Someone wrote in [personal profile] inception_kink 2010-11-10 05:30 am (UTC)

Re: Ariadne/Arthur, foot/shoe fetish

His hand touched her ankle while he was preparing to hook her up.

It was a light brush, easy to dismiss as accidental, but it lingered, and when she looked down he was studying the glossy red of her shoes.

They were medium heels; Ariadne walked all over campus, up and down sets of stairs and along sometimes pretty sharp slopes and she had no desire to break an ankle. They were, in fact, shoes her roommate had denounced as too small and relegated to Ariadne's closet.

Ariadne opened her mouth, studied the look on his face and closed it over the brief, dismissive explanation. "You like them?"

Arthur looked up at her. She wasn't quite sure how to read his expression, but a smile lingered around the corners of his mouth and eyes, and the touch firmed, thumb stroking along the soft hollow behind her ankle. "Yes," he said.

"Not really my usual style," she said, making no move to shake him off.

The faint smile strengthened. "I'll enjoy the discrepancy while it lasts, then," he said, and when he rocked forward on his heels to reach for her arm, his hand swept, feather-light, up the inside of her leg. The very lightness of the touch seemed to bring her skin alive with sensitivity.

She was smiling when she dropped under.

She slid a thumb under the strap of her bag, watching the line of his back. The one lamp on the table cast a pool of light that laid in stark contrast to the murky darkness of most of the warehouse; almost everyone else had retreated to hotel rooms or maybe restaurants - they didn't ask a lot of questions of life outside of the warehouse. It seemed to be de rigueur for them; considering their profession and the risks involved, she wasn't surprised.

Arthur looked up when she approached, rising from his chair, and the smile returned, softening the lines of his face. "You're here late."

"So are you," she pointed out, swinging her bag to the ground.

"There's work to do." He swept a hand out over the papers. "This isn't the kind of job where we can afford to cut corners."

"No," she agreed, nudging papers toward her. Correspondences; the building blocks of putting together Robert Fischer's background, it looked like. Ariadne frowned absently down at them. "You really think this thing is going to stay neat?"

"Jobs," Arthur said dryly, "rarely do." He picked up and began sorting the papers into stacks, replacing a haphazard pile of paper clips to divide them. His hands were deft, agile and very quick. "Preparation can make a difference, but in the end..." He tossed the last stack back onto the desk. "Inevitably, you have to improvise."

"And the maze - " Ariadne frowned.

"No one can account for every possibility," Arthur said dismissively. "Just like every job, you have to learn how to compensate for setbacks." A smile flared. "And Cobb was right - you do pick it up faster than anyone I've met."

All at once Ariadne remembered why she'd lingered. She returned the smile, scooting up on the edge of the desk. "I appreciate it," she said honestly. "Because if I didn't - well, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"Oh, I don't know. We could have made do with just 'brilliant' instead of 'prodigy.' It's what the rest of us have to contend with, after all." Sounding amused, he sank into his chair. Ariadne weighed options - was it a dismissal? An invitation? A -

He pushed it closer and his fingers, chilled, curled around the back of her calf. Ariadne shivered, but it wasn't unpleasant.

"And that's..." Where had her train of thought gone? Somewhere he could track, judging by the tilt of his eyebrows. "That would be a tragedy," she finished, and then, because if Ariadne believed in anything it was going for it with gusto, she planted her heel on the seat between his legs and pulled it all the way up the desk.

His fingers slid to linger in the hollow behind her knee, deftly riding the line between ticklish and sensitive. "Very nice," he said softly as his other hand cupped her ankle, thumb rubbing over the strap - also red, also glossy.

"I thought so," she said. "Added bonus: haven't fallen on my ass yet. Really can't handle stilettos," she added, and he was laughing softly as she bent to kiss him and his hand pushed up into the warmth under her skirt.

She grabbed for his shoulders, a sudden convulsive movement that curled her fingers in the expensive fabric, and the sound she made practically echoed around them, even muffled by his mouth.

He thumbed her clit through the fabric, shifting it to the side to test her with his fingers - his long fingers - and found her wet. So sue her; she'd let her mind linger over pleasant fantasies while she waited for the warehouse to empty, making small adjustments to the design to tide her over until she could talk to one of the dreamers about running it the latest time. He didn't seem to be complaining; his shoulders tensed and shifted and his fingers slid inside of her. Ariadne hissed and he sucked her lower lip into her mouth and bit, making her hips jerk against his hand.

She'd closed her eyes, though she couldn't remember when, and she opened them now. "You're - " Her voice broke off. She gritted her teeth, scrabbling for coherent thought, and then panted, "desk? Really?"

"Problem?" He asked - murmured, really - mildly against the flushed dampness of her lips.

"It's - " Ariadne choked on a whimper as his fingers slid deeper, his thumb resettling and sending a jolt of liquid heat up to coil around the base of her spine. "No," she said, and kissed him again, messy and urgent as she pulled him closer.

In one smooth motion, he'd half-risen and kicked the chair back. For a brief second he was bending over her and she was arching back, the weight of his body leaning against her, and then he was on his knees again, and his hands were still, and she wasn't sure if she was grateful for the moment of relatively clear thinking or wanting to cuss him out.

Like some bizarre form of knight-errant, he cupped her heel in his hand and kissed the knob of her anklebone. Ariadne found her hands restless, finally resettled them gripping the edges of the desk tightly.

The next kiss was higher up, lingering over the front of her leg, the third on the side of her knee, his tongue darting out, and Ariadne had never considered herself to have a fetish, per se, but she suspected she was about to develop one.

By the time he was up to her inner thigh, Ariadne was gasping and moving her hips. He shoved her skirt up - she steadied herself with her grip on the desk and lifted to facilitate the effort - and then he settled his mouth on her, licking around his fingers and settling the heat and wet of his mouth to suckle at her clit.

Ariadne grabbed for his hair, forced herself to release him, and sank her teeth into her lower lip to swallow a sound way louder than she wanted to make in an open space like this. Coherent thought process fractured as he delicately spread her with his knuckles, his tongue moving in long strokes. The fingers of his other hand still curled around her ankle, holding her open for him, and - well, it had been a long time, and she'd been turned on already, and she came, shuddering and clenching, on a low, hitching moan.

She didn't fallen over onto the stacks of papers. Ariadne was pretty proud of that, since her limbs had pretty much jellied. Instead she blinked down at him as Arthur sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth fastidiously, a glitter of unmistakable satisfaction in his eyes.

And he was still cradling her foot.

Ariadne reached for his collar, dragging him up to meet her, but even as she flicked free the first button, she was thinking a shopping trip sounded like a good idea.

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