A/N: Yes! My first Inception entry! LOL! One shot written for three hours straight! Apologies for the grammar!

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Arthur irritably brushed a speck of minuscule lint from his favorite soft brown coat as he walked briskly towards the restaurant where he had agreed to meet up with Ariadne.

His plane had just landed early this morning and after taking a short nap in his hotel as soon as he had checked in, he quickly prepared himself for the unexpected meeting.

After the Fischer job, Cobb quit permanently and focused on staying at home and making up for the lost time with his kids. Saito had been generous in his payment after Fischer dismantled his father's empire by adding a bonus on top of ensuring Cobb walks out of the airport a free man: five million dollars for each team member.

He, meanwhile, continued to take a few jobs, though not as dangerous as his last with Cobb. He carefully invested most of his money and earned quite a lot over the last couple of years as his stock prices tripled.

Eames, though not hurting for money anymore, also took an occasional job or two from him just for the fun of it. That is if he is not pre-occupied with his gambling in Monaco or Vegas; or when a particular beauty caught his eye. Eames is quite a lucky daredevil when it comes to gambling. With the money Saito paid him, he proceeded to gamble it all and managed to win back more than what he used to have in the first place.

He also never heard anything from Yusuf, except the occasional postcard or two from him every couple of months. Judging from the postcards he sent, it seemed like he is travelling a lot these days.

Ariadne.

As he thought of her, he felt the familiar twist of guilt wrenching his chest. It's been three years since he last saw her. After they went on their separate ways from the terminal, Cobb had arranged for her return flight to Paris within two hours of landing to Los Angeles. And that was the last he has heard from her, although Cobb mentioned the girl once or twice during the time he calls to check on the kids. Last year, Miles mentioned that she had just graduated with honors and intended to work under Jean Nouvel's atelier come autumn. He was supposed to check out each team member's whereabouts from time to time, ensuring their safety. But somewhere along the way, he drifted, unsure whether he should also include dropping by and visiting Ariadne in school. He wanted to apologize to her for the kiss. Though it was done in the dream, the intention, the lust and teasing surging inside his mind were real. And when he woke up, the feeling had lasted, and had not faded in time.

Absentmindedly, he touched his lower lip with his index finger. Ariadne was really too young to be included in the Fischer job. She had barely spent two years at the University when she was recruited. Cobb was desperate enough to use her, though between him, Cobb and Eames, they have a long-standing agreement not to introduce young members who have not yet reach the legal age of 21. Ariadne was 19 at that time.

He had answered after the third ring, his curt "hello" designed to intimidate whoever was on the other line. Only a few people knew his number, and the call didn't even registered a familiar number.

"Arthur?"

He froze, almost dropping the phone. Her voice, which always seemed to haunt him in his dreams is even more beautiful when he hears it for real. He took a seat on his white sofa, loosened his silky grey tie and fingered the loaded dice inside his pocket before he grunted his reply. "Yeah."

"I need your help."

He suddenly became alert and businesslike. Is she in trouble? "Who's after you?" He hoped to God it's not Cobol. Cobol has been inactive for the past six months since the massive collapse of their illegal activities. Ariadne must have gotten his number from Cobb. Or maybe Eames. But the thought of Eames' melodious British accent flirting nonsense with the petite architect made his hackles stand rigid with unexplained jealousy. No, she probably got his number from Cobb.

"I'm okay, really. Sorry for calling so suddenly, but I need your help on certain..um.. shall we say espionage work."

Hmmm. What has she gotten herself into. "What makes you think I would help you if I don't get anything out of this job?" God, stop being a jerk, point man! He scolded himself. What do you expect her to pay you with? Sex?

"You owe me." She answered back firmly.

"I owe you?" he asked, puzzled, searching his mind for any memory he has of owing something to her. Nothing!

"Hotel. Second layer. Distraction. Kiss." She emphasized each word, especially the last one.

Oh. "Why are you still hung up on that one?" he asked, curiously, heart beating twice as fast than it should be.

"That was my first kiss." She sounded annoyed. "Look, I only need your help in wiring up this guy's room. I wanted to catch him whether he is seeing anyone."

Damned it! She's gonna spy on her own boyfriend? At the word boyfriend, his heart gave a painful twist. Is she old enough to have a boyfriend? He thought sourly, quickly doing the mental math. Of course! She's 21 this year!

"Arthur?" Now she sounded a bit anxious. "Are you still there? Look, I asked Eames before I called you, but he is currently busy at the moment."

"Fine." He replied, sounding weary. He rubbed the bridge of his nose to relieve his headache. "I would be in Paris the day after tomorrow."

"Oh, I'm working in Barcelona right now. I moved here two months ago." She sounded happy with her news.

Fuck this! What the hell does a Spanish guy have that he doesn't? "Got it. The email address we used before is still active. You can send me the details there."

"See you."

He crossed the street, hauling his suitcase and backpack. Looking back and forth to check whether anyone was following him (a habit he still practices religiously), he slipped inside a trendy-looking tapas bar with green topiaries, polished oak paneling and fine-looking hams hanging near the counter. For a moment, he appreciated the smells inside the bar: spices, the smell of freshly cooked seafood, garlic, tobacco and herbs. He took a seat on one of the empty tables, searching the room expertly. The crowd gathered inside for their late lunch generally ignored him as they talk with their friends, sipped their wines, laugh at some joke and nudge one another as they enjoy their time inside the bar.

A middle-aged woman gave him a stack of menus before serving him a glass of sherry.

As he perused the menu, a shadow fell in front of him and he looked up and met Ariadne's sparkling hazel eyes.

"Hi." She smiled brightly at him. "Good to see you looking good, Arthur!"

He smiled back and stood up, intending to extend his arm for a handshake when he found himself engulf in a warm embrace, the top of her head just barely reaching his chin. Her mahogany hair looked rich with gold highlights, soft to touch and smelled heavenly.

Ariadne, all grown up. Was it only three years ago when he last hugged her (in a friendly manner) and felt her body was still lacking the oomph a woman her age should have? As she continued to hug him, he could feel her soft, womanly curves in all the right places: her breasts, her hips, even the shape of her face. She had grown into an exceptional woman. Eames would no doubt pick his jaw off the floor had he been the one meeting her.

He pulled away from her and smoothed out her hair away from her face, strands of which escaped from the bun. She gave an embarrassed laugh, gestured for him to sit down as she took the pins off her hair and gave a shake. He held his breath as he watch her hair tumble down into a waterfall, as if in slow movie motion. He swallowed, feeling a certain part of his anatomy harden. Her incredible scent, filling his nostrils again.

She was wearing black pumps, a black velvet skirt with a ribbon at the waist and a formal looking ruffled, white blouse. Ariadne wore no jewelry, except a watch and minimal make-up. The only color softening her formal look aside from her hair and eyes, was the red lipstick applied expertly on her lips.

"You look beautiful." He said, and he meant it. He felt guilty again, recalling the time when they were at the second level of the dream. The Hotel scene, where she wore her formal A-line skirt and coat, looking awkward and feeling out of place, as she tugged at her stockings, trying not to look too uncomfortable with her outfit. He had to admit, she looked cute with her school girl awkwardness. And he was suddenly reminded of the way he wore his first three-piece suit that looked ill suited on his thin frame, when he was just starting out on this kind of job. Wanting to ease the tension, he took advantage of her worry over the suspicious glances thrown in their way by the projections: stealing a kiss.

It was just a brief kiss, but not too brief. Her lips were soft, and her breath smelled like peppermint. Or at least it was what his mind was telling him. He could not forget the widening of her eyes, as his face drew near her, tilting his head a bit to capture her mouth.

Arthur blinked, shook his head a bit and saw Ariadne looking at him closely. "I'm sorry, where were we?"

"I just asked a million questions, told you the reason why I moved to Barcelona, and where our target lives and you weren't even listening?" she rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "You're beginning to act like Eames!"

"You've seen Eames?" he tried to make his voice neutral but he could not remove the hint of envy from the tone of his voice.

"Several times. In fact, he visited me here a month ago and stayed over at my place for a week." She nodded, smoothing out her velvet skirt with confidence worthy of a supermodel.

"I see." He opened his mouth to ask more details when she interrupted him.

"Hey, I'm sorry. But we really need to get going. We only have a couple of hours or so before he comes back from his trip. How about we do this first, then we catch up on stuff later?" She stood up, grabbing his backpack before placing some money on the table for the sherry he had barely drunk.

"S-sure." He said, surprised. Was she that anxious to check her boyfriend's extra curricular activities? How deeply in love was she with him?

He followed her as she navigated her way through the bar, unaware of the second glances by the men she passed by. The black skirt suited her perfectly, giving the illusion of long, shapely legs. As his gaze travelled down her pencil-heeled pumps, he became even more aware of the tightness of his pants.

A man wearing glasses and a green cashmere sweater gave a wolf whistle as she passed by his table. He shot a death glare at his audacity before following her out of the door.

God, is this punishment for stealing just one little kiss?

"So, tell me. How long have you been dating him?" he asked casually, unrolling a length of wire for the small cameras he had assembled for the job.

They were inside a spacious apartment unit, several blocks away from the Barri Gotic or Gothic Quarter, where many museums and nightspots can be found within walking distance. The place is impressive, and he suspect the rental prices is sky high too.

Ariadne kicked off her heels and began to move a sofa where she can open a space for the ladder. "Where did you get the idea that he is my boyfriend?' she asked, looking up at him.

He raised his eyebrows. "Isn't he your boyfriend?" he pointed at the arrogant-looking Spanish guy on one of the photos framed in white, sitting on a low table.

She gave a grin, "No, she's my roommate's boyfriend." She then began to cut strips of masking tape for him.

Huh? "Wait, wait. That guy is your roommate's boyfriend?"

She nodded, not looking up at him.

"Why the hell are you poking your nose into other people's business?" he stopped what he was doing and move towards her until he was standing directly in front of her.

Ariadne looked up at his face. "I owe her. I found her crying one morning, and told me she wants to marry him, but she is suspicious that he is hiding something from her. I want to know what it is!"

He wanted to bang his head on the wall. What a disaster this is! He wondered briefly whether trouble easily finds her. With the way she jumps into other people's business, it is a small wonder no one has wringed her neck yet! She's like a female version of Cobb!

He closed his eyes and sighed. He can sense a headache coming again. "Let's just get this done." He turned on his heel and took the ladder, leaning on one wall and unfolded it where the sofa was located previously. He checked its security before climbing on the steps. The sooner he finishes this the better. He would ensure that she gets into no trouble after this. Maybe he should relocate here. In case he needed to keep a close eye on her.

Some twenty minutes later, they, or rather, he, had finished installing the spy cameras in all the rooms except for the bedroom where he is now holding the last camera. Ariadne helped him with the tapes, but she was more of a work distraction to him than help, as she paced around the room, admiring the books and displays, picking up some trinkets and laughing softly to herself. While she roamed around, his eyes kept straying towards her figure, liking the way the her hair gleams, or hearing her velvety skirt rustle. She still looks the same Ariadne from three years ago, with her eyes glazing while deep in thought, or the way her lipstick smudges at the corner of her mouth and she never even gave a fuss while she peered into one of the mirrors on the hall. His eyes could not get enough of her.

"I think if you mount it on that cove light, he won't see it." She pointed at one of the corners of the bedroom ceiling where the covelight provides the perfect cover for the spy camera.

He nodded. The location was just the perfect spot he needs, and the angle of the camera can capture most of the room. And this is the most important camera, since the bedroom is the most likely spot where dirty deeds are done. Unless the guy is a horny goat who likes to fuck his women around in all corners of the house.

He settled the ladder again and carefully climbed it, clamping the screwdriver between his teeth. He positioned the camera with his right hand and held the screwdriver with his other hand, ready to secure it with screws when he found that his hand won't be able to fit the constrained space provided by the covelight. Shit.

"Damned it!" he swore softly.

"Any problem?"

He looked down and saw her face tilting up, noting his frown. "My hand is too big. I won't be able to secure this thing. Maybe we should look for another space." He started to come down.

"No. That angle is just perfect. Let me do it."

He climbed down and passed the screwdriver and camera to her. She took a couple of screws from the plastic bag he held out and began to climb the ladder in a careless manner. The ladder wobbled dangerously.

"Careful" he warned, holding the ladder, so that it won't wobble so much. He looked up and saw her reaching up and began to place the screws on the hole provided for the support.

As he watched, his gaze wandered further, liking the way her skirt sway as she worked. Her legs are even more incredible up close, and when he moved closer to inspect a bit more, he saw a flash of something white hugging her ass cheeks.

He felt his temperature rise, his heart thump triumphantly and his cock gave a stir.

Damned it to hell! She's wearing some virginal white, cotton panties!

Why does it have to be a thong? He gave an inward groan as he looked away. Why can't it be like some granny panties, or a boyshorts, or some classic women's briefs? Dear God! Thongs!

He gritted his teeth.

"Should I move it a bit to the left?" She asked. She had almost finished installing the screws.

"Uh-huh." He almost squeaked. He wanted to give himself a swift kick. What if she noticed his hard-on?

He looked up, and saw she was looking down at him, frowning. "Watch where you are looking, Point man!" she hissed.

"You're the one wearing the skirt!" he shot back, gripping the side of the ladder for dear life, as he saw her butt clenched.

She slipped out her tongue at him and focused on working on the last of the screws. "Fine! You took my first kiss, might as well be the first peeping tom to look up under my skirt. The last thing I need is for you to take my virginity too!" she huffed angrily. "Look all you want! Pervert!" she added.

Fine by me! He retorted back silently, biting the inside of his cheeks when he saw her butt relaxed a bit, and her hips continued to sway a bit. His cock can't help but react with each sway of her glorious ass cheeks. Yep, God is extracting punishment, all right.

Standing outside the hallway, he continued to wipe his hands with a wet tissue Ariadne had fished out from her bag. Neither of them spoke as they cleaned the dirt off their fingers.

What now? Arthur thought, still remembering the view seared in his memory. Ariadne and her glorious ass. Ariadne and her glorious, white cotton covered ass. A thong. A freaking, goddamned thong. The most arousing image ever.

He is still feeling the tightness on his pants. His cock would probably be the death of him.

"Oh no…" Ariadne whispered suddenly.

He glanced down at her and saw her pale face, staring straight ahead. He followed the direction of her gaze and saw a tall man down the end of the hallway where the lift lobby was, talking to someone on his mobile phone. Their target was approaching and it looked like, his plane arrived earlier than expected.

Adrenaline pumping into his veins, he realized that the guy might get suspicious when he sees Ariadne, and he started to tug her towards the exit stairs, but she did not move. Instead, she countered his decision to flee by pushing him against the wall which a whispered. "You better get along with this, Arthur!", before her hands snaked at the back of his neck, pulling him down for a hot kiss.

She crushed her lips against his, and he instinctively caught them. Taking control of the situation, he pulled her closer to him, molding his body with her own, warming his chest. He grabbed a fistful of her silky hair, tilting her head up, his tongue demanding entry to her mouth. She gave in, opening it slightly, and he plunged his wet tongue headlong, coaxing her tongue to do the same.

Her lips tasted like cherry, her breath tasted like peppermint. Just like the kiss inside the Fischer dream, Ariadne was everything he had imagined she would be and more. This is no dream. This kiss is for real.

She gave a soft gasp, trying to breathe, and he bit her lower lip roughly, his right hand dipping behind her back, until it came to a rest on her derrière, clutching a handful of flesh before grinding his crotched against her. His cock grew harder and harder, responding excitedly. It was probably hoping it will get the ending it deserves.

The footsteps grew louder and louder before finally fading a bit as their target jiggled the keys to his apartment, unlocked the door and gently slammed the door shut without batting an eyelash at the spectacle they presented.

They still continued kissing, long after their target went inside his apartment. When he finally pulled away from her, Ariadne looked thoroughly ravished: lipstick smeared all over her mouth, hair disheveled, chest heaving deeply. He gave a slow satisfied smile at the picture she presented before him. That should teach you for messing with my mind for the past three years. Who would know, one little stolen kiss, would eventually culminate into this encounter?

He reached out, tucked a hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing the edge of her soft skin. Her eyes have taken an unusual glow, and her skin looked yummy enough to eat. His heart began to hammer loudly.

"Ariadne, let's go home. We have a lot of catching up to do."

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A/N: Wrote this story while having a break writing the next chapter for my series, Underage Love. Reviews appreciated!