The sun in her eyes woke Ariadne, easing her out of sleep. That bleary, sleepy feeling remained for longer than she could ever remember; likely aided by the warm, cotton-covered chest beneath her cheek and the heartbeat she could feel reverberating through her, almost matching her own heart beat-for-beat. She could tell from his breaths that he was not asleep and lifted herself up slightly, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him.

Arthur's eyes were sleepily focused on the ceiling, one hand behind his head, the other resting on Ariadne's shoulder blade. His eyes slid down to meet hers, a slow smile gracing his lips as they did. She smiled back, pleased with the rare youth she saw on his face. No furrows this morning.

'How did you sleep?' Ariadne murmured, blinking sleepily.

Arthur's fingers began drawing circles on her shoulder blade. 'Not as well as you did, but I got a few hours in.'

Pulling her body up and leaning on her elbow, Ariadne looked out the window. By the way the sun shone through the windows, she guessed it was midmorning. That would mark the longest sleep I've had in a few months, Ariadne thought to herself. Turning her attention away from the time and towards the man laying next to her, she leaned up to him and pressed her lips against his.

'You shouldn't have let me sleep if you were awake,' she murmured, her lips inches from his. He stretched his face towards her, kissing her back - sweet, chaste kisses, which held as much meaning to Ariadne as the heated ones from the night before.

The night before...

She lay her head back on his chest, her mind buzzing with the memory of the previous night. The kisses, the contact, the frustration and, strangely enough, charm of Arthur stopping things.

'I'm happy you're here,' She said suddenly, removing the filter between her thoughts and her words. 'I never thought I'd see you again. I'm... really happy you're here.'

Arthur's chest rumbled as he hummed in what she took to be agreement.

'How -' Ariadne stopped herself this time for a moment, not sure of her question. 'How long do we have?'

Arthur's fingers stopped moving on her back. His breathing seemed to stop momentarily, and Ariadne propped herself up again to look him in the eye. His eyes were on hers, his eyebrows slightly knit together. Shallow furrows were back on his forehead, his lips pressed into a tight line. She waited patiently for his answer, peering at him. His hair was messier than she'd ever seen it, which meant that it was only just out of place - sleeping on it had given it volume reminiscent of Elvis Presley. His jaw line was dusted with very slight, very attractive stubble. Caught up in her appreciative survey of his features, she let his silence slide.

'While you think,' she said, playfully leaning in for another quick kiss, 'I'm going to go have a shower.'

She rose from the bed, leaving Arthur sprawled there, fully clothed yet rumpled considerably from his pristine appearance the day before. Gathering up a towel and a change of clothes, Ariadne shot another sleepy smile his way, and strode off to the bathroom.

The shower left Ariadne feeling more refreshed than she had in months, likely due to the unusually healthy amount of dreamless sleep she had enjoyed. Drying off and pulling her clothes on, Ariadne was sure she smelled very breakfasty smells coming from outside of the bathroom door. Emerging from the bathroom, rumpling her still damp hair in a towel, Ariadne walked into her kitchen. On the counter there sat an omelette, two slices of toast and three strawberries on a small plate. In the drying rack next to the sink, the frying pan and a matching plate (that Arthur likely ate from) sat dripping. Ariadne smiled, walking up to the still-warm, neat little breakfast. Next to it, there was a small note.

Took your keys

Be back soon.

-A

They spent most of the morning lounging around Ariadne's home, comfortable in both silence and conversation. Arthur had returned, clean, shaven, and in a fresh change of clothes. Ariadne pulled out a huge art history volume for some of the time, lazily studying for a mid-term that was weeks away, as Arthur casually shot questions about artists, dates, and curators at her. Nearing the middle of the afternoon, Ariadne huffed out a breath, slammed the huge volume shut and stood. 'I owe you,' She declared, spinning and looking at Arthur and the cat. Both stared at her, similar expressions on their faces.

'You made me breakfast, I owe you.' She finished

Arthur grinned, scratching Rook behind the ears. 'You made me grilled cheese the other night. We're even.'

'Nonsense.' Ariadne spun on her heel and strode to her kitchen. 'Anyways,' She continued, hollering to the living room, 'we're not just going to sit around in my living room. What's your favourite kind of food?'

'Maybe Thai,' Arthur said, walking into the kitchen after her. 'You want to just sit around in your kitchen, then?' Ariadne was crouched in front of the open fridge, pulling drawers open.

'Pad Thai it is.' Ariadne said, ignoring Arthur's sarcastic quip. 'All I need is tamarind and some vegetables.' Looking up from her crouch, Ariadne smiled at Arthur. 'Want to come shopping?'

Reaching up to pull the rice noodles from a top shelf of one of the cabinets in her kitchen, Ariadne smiled to herself. The market Arthur and she had gone to was close to her flat, and she was familiar with the family who owned it. The older woman who cashed out their purchases gave Ariadne a knowing glance after skimming her eyes over Arthur. Ariadne had returned it with a scowl and a warning eye - although she'd never heard Arthur speak French, she had no doubt that he would at least understand any snide remark the woman might make.

Grinning to herself in her kitchen, mind stuck in the market they had just returned from, Ariadne tripped backwards over her own feet, stumbling from her tip-toe at the counter. Rice noodles still in hand, she had just put her other hand out to catch the counter before her feet clumsily slid out from under her, and Arthur's arm was suddenly and inexplicably around her waist, his firm chest against her back. Regaining her feet, Arthur's hand still on her waist, Ariadne turned to face him. His brows were drawn together, his eyes darkened in what she was beginning to realise was not anger but...desire.

She didn't hesitate. Dropping the package of noodles on the counter, she pressed her hands to his chest, snaking one up to the back of his head and tilting his head forwards, standing on tip-toe as she did. She kissed him hard, feeling suddenly feverish, forcing him backwards a step. His feet steadied them, and his hands seared over her, sliding from her hip to her ribs, one hand on her cheek and her neck and in her hair.

He pulled his lips from hers, their huffing breaths mixing in the small distance between them. Ariadne cracked her eyes open, just in time to see a flash of Arthur's dark, intense eyes, and the brief jump of that muscle in his jaw, before they were on each other again.

He stepped their bodies forward, until Ariadne felt her backside collide with the kitchen counter. His hands were then at her waist, gripping her tightly and lifting her up onto the counter, all the while never breaking the contact between their lips. He slid confidently between her legs, and she was surprised to find her own wrapping around him, her ankles hooking around the backs of his knees, pulling him closer to her. Their torsos were flush now, tongues pressing, lips pulling, hands everywhere. It didn't take Ariadne long to un-do the buttons of his crisp, cream-coloured shirt, and she was pulling it from the waist of his slacks, pushing the sleeves from his arms. He shrugged it off, still (most frustratingly) covered in a grey cotton long-sleeved shirt.

She mumbled into his lips and pulled hers from his, breathing 'Too many clothes,'

He laughed, murmuring back between kisses, 'You're one to talk. Still have that scarf on.'

Her hands drew back from his body, reaching to her neck and untying the silk scarf. She whisked it from her neck and around his in a fluid motion, pulling him closer to her with it.

'Better?'

'A little.'

It was like she'd never get enough of him. She kissed him, hardly leaving room to breathe, and found the hem of his cotton shirt, sliding her slightly cool hands under it and onto Arthur's firm stomach, letting the scarf glide to the ground. His lips and hands ground to a sudden halt – she felt more than heard that same, low rumble from the previous night, and he shifted gears somehow, his kisses feeling more urgent, his hands pressing against her body, snaking down to her own waist and sliding up under her silk shirt, long fingers splaying onto her back. His lips slipped from hers and decorated light kisses down her jaw line and onto her throat as his fingers glanced along the skin under her shirt, brushing against the edge of her bra more than once.

Ariadne squirmed under his lips, trying to shrug the cardigan from her shoulders while keeping her hands on the smooth skin of his abdomen. Finally pushing the cardigan down her bare arms, she slipped her hands back onto his stomach, pushing her hands up to his chest under the thin cotton shirt. His lips were gone from her throat then, pressing back at her own as she drank him in. She slid her hands down from Arthur's chest, pushing down past his navel and hooking her thumbs on his belt.

His lips once again froze against hers. This time, however, instead of increasing in intensity, his hands slid slowly from her torso to her wrists. He broke their kiss, leaning his forehead against hers, his hot breath on her mouth. His fingers slid between hers, pulling them from his belt and moving them to the counter top on either side of where she sat. He pressed her hands palms-down on the granite, leaning on them with his own.

They stayed there for a moment, forehead to forehead, blood still racing in their veins and eyes squeezed shut as they caught their breath. Ariadne didn't fight his control of her hands, but she kept her ankles hooked solidly around his legs, keeping him from slipping from the counter and breaking the contact between their torsos.

He breathed a laugh then, and Ariadne opened her eyes to see Arthur's dark, shadowed eyes peering at her, a grin on his face. He straightened slightly, breaking the contact of their foreheads but not getting far.

'What happened to the pad Thai?' He said, voice dripping with the desire that was in his eyes, but capped with a joking edge.

Ariadne didn't hide her disappointment, groaning over-dramatically and slumping her head forwards, letting it thud against his chest in disapproval. Arthur laughed again, his hands sliding up her bare arms and resting on her shoulders. He straightened her, and she allowed her head to bob back, her face adorned with a huge pout, her eyes as puppy dog-ish as she could manage.

He laughed again, though his blank, unaffected mask creeped at the edges of his youthful expression, tightening his smile and covering the desire in his eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips, close-mouthed and still, and moved his hands to her knees, hooking his fingers behind them until the muscles in her legs relaxed and he could slide away from her.

For a moment Ariadne just sat on the counter, her posture slumped, her body still craving Arthur's. As he rifled through the canvas bag for the groceries they had just picked up, she watched the mask cover his face completely, and for a moment he moved without emotion, going through the motions in her kitchen with comfort and grace that bordered on robotic. He opened the fridge, bowing down to pull vegetables from it, and when he straightened and looked in her direction again, there was a hint of humour and almost mischief in his eyes. He held a red pepper out to Ariadne as the fridge door shut behind him, and she slid from her seat at the counter and joined him.

They moved through the kitchen as if they'd always cooked together, weaving around each other, Arthur only asking once in a while where she kept some ingredient or utensil. Their arms and hips occasionally graced each other, often intentionally, as they danced a flirty dance around the food. It was far from awkward, but at times Ariadne felt she could cut the tension with a knife.

As Arthur slid the onions from the cutting board onto the frying pan, his phone rang. Pulling it out of his pocket, Ariadne saw a strange expression pass over his face as he glanced at the number, one that held a strange mixture of terror, annoyance and amusement. He glanced at her, gesturing to the phone. Ariadne nodded, and Arthur strode from the kitchen, flipping his phone open.

'Arthur,' she heard him mutter into the phone as he answered it.

Ariadne quietly kept chopping the peppers in front of her, innocently listening in to the conversation in the hallway. She couldn't guess who would be calling him - business opportunities? One of his siblings?

'I'm in Paris.' Ariadne heard Arthur say, 'Flew over here a couple of days ago -'

His words were cut off by shouts from the phone that even Ariadne could hear from the kitchen. Cutting through the noisy haze of a man shouting, she could hear his words quite clearly. 'I KNEW IT!' Tinny, maniacal laughter screamed from the small phone. 'Is she with you now? PASS THE PHONE TO HER!' More laughter followed, and then 'I fucking KNEW it you bastard!'

Eames. Ariadne knew it without asking. She set down the knife and the pepper and leaned out into the hallway. Arthur was leaning against the wall, the phone held a few cautious inches from his ear. His expression was tight with a cringe, but his mouth was tugged by a smile that he was certainly trying to keep repressed. His eyes shot up to hers when he noticed her leaning out, and seeing her grin, his own widened.

'Yes,' he said calmly into the phone. 'She's here. But she doesn't want to talk to you.'

A loud, elated laugh erupted from the phone, followed by an even louder 'Pass her the fucking phone!'

Arthur's eyebrows rose in inquiry, and Ariadne answered with an eager nod and a twinkle in her eyes. She took the phone from Arthur, clearing her throat quietly as she did.

'Hello, Mr Eames.' She drawled, using the sexiest voice she could muster. Her eyes were on Arthur, who was grinning and shaking his head, his arms crossed across his chest.

'Ariadne, darling,' Eames replied, completely composed and as charming as ever. 'How have you been?'

The false small talk made Ariadne roll her eyes. 'I have been quite well.' She replied, very formally. 'But you see, Mr. Eames, I do have a guest right now and really must be going -'

Eames' laughter broke the farce, and Ariadne jerked the phone away from her own ear as the loud laugh burst from it. 'Certainly,' he replied, amusement still colouring his voice, 'But pass it on to the old man that I'm getting on a plane to Paris within the hour. I have some news for him, and maybe for you.'

Ariadne searched Arthur's eyes at Eames' words, but from his expression it was clear that he hadn't heard them.

'See you soon, Darling.' Eames continued. 'And congrats on the new development.'

Ariadne felt blush bloom on her cheeks at his last words, and hearing the click of Eames hanging up, she closed the phone and held it out to Arthur. He pushed himself from the wall and strode to her, standing much nearer to her than he had to, his hand brushing over hers as he took his phone from her.

'He says he's coming to Paris,' Ariadne said, looking up at Arthur. 'He says he has news for you, and me.'

Arthur's grin turned into a slight frown, and he nodded. 'It would have happened sooner or later. I just wonder where he's flying from.'

They had no clue where Eames had called from, or where he'd be flying from. It could be anywhere from one to twenty four hours until they heard from him again.

So, for the moment they continued with what they were doing. Arthur kept cutting up the vegetables while Ariadne began making the sauce in the bottom of a wok. She was aware that the silence between them had changed - it was no longer as easy and comfortable as it had been. Glancing at Arthur, she saw the furrows in his brow and the tightness of his lips that hadn't been there before Eames' phone call.

'Do you think it will be a job?' Ariadne asked quietly, draining the noodles and dumping them into the wok with the vegetables and sauce. Arthur was leaning against the counter, his face still serious.

'I'm not sure.' He replied, voice emotionless. 'I've never worked with just Eames before. Cobb was always the one to inform me of any jobs.'

They were silent then, and ate their food quietly at Ariadne's small kitchen table. Arthur's eyes hardly met hers now, and she wondered if he had completely forgotten what had almost happened in that very kitchen not even an hour ago. She certainly hadn't. She had trouble keeping her eyes off his forearms; the sleeves of his shirts had been rolled up as they worked, and remained that way, granting Ariadne the view of the sleek muscles in his arms, and the thick, graceful veins that ran under the skin.

When the quiet trill of Arthur's mobile phone sounded, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Her eyes snapped from Arthur's arms to his eyes, which appeared to grow even more tired as the pulled the phone from his pocket and snapped it open at his ear. Ariadne could only just hear Eames' voice on the other line before Arthur could speak, and his eyes met hers.

'We'll be there in a moment,' Arthur said, and hung up.

A pretty slow chapter, I know. It took me so long to write cause it's so damn boring, ahahha

reviews are nice, good or bad!