne and Arthur looked at him, he shrugged. "Releases endorphins, aids in relaxation—seriously, pets, it is nature's best sleeping pill you know."
"Somehow I knew you'd say that," Arthur replied dryly. "I knew it."
"I DO try to live up to my reputation," Eames agreed. "Sex is generally my panacea for most ills."
"You must self-medicate a lot," Ariadne tartly replied, making him laugh. Even Arthur chuckled, pleased at her wit and a sip later, pleased with the wine.
"Okay, at least this is pretty good."
"Isn't it? One of those many secrets I've rooted out of this part of the city," Eames murmured. "Just wait until the food arrives."
Dinner turned out to be Brandade de Morue, delicious but slightly messy, and the sight of Ariadne with traces of it along the corner of her mouth made Arthur acutely aware of a desire to lick them away. It didn't help when she slid her hand along his thigh under the table, her stroke a tease to his libido.
"This is almost too much for me," Ariadne told Eames while her fingers lightly brushed Arthur's groin. He gulped his wine in an attempt to mask his response while Eames nodded.
"Heady stuff, I know, but delicious," the Englishman replied chattily. "I don't crave it often, but now and again I like to nosh my way down memory lane."
"I never would have thought you were a gourmet," Arthur managed. "Sure you're in the right line of work?"
"Oh absolutely," Eames assured him, "my cooking skills are strictly for self-pleasure and seduction; I'm selfish that way."
"Among others," Arthur replied dryly, making both his dinner companions laugh.
They all passed on dessert, and by the time they left the restaurant, Ariadne was slightly tipsy. Arthur wasn't sure how to communicate with her when Eames was so close, but as the three of them walked towards the stairs of Rue Foyatier, a taxi slowed and they piled into the back, still chattering. At least, Eames and Ariadne were; Arthur contented himself with giving the driver directions.
They dropped Eames off at the Four Seasons and the driver looped back to Hȏtel DuMont through the start of more snow; Ariadne snuggled up against Arthur's side, seemingly drifting off to sleep. He enjoyed the warm kitten weight of her against him, and even the driver singing along with the techno pop coming from the taxi radio didn't matter.
The elevator ride up to the fourth floor seemed to wake Ariadne up a bit more, and she shot a sleepy smile up at Arthur. "Sorry . . . too much wine tends to over-relax me."
"It's all right," Arthur told her gently. He had already decided to pour her into her bed in 405 and call it a night; not as much fun as more lovemaking, but he wasn't about to press his luck, and the sleep would do them both good. "Come on, Ari, time to get you to bed."
When he held out a hand for her keys, she scowled. "I thought I was staying with you for tonight."
"Well, you're right next door," Arthur pointed out reasonably. "I did mention I wouldn't encroach."
"But it's cold!" Ariadne whimpered. "And I'm cold. I want to be with you tonight."
He hesitated. "We don't have to . . ."
"—brush our teeth?" she snorted, laughing at her own joke. "Come on, Arthur, I may be a little wobbly, but please don't send me to bed on my own."
Arthur slipped an arm around her, pulling her up against him, and Ariadne molded against him sweetly, her relieved expression making his chest light. "Sounds good to me," he confessed.
Watching Ariadne get ready for bed was fascinating, and he propped himself up against the headboard to see the show. After slipping into a thermal shirt and clean panties, she carefully applied lotion along her bare, smooth legs; it was something slightly citrus-scented, and her long slow strokes made Arthur keenly aware of how it was part of her scent to him.
Then she brushed her hair; not a hundred strokes, but enough to make her locks silky by the light of the bedside lamp. When she was done, Ariadne slipped under the covers and snuggled up against him, and Arthur wrapped a protective arm around her. "Nice girly rituals."
"Shut up," came her quiet snicker. "I have lived most of my life without grooming luxuries, so I'm allowed to indulge in them now if I want. Besides, it's winter and I don't want my skin to dry out."
Arthur made a little murmuring sound of concession; Ariadne's warmth and scent were good things. He reached over to pull the lamp's chain and the room went dark. "Maybe I should help you with those, next time. For efficiency's sake."
"You want to be my lotion boy?" came the muffled giggle from under the covers.
"Well if the position's open," Arthur replied with gravity. "I don't have any actual previous experience, not unless you count sunblock on myself-"
More giggles, and Ariadne's arm tightened around him. "I'll put your name in for an audition."
"Good to know."
They settled in, and before dropping off, Arthur allowed himself a moment of quiet joy.
00oo00oo00
Some point before dawn, Arthur woke up as a hand stroked his stomach. He felt Ariadne's fingers lightly glide over the lean muscles in a slow caress, each pass moving further down.
"Looking for something?" he whispered, smiling.
"Oh—you're awake."
"And up," Arthur couldn't help adding, since it was true. His erection bobbed lightly against his abdomen, thickening eagerly.
Ariadne purred, and her hand shifted over his navel and down, curling around his shaft in a gentle, welcoming grip. "You like me."
"Intelligent, beautiful, fearless—what's not to like?" He replied gently. "And sexy. That actually should have come first in a moment like this."
Ariadne slithered over his frame and looked down at him, eyes bright. "I like that you put 'intelligent' first."
"Does this mean I get the lotion boy job?" Arthur murmured, reaching up to pulled her into a kiss. His only answer was a warm flick of probing tongue and a full body wriggle that invited him to stop talking and do other interesting things.