Everything about it just gets to me.
Summary: Written in response to the inception kink meme prompt "lace garters and dark sheer silk stockings (or fishnets)Arthur's always been a leg man, likes touching that bit of skin that peeks out between the stocking and the lace."
Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or its characters.
The set up. (1/3ish)
Ariadne had changed a lot since the Fischer job, since Cobb "retired", since the team had gone their separate ways for fear of Fischer catching on. In six months she was almost back to how she'd been before. In a year she'd gone back to preinception Ari and moved past it to Ariadne Page star architecture and psychology student.
She was damn proud of the fact that she could draft buildings the likes of which had yet to be seen- was sought after by wealthy new business men wanting to make a mark on the world. It was almost as if one Dom Cobb had never walked into her life, thrown her through the ringer a few dozen times in the space of four weeks and then walked right back out again.
"Ms. Page." The voice of Ariadne's receptionist startled her from her "pleasure" drawing - inner musings twisted into buildings out of words that plagued her.
"There's a Mr. Arthur and Mr. Eames here to see you, Ma'am."
"Send them in." The former architect's voice didn't hold a smidgeon of recognition as she nearly barked the order to her receptionist, face smoothing into a severe yet comely visage as the men waltzed into her office.
Arthur was still very much how she remembered him - no wrinkles, all crisp lines; neatly tucked shirts, - professional until it hurt. Eames on the other hand, looked a bit different, he'd trimmed his facial hair until it was almost nonexistent. It looked, rugged, appealing had Ariadne not worked with the highly irritating and yet interesting man.
"Gentlemen," She greeted, voice lowering to its no-nonsense timber with a soft almost seducing edge to it, "What brings you to my corner of the world?"
For an awkward, pregnant moment, neither man spoke or moved, unless of course one takes into consideration frantic glances at each other. The brunette waited patiently however, her small fingers lacing together on top of her sketchbook, ink stains just visible on her index and middle fingers.
"Well, Ms. Page, we're here about a building." Arthur started, shifting slightly as he slipped first one hand and then the other into the pockets of his silk pants.
"It's very intricate, and sometimes seems to defy gravity in a most devastating and completely decorative way. You see, Ms. Page, it is a dream that is near and dear to the both of us, and will most likely take months of grueling architect work." Eames cut in, sauntering over to Ariadne's desk and placing himself in one of the chairs. The fact the waif like woman hadn't invited him to sit didn't faze the forger and nor did it go unnoticed by said woman.
"This sounds very time consuming boys, something that's going to take me away from my other clients - handsomely wealthy and demanding clients I might add, to complete this little dream of yours. The price for such an endeavor shan't be small."
Eames smirked, waving his hand - the poker chip totem Ari had once spied flipping over his fingers. Arthur too, was smirking, dark eyes that had once made the little architect loose her breath full of respect and pride. It was the point man who answered.
"Payment won't be an issue, Ariadne, in fact, I dare say it will make up for the time you'll have to be away from your other demanding clientele."
Smiling for the first time since the men entered her office, Ari revealed the young woman the men had become fast comrades with as she stood and walked from behind her desk. Coming from behind the desk with short, precise strides, Ariadne smoothed the front of her suit, unaware of Arthur's appraising gaze when she shook hands first with Eames.
"It sounds like a promising venture gentlemen, one I will be happy to work with you on."
It doesn't go unnoticed by the calm point man when Eames slides a hand up the architect's leg, the paper he's aiming to hide, swooshing over expensive, sheer stockings and rustling when its slipped into an equally expensive garter. It earns him an icy glare from Ari and a silent promise of pain later from Arthur before the duo gracefully exit's the room, leaving the little architect with her thoughts again.
It's been two goddamn weeks since the job started and Arthur had hoped -fuck he'd prayed- Ariadne would return to her skinny jeans, colorful t-shirt, cardigan and scarf routine. The skirts of varying length, that all held onto her legs like a dying man clings to crumbs are driving him to the brink. Charcoal, black, white, pinstripe, beige, red - good lord the red - it didn't matter what color, it didn't matter when they were vintage cut, laced up the back, had slits with modesty panels or without - what mattered was the fact that woman's legs were on display all day. All smooth curves that seemed to go on for miles despite the petite architects height, add to it the fact she would wear stockings - he knew they were stockings, he stared so long at her that first day he'd been able to trace the subtle rise and fall of her garters beneath her skirt - fuck Arthur was going insane.
Going to Ariadne had seemed at the moment to be the best idea. She was brilliant - the remainder of the team was well aware of that fact. It would make this extraction slip past that much quicker if they had her there, excellent maze mistress that she was.
Arthur buried his head in his hands, distantly hearing his notebook crinkle in protest. In and out, two weeks tops - that was what this job should have been. Instead he was being driven to distraction, longing to just run his finger tips over the slip of exposed thigh that waited, hidden under Ariadne's skirt - when he should be finding a way around the fact their mark was a goddamned recluse with a penchant for paranoia with an ocd streak the size of the continental U.S.
"Really Arthur, this is getting pathetic." Eames drawled from the doorway, eyes laughing at the distraught point man.
"Leave me alone Eames."
"Oh I rather think I won't. This is much to entertaining. The point man mooning like a school girl over the pixie architect. It's better than a soap opera."
"Eames." Arthur warned, patience wearing thin more rapidly than usual with the forger today.
"She's wearing seamed ones today. Have you seen them- divine. If I'm not mistaken these ones are vintage 40s, not the horrific nylon remakes you can usually find. Pure silk - hell you can even see the lace at the top today, she's got on a new suit, its blue, but the slit is less than modest." Eames spoke and watched as the stoic man before him fought back reaction after reaction, strangled noises trying to worm their way from his throat as he reluctantly listened.
"Ms. Page is a far cry from the little Ariadne we knew a year ago isn't she Arthur? So severe now, she hardly ever laughs…I wonder if some undeserving sod broke her heart while we weren't here to protect her. Slid off her skinny jeans while we weren't looking, robbed her of her precious gifts and took off, leaving her cold and alone. That's the only reason I can think of for her sudden change to steely business woman who'll seduce you out of half a million without even taking her cloths off."
"Get the fuck out." The point man ground out between gritted teeth, the scenario making him white knuckled and a few pages rip in his iron grip. No man should ever put his hands on beautiful, trusting, sweet, little Ariadne - his architect.
"I've got to go talk to her."