AN: I'm sorry for not updating this. I don't really have a good excuse, but this one has dialogue! And them making out! I know that that's what you really wanted to read, anyway. Shameless, aren't you? Its all I want to read, too. So I wrote it, yay!

Moments Chapter 3

. . .

It had been lonely, before her. Not heart achingly lonely, not homesick lonely, not even noticeably lonely. Life had been tolerable; he had been content. He was always meeting, working with, researching new people. Cobb was good company on and in between jobs; a familiar constant. He missed Mal; they never talked about her even though he wanted to. Cobb was not the reminiscing, sit around telling old stories type, so neither was Arthur.

Staying in hotels and apartments by himself; that was a bit lonely. Laying on his back in queen or king sized beds in an unfamiliar room, even in his apartments, waiting to fall asleep left him with an unfamiliar ache in his chest.

They lay on the covers staring at the ceiling of another hotel, jetlagged and overworked and tired. He tells her stories of past jobs, of past coworkers. Almost all of them are humorous and happy memories. His favorites involve Eames discovering new ways to annoy him. Sometimes he talks of Mal. His voice drops, his speech slows, and Ariadne turns on her side and presses herself against him. He pulls her even closer and strokes her hair. He talks of the old Dom, the Dom before Cobb, the Dom that they are slowly getting back. These stories are all happy, too.

"She used to say that I was her first kid. I was twenty when we first met, the three of us."

"Did you wear suits then, too?"

"Cheaper ones." He looks at her, very seriously. "I'm allergic to denim, you know."

"Really?"

"No." She lightly slaps his chest and rolls her eyes.

She tells him stories, too, although she thinks that most of them are quite boring, but he seems to enjoy them.

"I didn't know that I was lonely until I met you." He kisses her temple, intertwines their fingers. "Didn't know what I was missing."

"You're quite sentimental tonight," she teases, squeezing his hand.

"Just happy."

"Good. I like my Arthur happy."

. . .

He ran his fingers along the brown and blue and black spines of countless old books. The dark, wooden shelves went from floor to ceiling of the massive university library. Golden sunlight streamed in through beautiful round windows, dust fakes drifting pass. The bookcases were scrammed together in seemingly endless rows so that only feet were left between them. She smiled beside him, amused by the awed expression on his face. She loved this library, loved the smell of old books, a smell that she had come to associate with him.

"Do you like it?"

He rubbed his finger down a spine, over the title, his skin pulling the dust off to reveal gold lettering. His hand dropped, thumb and finger rubbing together to remove the dust, as he turned to face her.

"I know its not, like, a personal library, but I can check out any books that you want and we can come here. . . together. . . I just thought-"

She landed against the bookcase with a 'thunk' as he bent down and kissed her.

. . .

"Do you miss home?"

"With you I am home."

"That's corny, Arthur."

"You complete me."

"Alright."

"You're the apple of my eye."

"Please stop."

"Si tu veux savoir combien je'taime, compte les vagues."(You want to know how great my love is, count the waves)

"Breaking out the French, I see."

"Always worked on all of the other girls."

"Mmhmm."

Sarcasm gone. "I mean all of it."

A smile. "I know."

. . .

Her fingers slipped over his buttons as she mumbled about 'unnecessary layers of clothing' and her 'newfound hate for tailored vests,' Arthur's mouth and tongue and teeth doing wonderful things to her collarbone. His hands were on her hips, her ribs, her thighs, her cheeks, in her hair, stroking, his thumbs moving in small circles. Her back hit the wall and his lips found hers in an open mouthed kiss. She was still fussing with the buttons but his hands had found her hips again and he kept darting his tongue out and sucking on her bottom lip and she could feel his defined abs beneath her hands and smell his unique scent. She counted the buttons; twenty.

"You wore this one just to frustrate me."

". . .Maybe."