Despite what she expected, Eames was the one who fretted and fussed about it, asking her again and again if she was sure, if she wouldn't rather do it in a dream where it would be safer, reminding her over and over that they'd stop the instant she wanted.
Arthur just nodded and said, "How do you want to do this?"
The knock on the door came right on time, but it was still too late for Ariadne's tastes. She'd been pacing for thirty minutes, obsessing over what to say, how to react, what to do if the the neighbors overheard and called the cops.
No more time for that now. She took a deep breath, walked to the door, and opened it. "Hey, guys," she said, cheerfully, trying to pretend that she was surprised to see them. "Come on in."
Arthur stood aside to let Eames in; when they were both inside, Arthur reached behind them and turned the deadbolt.
"What's going on?" Ariadne asked, frowning.
Eames leaned against the wall, studying his nails and looking generally like the personification of sin. "You'll just open your door for anyone, won't you? That's going to get you into trouble."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she protested, her heart starting to beat faster.
Arthur advanced on her, predatory, his eyes locked on to hers. "We just want to have a little bit of fun," Eames said, pushing off the wall and watching the proceedings with interest.
"You guys are scaring me," she said, swallowing hard. "I think you should go."
"That's not going to happen," Arthur said flatly. She tried to run, but he reached out and snatched her wrist, swinging her neatly around so Eames could catch her.
She sometimes forgot how much bigger than her Eames was, how much bigger they both were. Despite how hard she struggled, he held onto her easily, hugging her close to him with one strong arm across her chest. He reached down with his other hand, rubbing her through her jeans, too roughly, the denim scratching against her even through her panties.
She tried not to make it completely obvious how much she was enjoying it.
"Guys, this isn't funny," she warned.
"No, it isn't," Arthur said coolly.
"Let me go," she said, trying again to get out of Eames's grasp.
Arthur stepped forward, slapping her across the face, hard enough to sting. "This is happening," he told her, looking her straight in the eye. "We're going to get what we want from you. You can cooperate or not. I don't care."
"What are you going to do to me?" she panted.
Eames laughed, his breath hot and wet on her ear. "If you haven't figured it out yet, sweetheart, then we're not going to tell you."
"Hold her down," Arthur said, reaching up to loosen his tie.
"No!" she gasped, struggling against Eames as he dragged her to the bed, throwing her onto it like she weighed nothing, pinning her hands about her head.
Arthur pulled his tie free of his collar, tossing it to Eames. He caught it and looped it around Ariadne's wrists, tying them tightly together. She expected him to reach up and tie her to the headboard, but he just stayed there, his hands wrapped around her arms, keeping her immobile. He leaned across her body and kissed her gently, upside down; the gesture was so inappropriately sweet that she had to swallow down her laugh at the last second.
Arthur unbuttoned his vest, his motions economical but unhurried, shrugging out of it and laying it down on the dresser. The cufflinks were next; he rolled up his sleeves briskly, seemingly paying no attention to Ariadne at all. And that shouldn't have been as hot as it was, his disregard, his cold, measured movements, his quiet competence, but Ariadne was so turned on from just the anticipation that she thought she might come right then.
He leaned over her, undoing her fly, pulling her jeans down her legs and off, dropping them unceremoniously onto the floor. She pressed her thighs tight together, half in protest and half to ease the ache between them.
Arthur reached into his pocket, coming up with something flat and black; Ariadne's eyes went wide as he flicked the switchblade open. "Don't move," he warned her, "or I will cut you."
She sucked in a breath as he climbed up onto the bed; he shoved her knees apart, pushing her legs open wide. He thrust against her, just once, and it was odd how relieved she was that he was rock hard, that he was enjoying this just as much as she was.
He held the knife up when she squirmed, a warning. She stilled as he brought it towards her, flicking the top button right off of the unbelievably garish sleeveless shirt she'd picked up for the occasion. He popped all the buttons off, one by one, as she tried not to move, alternately terrified and impressed- he must have practiced this. She could see him doing it, over and over, whether here or with the PASIV, just the way he practiced everything else. It was another thing that wasn't supposed to be hot or touching, how much care and consideration he clearly put into this, but it kind of made her heart clench anyway.
Its buttons lost, her shirt slid open, exposing her- she hadn't bothered with a bra. Eames reached down and palmed one of her breasts, his big, heavy hand squeezing her in just the right way, his palm sliding over her nipple, and she forgot herself, arching up into his touch.
"Giving up so soon, darling?" he laughed. "You should've just said you liked it rough."
"Fuck you," she spat.
He pulled back and smacked her, catching her right across the nipple, and she gasped at the jolt of delicious pain. "I think you'll find it's the opposite."
Arthur wasn't finished; he slid the flat of the blade carefully up her side before he slit her top open at either shoulder. He reached up under her and pulled the mangled fabric away entirely, moving back a little so he could deal with her panties next. Before he cut them off, he stopped to trace a finger over the material, where it was absolutely soaking wet; he gave her a fairly evil smile, and she blushed all the way up to her hair.
He made two quick cuts, the knife tugging at the elastic before it snapped, and then she was completely bare, spread open, totally at their mercy.
Arthur clicked the knife shut and dropped it back into his pocket, taking a moment to look at her, hunger in his eyes. He pushed two fingers inside of her, shoving them in hard; she threw her head back, gasping. He didn't stop, his fingers rough and unforgiving, and she couldn't keep from working her hips, trying to get more.
"Don't be such a tease, Arthur," Eames said, mocking concern in his voice. "The poor girl is panting for it. Go on and put her out of her misery."
Arthur snorted; he slid his fingers out of her, wiping them on the sheets. He unfastened his fly, dragging the zipper down, no urgency at all in his movements. Now he was teasing her, pushing his briefs down slowly, wrapping a hand around his cock, stroking himself lazily.
"Don't," Ariadne pleaded, but it sounded more like a moan than anything else.
He didn't even acknowledge her, just pulled her legs up out of his way and pushed into her, shoving all the way in with one thrust. It hurt just right, making tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. Arthur was like a machine, precise and brutal, fucking into her with no regard for her pleasure. His fingers, normally so delicate and deft, bit into her thighs, ensuring she'd have ten perfect bruises to show for it. They'd match the set Eames was leaving on her arms, his grip still tight and unwavering. She struggled against them, wanting more, tighter, their hands anchoring her, making sure there was no escape.
Arthur was relentless, thrusting into her over and over again, frowning in concentration, all cold focus. It was too much; she tried to hide it when she came, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Arthur made a surprised, appreciative noise, his rhythm faltering for a moment. He took hold of her hips and pulled her up, bending her almost double, driving into her deeper. He moved faster and faster, his motions becoming jerky and frantic, until he finally shoved forward and came with a groan.
He took a few deep breaths, composing himself before standing up from the bed. He tucked himself away, zipping up his fly; he ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it down, and just like that, he was completely put together again, looking nothing at all like he'd just fucked Ariadne within an inch of her life.
"What do you want, Mister Eames?" he asked, looking down at her in smug satisfaction.
"Mmm, what don't I want?" Eames drawled. "Put her on her stomach."
It was hard to remember to struggle, when she was feeling pliant and fucked out, but she did her best anyway. Arthur flipped her over in one neat movement before switching places with Eames, pressing her wrists tight into the bed.
Eames crawled up behind her, running his hands over her ass, squeezing it lightly. He slapped her when she tried to move away, her skin going hot underneath his hand. "None of that," he said. He snapped his fingers; she could practically feel Arthur rolling his eyes, but he took one of his hands off her wrists, passing something to Eames.
Eames pulled her hips up and tucked a pillow underneath them, canting them up to the right height. "That's a bit more like it," he said approvingly, his belt buckle jangling as he undid his trousers.
He slid into her easily; she moaned when she realized she was still slicked up with Arthur's come, that he was using it to fuck her. "That's right," he said, his hips rolling so slowly into hers. "You like that, don't you?"
"No," she replied, even while she was grinding back against him.
"Lying doesn't suit you, pet," he told her. "You can struggle all you want, but you're just dying for it, and I'm going to give it to you." He draped himself over her, his arms bracketing her. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk," he hissed into her ear, "and you're going to come for me."
She turned her face away. "Go to hell."
"The more you fight me, the longer I'll make it last," he warned her. "I won't stop until you're begging me."
"Never," she insisted.
Eames let out an exaggerated sigh. "I guess I'll just have to prove it to you."
Where Arthur was all cold, Eames was all hot, pressing wet kisses down her spine, running his hands all over her, searching out her most sensitive places. He made her want it, moving in her just the right way, just how she needed it. It was its own kind of torture, trying not to show how much she enjoyed it, acting like she wasn't desperate for more.
He just kept pushing at her, steadily, his hands sneaking underneath her to pinch at a nipple or rub slow circles over her clit. Just when she felt the tension building up inside of her, he slowed to a stop, going completely still. She tried to press back against him, but he held her in place, not letting her move an inch. "Christ," she muttered, "don't tease me."
"Ah, ah, ah," he said, with mocking sweetness. "You know the magic word."
"Please," she gritted out.
"Please what?" he pressed.
She pressed her face into the mattress. "Please fuck me."
"Is that all?" he chuckled. "Or did you want something else?" He leaned down, brushing her hair back so he could whisper right into her ear. "Come on, say it. Say, 'Please, Eames, make me come.' Say it and I might."
He started moving inside of her again, oh so slowly, just enough to tease but not nearly enough to get her anywhere; she groaned in frustration. "Please, Eames," she moaned, playing it up. "Please make me come."
"Was that so hard?" he asked, breathless and triumphant, rocking into her hard and deep. He splayed one broad hand across her back, holding her down while he fucked her faster. She didn't try to hold back any longer, groaning and begging incoherently, urging him on.
"Come on, give it up," he said, his voice strained, like he was barely holding on himself. "Give it up for me." And she was so close, she was right there, he hit just the right spot and she came, shouting, her hands clutching desperately at the sheets. It seemed to go on forever; he just kept driving into her until she rolled right over the edge again. Arthur's thumbs stroked over her wrists, grounding her, keeping her from coming completely apart.
She was still shuddering through the aftershocks when Eames finally pulled away. He all but fell down beside her, panting. "You're going to be the death of me," he said, pulling her close.
"Not if you kill me first," she said, rolling over and stretching, looking up to watch Arthur's clever fingers picking open the knot in the tie, unwinding it from her wrists. He kissed the palms of her hands before sitting up, hanging the tie off the headboard and making like he was going to get up.
"You're not going anywhere," she said, tugging at his arm. "Come lay down."
"I don't even have my shoes off," Arthur protested.
She gave him a look. "You're choosing now to be a prude?"
He poked her in the ribs for that, but he let himself be dragged in, settling beside her, reaching across her body to rest a hand on Eames's waist. It should've been awkward, lying there naked between them while they were both still fully clothed, but mostly it just felt comforting and a little decadent.
"I'm kind of surprised you let your tie be manhandled like that," she told Arthur.
He shrugged. "I lifted it from Eames."
"I thought that looked familiar," Earmes replied, but then he was distracted; he held up Ariadne's arm, looking in dismay at the red marks on her skin. "You're going to be all bruised up in the morning."
"Yeah," she said, pleased, but there was real concern lingering on his face. "You liked it, right?"
He rolled his eyes, letting her go. "No, it was absolute torture to hold you down and fuck you. Really, you should have more respect for my feelings."
She socked him on the arm; he retaliated by attacking her with playful, smacking kisses, all over her face and neck, while she squirmed and giggled. When he pulled away, Arthur was looking at them with an amused, slightly superior expression on his face, so Eames leaned over and did it to him, too, until Arthur was laughing, pushing him away.
Eames settled down next to them again, obviously pleased with himself. "Well, what's next on the agenda?"
Ariadne snorted. "Unless it's passing out, I'm not interested."
"Oh, come on," he cajoled. "Where's the fun in that?" He leaned up on one elbow, grinning at both of them. "We could have some of that consensual sex I've been hearing so much about."
Arthur yawned. "You're voracious."
"Of course I am," Eames replied. "I'm not sure what that means, but it sounds so sexy when you say it."
"So you won't mind if I call you cacophonous or meretricious?"
"You can call me whatever you like, love, as long as it's got lots of nice, round vowels in it."
And Ariadne drifted off like that, to the sound of their gentle sniping, warm and safe between them.