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Someone wrote in
2012-01-12 08:39 am (UTC)
the kink part of this kind of fails, sorry. someone give a better fill!
She saw him by the baggage claim and it was a sight for sore eyes; his rumpled jacket, broad shoulder and crown of dark, messy curls. He wasn't carrying a sign, but he grinned when he saw her, and Ariadne lengthened her stride into an unsteady lope.
"Hey," she said.
It had been too long. It startled her to realize that the smell of him was familiar; the spice of the street vendors' food, the paper and leather of his books, the faint astringent bite of chemicals. She fell in beside him as he turned, shaking her head at his wordless offer to take her bags.
"So," she said. "Business been well?"
His low, warm chuckle rolled through them both where her arm was pressed to his. "Quite well," he said. "As you should know."
"Hey, for all I know we're saving you from certain poverty," Ariadne said easily, though she flashed him a grin that said better than words that she doubted it. Working with Yusuf had been a pleasure. He'd kept up easily when their heads were bent together over crumpled sheets of paper or geometrical models and Ariadne was trying to translate her ideas into layman's speak - and from that, communicate exactly what they'd need from the dosage.
"Not quite," Yusuf said dryly, and gestured to a car sitting at the curb.
Ariadne slid in, dropping her duffel at her feet. "Rented?" she asked as he slid into the driver's seat, and his look became even drier.
"Arthur," he said.
Covering all angles, as usual. Ariadne looked at Yusuf's expression of faint exasperation and grinned. "Is he even
the city yet?" Ariadne asked.
"No," he said.
"Water bottle?" Ariadne asked, diverting the topic, and Yusuf agreeably followed.
Arthur was delayed on the flight that would be bringing him and his recruits to them - something about a storm in Dallas, or possibly federal agents, he sounded preoccupied and Ariadne left him to it. Instead they got takeout and clustered around the table, Yusuf propping his elbow on its surface to keep Ariadne's drawings from scattering in the light breeze blowing in through the window's open shutters.
"It's not for a job or anything," Ariadne said, tracing the line of a window with one finger. "And I'm being careful about spending too long under..." She glanced up at Yusuf's face, but he only looked amused, eyes hooded briefly as he followed the movement of her hand. A thin layer of sweat gleamed damply at his hairline and temples, and she drew in a breath and looked back at the idly sketched perpendicular angles of her pencil-lines. "But..."
"It's beautiful," he said with a one-shouldered shrug. "There are people who would pay for you to create things like this for them in their dreams."
"Yeah, well." Ariadne shuffled the papers together, her lips curving in a rueful smile. "I'm still trying to graduate, remember?"
Yusuf leaned back in his chair, canting his head at her and spreading an eloquent hand. "And what is this?"
"Internship," Ariadne said sweetly, and his laughter was contagious.
"Here - " she reached for the dusting of sugar that had struck one warm, rounded cheekbone and caught in his hair, and it stopped her all at once. The feeling of her thumb brushing his skin, her short-cut nails curling into his hair. His lashes swept down and his eyes, liquidly-dark, cut to the side, inquiring and careful all at once.
Ariadne had worked more than a few jobs in her life, and
had always been a solid if unspoken rule. In the business of crime, that should probably be taken even
"Sorry," she said, the word dropping awkwardly into the silence.
Yusuf shrugged one shoulder, his easy smile reappearing. "Don't wor - "
Ariadne changed her mind before he'd gotten two syllables in. He was taller than her, but Ariadne had had to learn to adapt to that a long time ago, and he didn't stagger when she braced herself against his chest, fingers tugging lightly on his vest and arched up onto her toes. Her sneakers squeaked against the cheap linoleum and Yusuf caught her, his arm braced against the curve of her back.
He looked startled when she pulled back enough to gauge his expression, but his lips were parted and gleaming, and there was no worry or revulsion in his face.
Ariadne felt herself go a little red anyway.
"So we have, like, eight hours to kill," she said, acutely aware of her breasts pressed to his chest, the warm weight of his hand slipping to the small of her back.
Yusuf's lips twitched. "Is this what Americans call a come-on?" he asked.
Ariadne narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, if you think you're so smooth," she began, and Yusuf said swiftly, "I am not complaining."
"Good," she said, and her fingers curved around the back of his neck. His hair brushed the backs of her fingers, a softly curling mass, and she sucked in a shallow breath. "Because I could always just spend the time reviewing background."
Yusuf reached out and turned the stove off.
Whatever jokes he had to make about Americans or romantic approaches in general, he could. He should feel
. Because curled up in the bed under the slanting eaves, the sheets strewn around and tangled up in her sweat damp limbs, Yusuf pushed her thighs apart and licked between slick labia, and he knew
what he was doing.
Not only was he good at it, but he listened to her - it had taken her six weeks to train her last boyfriend to be any good at taking instructions in bed, but any time she shifted her hips or hissed between her teeth Yusuf seemed to know what cue to follow; harder pressure against her clit with the flat of his tongue, pushing a finger inside of her, stretching her open.
Ariadne hated to have her hair pulled during a blowjob, so she tried not to return the favour, but her hands were definitely knotted in his hair, twisting in the curls. She dug her heels into his back and one big hand cupped her hip, coaxing her up - and giving her exactly what she hadn't even realized she'd been asking for.
Ariadne made a thin, drawn-out noise in her throat, dimly hoping the neighbors weren't listening, his mouth spreading her open and two fingers curling inside of her now. It had been three months and that dry period was
, now, she was so hyper-aware of every move he made - the brush of air over her sweaty skin, the coarse tickle of his hair on the inner crease of her thigh, his blunt fingertips scraping against her - that she felt like she was about to fly apart with one more stroke.
He hummed against her, shifting his shoulder beneath her thigh and changing the angle, and her body obliged.
Ariadne collapsed back onto the bed and he uncoiled against her for a second, his head laid on her pelvis and curls brushing her skin. "Better than background checks?" he asked, voice a little hoarse, and Ariadne giggled stupidly and put her hands over her face.
Then she coughed and said, "safe to say."
She was opening her eyes as he looked up at her, and then she was reaching for him, her hand dragging down warm skin, the broad arch over his ribs, to the smooth cant of his hipbones and lower down, the hard straining heat of his erection.
can top the dessert we missed," she said, and rolled him over.
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