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so say we all

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It's not an all-the-time thing. It's just that, as Eames is fond of saying, all of his favorite things start with F: fucking, forging, fleeing the authorities, and so forth. If he can combine two or more of these things, so much the better; and seeing as how Ariadne doesn't actually like running from the cops, that mostly leaves them the one option.

After that disastrous night that they've agreed they'll never speak of again, people they know in real life are strictly off limits. Instead, Eames has taken to going through her DVD collection. It's like some kind of reverse game of Who Would You Rather; he'll pick something, then try to determine which character Ariadne most wants to sleep with. He's actually pretty good at it. Ariadne kind of suspects that he has more fun with it than she does, which is really saying something.

"I've got a good one," Eames tells her as she sets up the PASIV, unable to keep his hands off her.

"I'm sure you do," she replies, wincing as she slides the line into her wrist. She lays down next to him on the bed, and he leans over to give her a long kiss before he presses the button.

The dream is in the usual place, a house Ariadne designed. It has a sort of Art Nouveau look and several impossible feats of design; it's comfortable, boasting a ridiculously large bed, several inviting couches, and an indoor hot tub.

The gun turrets were Eames's idea.

When Ariadne finds herself in the dream, she's standing in the kitchen, inexplicably chopping carrots. There's a pot of water boiling on the stove; she turns it off and heads upstairs to the master bedroom.

Eames must have beaten her here, because she can hear the shower running. She's tempted to go in there and join him, but she waits. He likes to make a show out of these things, likes seeing her first reaction.

She hears the water cut off, the squeak as the shower door slides open.

And then Lee Adama walks out of the bathroom.

He's wearing nothing but a towel, his hair is wet, and he looks perfect, of course, right down to his dogtags. Water glistens on his skin; she follows a droplet as it rolls down his perfect abs, disappearing into the terrycloth. He looks, frankly, edible.

And he's not who Ariadne wanted to see.

She tries to hide it, but Eames catches her at once. "Hell," he says, looking disappointed, and it's sort of weirdly meta to hear Lee's voice with his accent. "I knew it. It's the other one, isn't it? He's got all those muscles and and that big tattoo, and, well," he puffs himself up a little, "I wouldn't go so far as to say you have a type, but-"

She stops him. "That's not quite right either."

He gives her a suspicious look. "You haven't got a daddy thing, have you? Because I am willing to do quite a few things for you, but forging Edward James Olmos is not among them."

"No," she says firmly.

"Is it the little squirrelly one, with the good hair?" Eames tries. "I like him."

"Are you talking about Gaius Baltar?" She shakes her head. "No."

He sighs. "I don't know why this is so-" He stops, his eyes going wide. "Oh, fuck me, I've got it. Wait right here."

"Where else would I go?" she says, watching him walk away with interest.

Eames comes back out of the bathroom, this time in grey, brown, and green. She walks- no, swaggers over, a cigar between her teeth and a smirk on her lips. She puts a hand on Ariadne's ass, pulling her in; she takes one more puff on her cigar before she tosses it away and kisses Ariadne breathless.

Kara finally pulls away, grinning; the expression is so like her and so like Eames at the same time. "Like what you see?"

Ariadne says something like, "Guh."

She gives her a wink and pushes her onto the bed, crawling on top of her. Her first target is Ariadne's lips; she curls a hand into her hair, tilting her head back to kiss her, her tongue darting in, making a full survey of Ariadne's mouth. Her hands are working between them, unbuttoning Ariadne's shirt so that she can get her hands on her tits, her thumbs tracking over Ariadne's nipples, pulling at them gently.

When Ariadne is sufficiently desperate, Kara slides off the bed. She attacks Ariadne's belt next, making quick work of the buckle and undoing her fly. She tugs her pants down and off, leaving them on the floor. Ariadne lets her legs fall open, only her soft cotton panties standing between her and Kara; Kara kisses her through the fabric before tugging them off, inching the material down Ariadne's legs, teasing her with it.

She's begging for it wordlessly, squirming on the bed, her hips canting up. Kara runs her hands along the insides of Ariadne's thighs, spreading them a little further. Kara looks up at her, wild-eyed, and closes her mouth over Ariadne's clit. Ariadne arches off the bed at the sensation, the warm, solid press of her tongue, the tease of her lips. She pushes two fingers in, sliding them in and out as she licks at her clit, broad passes of her tongue that leave Ariadne gasping.

Ariadne's getting so close; Kara- Eames knows so much about her, exactly how her body reacts, and is using it to stunning effect. She's bucking her hips, mindless, so much that Kara spreads a hand on her hip and holds her down, keeping her just where she wants her. She can't stop watching, looking at Kara's blond hair as it spills onto her thighs, Kara's small fingers against her skin.

Kara's moving faster now, sucking harder. She's intent, pushing Ariadne closer and closer; Ariadne's hands are fisted in the sheets and she's mewling, totally gone. Kara presses another finger inside of her, working them in hard and deep, filling her up, and Ariadne comes with a choked-off gasp, her head thrown back.

Eames raises his head and looks at her, smiling. It's his face again, but his lips are still swollen and shiny, his chin wet.

"You changed back," she says, disappointed, when she remembers how to talk again.

He climbs back up beside her. "I wanted in on the action."

"I would've gladly reciprocated," she tells him.

He makes a face. "I know that it sounds very attractive in theory, but it's extremely disorienting in practice. Everything is," he waves a hand, lost for words, "in the wrong places."

"Your loss," she says, stretching, feeling good and languid.

He pulls her closer, his hard cock riding against her thigh. "Not quite."

She grins, putting her arms around him. "Do Lee again."