Ariadne really can create anything, and she can dream it, too. All Eames had to do was slip her a few questionable videos, and then, this.
The walls are stainless steel, cold and clinical, contrasting with the thing in front of them. Eames doesn't even know what to call it; its many arms are a lush green, and they sway faintly, like grass in the wind. The thing is breathing, something deep within it rising and falling regularly, and it seems to exude a moist, almost tropical heat into the room.
Arthur is standing next to it, flawless as always, his back turned resolutely towards the creature. He's saying something, and Eames isn't listening; Arthur can't see it, but the vines are creeping towards him. Arthur breaks off, kicking viciously at the thing as it tries to drape a tendril around his ankle; it's a feint, though, and another arm reaches around his opposite thigh, pulling him off balance. Arthur's fighting hard, but the things are fast, encircling him, his wrists, his stomach, his legs. Suddenly, the arms lift him off the ground; Arthur flails, struggling not to fall, but the thing's got him securely. A tendril comes up to stroke his face, the gesture oddly reassuring, but Arthur turns away.
Having its prey securely in its grasp, the tendrils set to exploring it, writhing over Arthur's body. They grab hold and rip his waistcoat and his shirt open, and Arthur yells at the thing, kicking at it, trying to convince what is essentially a tentacle monster that his bespoke tailoring deserves better treatment. The creature ignores him entirely, and Arthur lets out a shocked moan as the tendrils find his nipples, squeezing them gently, the little pads at their tips providing a little suction.
"Nice touch," Eames says to Ariadne, who's sitting on the floor next to his chair.
"Shush," Ariadne says. "It's just getting good."
Another set of tendrils is working its way down towards his waistband, and Arthur can't stop staring at them, mixed horror and fascination. They stop, moving softly over the ticklish parts of his stomach, and Arthur squirms, laughing involuntarily. While he's distracted, the arms of the thing suddenly rip the seat out of his trousers, tearing his briefs with them, leaving him exposed to the open air. He gasps in shock, struggling again, but the arms only grasp him tighter.
His cock is already hard and waiting, and the tendrils waste no time in wrapping around it, the suckers pulsing gently as they massage it. Arthur throws his head back, bucking hard against it, but they don't stop; they just start moving up and down, stroking him.
There's an arm coming up behind him that Arthur can't see; it's wet at the tip, shining in the unforgiving light of the room, and Eames leans forward in his chair, knowing exactly where this is headed. Sure enough, the arms spread Arthur's legs apart, and Arthur screams as the thing starts probing at his ass, the tip sliding in easily, pushing past his resistance.
Eames opens his fly, pulling out his cock and stroking it. "Come here and suck me off," he tells Ariadne.
"And miss the show?" she complains, her eyes still glued on Arthur.
"Then come over here and ride me."
She smiles dirtily. "Now you're speaking my language."
She climbs into his lap facing away from him, her skirt flipping up around her waist. Her panties are flimsy little things, and Eames just tears them off in his haste to get inside of her. She's wet and ready, and he eagerly pushes up into her, groaning in satisfaction.
The arm slides further into Arthur's ass, and Arthur moans loudly as it moves slowly from side to side, no doubt playing over his prostate. The thing is fucking him now, moving in and out as it stretches Arthur's ass open, stroking his cock all the while. Arthur isn't fighting now; he's breathing hard, making all sorts of achy little noises, resting heavily on the arms of the creature.
The thing in him is growing now, inflating as it fucks him, and Arthur screams again as it fills him up and then some. The whole arm is coated in that same thick wetness, making it easy for it to fuck him hard. Arthur is practically crying now, the thing so deep within him, and across the room, Ariadne comes hard around Eames's cock, sweating and panting. He keeps fucking into her, pawing at her breasts as she rides him.
The whole creature is moving now, the arms descending on Arthur, spreading his legs wider, wider, moving faster. All of a sudden, the arm within him stops, tensing up; it spurts something inside of him, so much that it flows out of him, the milky white substance coating his thighs. Just seeing the thing come makes Eames come too, and he very nearly misses it when Arthur cries out brokenly and shoots all over his stomach and chest.
Very slowly, the thing within him deflates, withdrawing carefully, and Arthur hangs limply in the creature's grasp.
Eames nudges Ariadne. "Your turn," he says, and she bites her lip.