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Ariadne should have known that Eames, forger extraordinaire, would be way too serious about dressing up. When they'd gotten back to the hotel room, she'd kind of wanted to just push him down, hike up her skirt, and hop on top of him, but Eames was, for the first time ever, horrified by the prospect. He was extremely particular about undressing, peeling off his various layers and hanging them up in the closet before he carefully divested her of her dress, taking care not to pluck the floaty white fabric on the enormous bejeweled salamander that held it together at the front.
Then he pushed her down and hopped on top of her.
He's still got a prosthetic over his left eye, which is somewhat disorienting; on the other hand, he's been running around all day in a skintight black costume, so Ariadne's willing to let a lot of things slide. Plus, he's buried all the way inside of her, his hips rolling oh so slowly into hers, so he could be wearing a Stormtrooper helmet for all she cares.
Actually, no. That would be a little much, and Eames is just the sort of person who might do it. Better to not even think that.
"Harder," she sighs, her heels digging into his back as she tries to drag him closer.
He chuckles. "Yes, Supreme Commander."
"Careful," she says, already breathless. "I'll start thinking you only want to have sex with Servalan."
"I am having sex-" he snaps his hips for punctuation, making her groan- "with Servalan. That's what conventions are for."
"If you say so," she replies, "Travis."
He grins, kissing her as he starts to move faster, pressing deeper inside of her, their bodies moving in-
The sound of the door opening is incredibly loud.
"You were supposed to put the sign out," Ariadne hisses.
"I did!" he protests. "I didn't think-"
Before they can freak out any further, Arthur rounds the corner.
Eames swears under his breath. "Can't you knock?"
"I did," he says, unperturbed as usual, setting his bag down on the bench against the wall. "It's not my fault if you weren't listening."
Arthur sounds a little pissed off, but Ariadne's having trouble paying attention, given that Eames has started fucking her again. It's all related, though; given how much Arthur likes to watch, he won't be angry for very long.
"I thought the idea was to blend in," Arthur says, extricating himself from the studded black leather he's been poured into. "I got stopped for three pictures on the way here."
Eames turns his head to look at Arthur, giving him a winning smile. "That makes you just like every other person here with an amazingly well constructed costume."
He frowns. "Those pictures are going to be all over the internet."
"Yes, and beside them they'll say 'Sexy Avon in the Hyatt lobby,' not 'Sexy point man after a successful extraction,'" Eames tells him.
Arthur is clearly losing his resolve. He's standing beside the bed, looking back and forth between the two of them, and he's completely forgotten to continue with his argument. Ariadne's got his number; she arches her back and lets out a little moan, entirely for his benefit.
That does it. Arthur leans over the bed, lacing his hand into Eames's hair and kissing him fervently. Eames smiles into it, letting Arthur take control.
"Harder," Arthur orders, releasing him and sitting down on the other bed to watch the show.