Sep. 3rd, 2011 10:59 pm
ofvanity: (xmfc)
[personal profile] ofvanity
Author: [ profile] ofvanity
Pairings: Ariadne/Raven Darkholme
Words: 550
Rating: R
Warnings: Semi-graphic sex.
Disclaimer: X-Men does not belong to me. Inception does not belong to me.
AN: I saw this here and this came together from that. (I will win this format war.)

Everything glows outside of the dreams. Ariadne is lost for the first time since she came to Paris, almost three years ago and not particularly disturbed, but everything is glowing. It must be the streets lights; their hazy orange color dampens the sky and the pavement.

She wasn't really heading anywhere to begin with, where do you with this much money, this much power inside her skull, this much time? And she doesn't really know this woman next to her, they've been walking for a while now but Ariadne only knows her name and her skin.

She caught her switching bodies in an alleyway, suppressing a vivid blue with an ease unlike anything Ariadne has ever seen. It's not like Eames forges in a dream, with strain and conscious effort. The woman, Raven, her hands are clean and her nails are manicured but if she wants something different, it doesn't take an ounce of effort.

Maybe that's why Ariadne lets her take them to a hotel, hazy orange streetlights guiding them like the bulbs of a runway. She's been swayed by power before, by the rush of something not quite right but unimaginably beautiful. Ariadne's not thinking of Cobb, though, there is no room in her mind for the drop of dreams within dreams.

Raven is eclipsing any real coherency right now, holding Ariadne's wrists against the rail in the elevator, pushing small kisses on her lips and tilting her chin up. Ariadne kisses back, worrying Raven's bottom lip between her teeth.

When the doors ding open, Ariadne opens her eyes to find green eyes flaking to honey. The halls are empty and Raven leads her to the end of the hall, to a dark hotel room and the orange streets glowing from the windows.

The mattress is cold but it warms under her body rapidly. Raven drops her clothes before she changes back into her blue skin, unbuttoning her blouse in calculated movements and Ariadne can't stand her pace, can't stand not touching that skin.

When there is finally nothing between them, Ariadne crawls over her body, pressing her own against all the intricate designs she can find, kissing Raven with light flickers of her tongue and silenced gasps.

Ariadne finds Raven is especially sensitive at her navel, where the trails of designs lead further down. There is texture under her tongue and she hushes her mouth over it, listening to the hitched gasps Raven gives.

Raven's thighs slide over Ariadne's bare shoulders, pushing her hips up, arching against the rumpled sheets. It's almost meditative, making Raven writhe against her mouth, sliding her hands between her thighs and her stomach, following the designs into smooth planes. When she glances up, Raven is watching her with honey yellowed eyes and the orange glow from outside falls across the bed, her skin glowing in it. Working her mouth, Ariadne listens to the rain though God knows when it started raining.

Though, perhaps God has no place in this, Ariadne thinks, tracing Raven's folds with her tongue. But at the same time, only a being of higher power could create a creature like Raven. A creature with such sharp nails, with beauty physically etched into her skin, natural and almost mystical.

Ariadne thinks this is how she got here, drawn in by Mystique.
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December 2011


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