Going Crazy 3/4.

Note: I have no idea why but I always journey into the realm of character study at some point in my fics. I hope no one minds!


Coming to the club, Arthur decides as he downs a rusty nail, leaning against the bar eyes glued to the dance floor, was a bad idea. If working with Ariadne had been bad before, after tonight, the point man would be lucky if she didn't haunt him on jobs. It should be a goddamn sin the way she moves, the way she's dressed.

He hadn't been able to see the outfit when he'd shown up at her apartment to pick her up - the architect had already put on her half length trench coat, but even then to Arthur she looked like sex walking. Black pumps, sheer dark stockings, the gunmetal black trench coat with its belt cinched tight around her wasp like waist. He was a goner from the second she'd opened the door and his eyes had blazed a hot trail up from her come-fuck-me-pumps.

Small talk had been non-existent in the car on the way to the trendy Paris club. The point man's ability to speak at all had been dismantled when the pixie wench had checked her coat. Ariadne had chosen a strapless tube dress that clung to every curve, worn her now signature stockings and garters and Arthur was hard pressed to not fall on his knees to press his lips to the slip of skin that kept peeking from under the edge of the black dress. All in all Ariadne was a vision of dark beauty, hair falling down her back in soft waves, her eyes outlined with heavy dramatic kohl, full little lips glossed a shade that suited her complexion nicely.

The woman had dressed with care, Arthur could tell she had, especially after he saw a glint in her eye when she turned to see him all but liquefied on the floor. Brushing past him, smirking as she moved to the dance floor Ariadne breathed a sentence into his ear, silently delighting when he failed to hide a shudder.

"Let's get down to work shall we, mon cher."

Then she had just glided off onto the dance floor, leaving Arthur to entertain himself - which consisted mostly of downing liquid courage and getting up the balls to go dance with her. The point man wanted to mould himself against her lithe form, station his hands on either thigh and move with her to the music - it was a waking dream at this moment. However, if he went over, he'd want more than dancing, more than one night, more than just an indulgence in her body - he'd seen where that road went. So Arthur stay at the bar, sipping another dram Bouie and whiskey concoctions, facing the dance floor, eyes on Ariadne. Even just watching had the usually stoic man shifting as his pants tightened to uncomfortable levels.

Ariadne lost herself in the music the moment she stepped onto the dance floor. Music lit up her soul in ways very similar to architecture both real and when dreaming. The creations she made now were biological, chemical reactions in those around her. Every detail ignited someone somewhere, and the architect loved it. So she let the music sweep through her body, gliding, twisting, dipping and rocking as it willed her to.

Tonight was important. If she couldn't break Arthur's will, couldn't make him see her past being the architect - she would leave once the job was done. Hell she would leave Paris, the only reason the woman had stayed was in hopes the team would need her at some point and she would have the chance to woo the point man.

Ari had enlisted her sister Desiree to help her become more enigmatic and it had worked. It drew people in, they wanted to know her, be close to her even as she held them away with cold looks and sharp words. Even Eames, forger though he was, had been fooled. The clothing had taken a little bit of time to work out. Arthur liked clean lines, expensive looks - a barrier between him and the world at large. The architect had emulated that, but the stockings had been an accident - a gag from Des. Ariadne hadn't even considered Arthur had a fetish, let alone one involving stockings. It made a wicked smirk touch her lips, sent her hands curling down her body as she danced.

Tonight was important - she'd have her point man.

Five drinks and two hours later, Ariadne showed no sign of leaving the dance floor and Arthur's resolve to just leave her be was making a last feeble stand. He blamed it on his love for the stockings, two strips of lace on either leg that held them in place - most of all the creamy white skin that lingered between. Two hours the point man watched, drunk more off the coy architect's dance than the liquor he imbibed.

Every flash of thigh sent him reeling, chipped away at the list of why he needed to stay by the bar. He way those fingers of hers clung to her body when she danced, or gripped the edge of her skirt when the songs turned heavy and heated did things to him that were delicious and overwhelming.

As the stoic man lifted his glass once more, movement towards Ariadne caught his attention. Male, probably mid twenties, not completely unkempt. The intruder sidled up to the dancing temptress, and Arthur's jaw clenched, eyes trained on the no doubt sweaty fumbling hands that pawed their way to rest on the little architect's waist. A muscle in his jaw started to tick when the brunette made no move to push the intruder away, though she didn't acknowledge him either.

When the man began to rock and mould to Ari's back, Arthur was moving before he even realized it. Suddenly he was in front of Ariadne, dark eyes meeting similarly colored orbs as he extended his hand. For a moment she just watched him, the interloper draped across her back, and the point man felt his confidence waver. When her small hand rested in his, it surprised him and he pulled her until she was plastered against his chest.

Ariadne was breathless, the nameless, faceless man had been the key. Here was her point man, eyes blazing, every inch of him taut with unspoken jealous. It sent sparks off between her thighs and left her breathless. In moments he had her in his arms, and was moving astonishingly well to the beat. The pale woman's hands planted themselves on his chest, and her hips swayed with his, standing so close a breath of air couldn't pass between them.

Even in the crush of bodies, Arthur could make out the little pixie's perfume, spicy sandalwood tempered with sweet vanilla, it made his hands roam across her back. He used them to press Ariadne closer to his body, felt the slight movements of her back muscles. Neither knew how much time passed, though both were aware of the dance floor populace. It wouldn't make them good extractors if they weren't.

As the music changed, their embrace did as well, her hands sliding to rest, draped about his shoulders, one of his teasing the small of her back, the other sneaking up under her skirt, palm engulfing part of her thigh. Arthur was burning her slowly and not even realizing it. The heat in his stare, ever point of contact between their bodies had her burning.

She was like a snake with all her seductive slithering against his body, Arthur decided. The torture of dancing with the architect - his architect, was exquisite. She was fire and water, burning and soothing, teasing and tempting.

To those at the bar, Arthur and Ariadne looked like lovers having a night on the town, who only had eyes for each other. Maybe it was the way the man's hand curled and pet his woman's leg just under her skirt. It could be the way the lithe brunette had wrapped herself around the wiry man. Either way everyone knew they wouldn't go home without each other, some even dreamed of going with them - a fool's daydream.

If anyone where to question the architect or the point man about how they ended up back in Arthur's apartment both would answer a resounding "I have no idea". Each was too wrapped up in the other, hands were everywhere at once, feverish kisses exchanged as they barged into the point man's flat.

Ariadne had never wanted anyone nearly as much as she wanted Arthur in these frantic moments. As they kissed, lips bruising with the force of it, their hands stole under clothing in any way possible, setting nerves on fire as they stumbled their way a few feet into the hall. Neither gained the upper hand in with their quick squeezes and fleeting touches; no one controlled the pace of a kiss. Tongues slid together with a fevered abandon, hinting the participants were afraid tonight was their only night together.

Arthur had Ariadne pinned to his Louis the fifteen replica coffee table before either of them knew it. It was her breathless gasp, which he swallowed away in the kiss, that finally cooled their passion enough for a smidgen of rational thought to peek through. Enough to for Arthur to pull away and take stock of the ruffled, lust hazed woman underneath him.

Ariadne's chest heaved as he watched her, dark rises dilated and piercing as she nibbled her bottom lip - gloss gone, leaving it red and starting to bruise from the harsh way they'd kissed. Idly Arthur wondered if he was one of few or many that had fallen to the quirky, mysterious young woman's charms before she squirmed her legs to curl on either side of his waist.

A heavy, husky laugh worked itself from his lips as the point man turned his eyes to her legs, encased in those delicious stockings. Even her shoes, which usually did nothing for him, were erotic and enticing tonight. His hands itched to touch her - and so he did just that.


I'd keep going but its 2 am and I need sleep. The finale tomorrow!