Fic: Werewolves, Star Trek, and Maybe a Job In Between

[animesiren]

Arthur was confident in his abilities as a point man. In fact, he was confident in his abilities to extract and to build as well. He considered himself interdisciplinary and adaptable. Arthur felt that there were no such things as ‘no-win’ scenarios and that you either just had to hit someone harder or think longer to find any solution.

Still, he was one more science fiction trivia fact away from walking out of this job.

The extractor was decent. Helmsman was competent in his abilities to put together a talented team and a plan, but stubborn when it came to accepting advice or input from his team.

Arthur had handed the man a compact set of folders with schedules, financial records, and a week of observation notes on their mark. By the end of the day Helmsman had outlined a plan that seemed, no-it most certainly was, ridiculous and stolen from television plots.

When Arthur had sardonically inquired, with an agitated gesture, whether Helmsman actually expected the plan to work Helmsman had retorted by casually inquiring whether Arthur had ever had the opportunity to “think outside the box.” Arthur had been so extremely annoyed and fed up with the whole thing that any protests he had were chocked down for sanity preservation purposes only.

Eames had found it hilarious.

“Shut up, shut up,” Arthur muttered, he alternated between rubbing his temples and scratching his exposed forearm in anxiety. “This is never going to work.”

“It’s your research that makes the plan feasible,” Eames pointed out. He had his hand hovering over the container of food he had unceremoniously plopped on Arthur’s desk as if his stomach were the critical problem and not the shit fest that was going to erupt if they went along with Helmsman.

“I’m leaving you to fend for yourself if this gets us chased out of San Francisco again.” Arthur promised.

“We were hardly chased out last time,” Eames sniffed his plate in suspicion “Do you think this is a peanut sauce? Only, I do hate when they think a peanut sauce is any kind of worthy secret ingredient.”

“Eames,” Arthur demanded in disbelief “Are you honestly unconcerned about this? Years in this business, and your main concern on this farce of a job is your fucking food choices?”

The other man managed to both sigh and shove a forkful of the dubious noodles in his mouth before he was forced to respond. “Look, darling,” Eames said finally, the majority of his attention still focused on the plate conveniently getting grease stains on Arthur’s cardstock “After Inception this is hardly daunting.”

“Are you telling me I’m over reacting?”

Eames put his fork down. He knew that it had reached the point where if Arthur didn’t get a moment of his undivided attention then Eames’ after work hours would be spent begging forgiveness.

“If you are going to put words in my mouth then it seems like you should be capable of having this conversation perfectly well by yourself and I can have a nice peaceful lunch.” Eames picked his fork back up and pointed at Arthur with it. “You’re overreacting.”

Arthur scowled at Eames a moment before reaching over and shoving the entire carton of food off the desk and into the bin.

“Helmsman is making us do fucking Star Trek, Eames. Star Trek.”

“That,” Eames paused to throw his now useless fork after his ruined lunch “Was twelve dollars.”

Arthur managed not to throw his hands up and stalk away, but Eames knew it was only because the man had an over inflated sense of dignity.  Instead, Arthur began steadfastly ignoring the Englishman. He even went so far as to reaffix his tie, just because he knew that the lack of visible collarbone could be counted as punishment for forgers who refused to see that their job was clearly being run by a deluded idiot.

Eames reclined back far enough to peer at the rest of the warehouse upside down.  He was fairly certain that since the architect blushed whenever Eames was within five feet of the woman that she could be conned into giving him some of her curry.

Eames went to check if he was right and Arthur broke a pen in half due to sheer thumb to index pressure.

X-_X-_X

By the time their architect, Molly, had finished the elaborate dream levels that Helmsman had demanded of her there were only six days left until their employer’s deadline. Arthur had been down to the second level of the dream, his level, with Molly four times and Eames had only been down to his level, the first, with her twice, but Helmsman was still pushing for a full run through.

“We need to ascertain what the likely reactions of the projections are,” Helmsman explained. The extractor had reached a whole new level of pushy that Arthur could only scowl at.

Arthur countered him. “I’ve done these types of dreams before,” he said. He had too. Cobb and he had had to set up a safari dream and Arthur could now tell you for certain that lions in the dream state were the same as lions in real life. “You dream up something animalistic and, surprise, it acts animalistic.”

Helmsman seemed not to have heard him.

“We’ll run this like we’re running the job,” the other man continued “Except I’m going to split off and observe the projections. I want you and Eames testing the mazes of the first level, and Eames, I want you in character.”

“Are we going down to the second level?” Arthur asked. Frustration drained away into professionalism. There were two levels to their dream, deemed necessary in order to get the mark’s subconscious to relax enough.

“We’ll decide down there,” Helmsman replied, he sat and leaned back in a chair, gesturing for Arthur to begin.

After they were set Arthur reached over to the device and said dryly “Five minutes on the clock,” and then they were dreaming.

When Arthur opened his eyes, or rather when his subconscious became aware of the dream state, he was standing in between the other two men and looking out into       a gothic nightmare.

Streets were dirtied and barren. Buildings crumbled around them and trees grew dead. This level of the dream state was stuck in perpetual night, with a full moon hanging above the long forgotten town.

“Right, I’m off, you two need to start. Remember: we only have an hour.”

“Because I had no idea,” Arthur sneered sarcastically. He turned and began walking in the opposite direction of Helmsman, mainly because Helmsman seemed unaffected by Arthur’s sarcasm and Eames seemed to find it funny and Arthur told himself he should  get on with the job before he shot both of them awake.

Eames fell in step next to him.

This was the first time Arthur had had a chance to observe Eames’ newest forge. It didn’t look all that different.

Like the parody of the nineties’ gothic cinema that this dream level was, Eames was dressed head to toe in dark colors, a leather trench coat hugging his shoulders and hanging to his calves. His combat boots weren’t the only cliché accessory on the man either; he had plain iron bracelets and rings hanging all over him. The rip in his shirt showed Eames’ real tattooed flesh.

Eames’ eyes were bright gold, and when his plush lips twisted up in a feral smirk there were two sets of sharp canines visible.

This level of the dream was a werewolf world.

The mark had proven to be susceptible to science fiction and fantasy, and it had been Helmsman’s decision to use that weakness and exploit it singularly. Two levels. Two different preternatural stories, and hopefully by the end of it they’d have the mark’s new patent information for their employer.

“You’ve ran the mazes with Molly?” Arthur dragged his eyes from the thicker than usual scruff lining the other man’s chin and forced his eyes forward.

They were winding their way through a series of alleyways, all connected with no apparent end in sight. Eames would know the way out, of course, but Arthur was trying to keep a mental map of their turns in his head to see if it would be too easy on their projections.

Eames snorted “Of course I have.”

His voice was deeper than normal, and Arthur immediately felt too warm under the collar. They turned down another alley but Arthur didn’t bother tracking their movements in relation to where they had begun because, well, all of Arthur’s blood was rushing south.

Arthur took a step away from Eames, vainly hoping that a measure of distance might stall his body’s reaction. Eames didn’t notice, or didn’t bother letting Arthur know he had noticed, and he and Arthur continued on their exploration.

They hadn’t come across any projections until nearly a quarter of their hour had passed, and then after rounding a corner they met the first.

Arthur made a disgusted noise and turned his eyes accusingly onto Eames “This is what your mind comes up with? You couldn’t have stuck with ‘A Werewolf in London’?”

Right in front of them was a half human half wolf monster that was barely paying them any attention at all. It had its transformed arm-paws pressed into the dead businessman’s neck and the beast’s jaws were doing the best they could to eat through the man’s stomach.

“It’s an illusion of realism,” Eames retorted, not bothered by the display in front of them. He tugged Arthur around a dumpster and set them back on their way. “The mark will be fascinated with the idea of realistic creatures, instead of Hollywood fed listless ones.”

Arthur glanced at Eames from his periphery but didn’t reply. Arthur could be somewhat relieved that he at least got a humane dream level to build, even if a good portion of the people who were going to be there were aliens.

By the time the halfway minute had passed they’d come across all manner of beast and prey and Arthur was forced to agree that the maze was good. He had no idea which way was out and the looping miles of city alleyways didn’t seem to be near an end.

“If Helmsman can get the mark to the alleys than we definitely won’t have trouble getting the mark to the second level.”

“Careful, Arthur, that might be praise I’m hearing.”

“Definitely for Molly, not for you,” Arthur was eyeing Eames’ casual slouch against another of the endless brick apartment building that lined the alleys. He caught the Englishman’s smirk when it began to spread.

“Whatever will we do with all the extra time?” Eames mused quietly. His voice was a soft rumble of sharp consonants in his Lycan character.

Arthur hooked a hand up onto the fire escape ladder above his head and didn’t stop his gaze from sweeping approvingly up and down Eames’ form.

Eames pushed off from the wall and was across the alley like Arthur’s eyes had given him permission.

“I’m not having sex with you in a dream,” Arthur warned before Eames had even touched him. “We’ve been over this before.”

“You wouldn’t fuck me on the Steinman job because I was a six foot broad with engorged breasts you said,” Eames nosed along Arthur’s neck, not yet touching him with his hands. The preternatural senses that Eames gained in this dreams were doing wonderful things for him. “Didn’t mention anything about it being because we were in a dream, did you mate?”

Arthur closed his eyes. Eames had a point. Arthur might be unwilling to bed Eames in a dream where the man was actually a woman but he had few protests for bedding him in a dream where he was a supernatural pin up.

Eames finally closed the space between them, running his hands from Arthur’s wrists to the inside of his elbows “I can feel your blood pumping,” he murmured.

Arthur leaned forward and nipped at Eames’ jaw line. He really couldn’t help it any longer.

All at once their position changed drastically. Eames shoved Arthur back against the brick of the alley, following and pinning them together with a strong thrust of his hips. He claimed Arthur’s mouth in a ferocious way.

Arthur was having trouble deciding where he wanted his hands first. Though it was always like this with Eames. Arthur never knew which part of him he wanted first.  Arthur settled for shoving the trench coat out of the way and gripping Eames’ hips in possession. Arthur could feel the heat of Eames’ skin.

“Heightened senses,” Eames growled, he pulled his mouth away from Arthur’s only for the chance to bury his nose underneath the darker haired man’s ear. “The scent of you, Arthur, it’s always been so bloody attractive but now it’s like your scent’s crying for me. Christ, I can tell from your scent alone that you want me to fuck you.”

And, yes, that was now definitely a full blown erection straining against Arthur’s trousers.

“Asshole,” Arthur bit out, he was hell bent on stopping a deep groan from ripping out next but the bruises that Eames had begun to suck into Arthur’s neck were more than efficient at thwarting that. “You have a thing or two to learn if you think I’m going to let you fuck me in an alley.”

“I think you’d let me fuck you anywhere if I really wanted to, darling.”

“In your dreams,” Arthur managed to say without even a trace of irony. He found Eames’ mouth and bit down on his bottom lip, hard.

Eames grabbed at Arthur’s wrists hard enough to cause him to wince but it went unnoticed as Eames forced Arthur’s hands up against the wall on either side of his head. All at once they were pressed together everywhere, and chest to chest they could feel each other’s ragged breathing.

Eames was panting into Arthur’s mouth now, his hips grinding in heated rhythm against Arthur’s. Arthur should be appalled about their in dream actions, but his thoughts were so far from feeling shame at that moment that he couldn’t even spare it an errant thought. Arthur thrust forward as hard as he could, testing Eames’ grip on his hands.

Arthur didn’t manage to break the other man’s hold but he did get Eames groaning and whispering “Yes, yes,” against his cheek.

Arthur was just about to give into the idea of rutting like animals in an alleyway with Eames while they were surrounded by filth and beasts when the grip on his wrists disappeared and Eames took a full step backwards.

In protest to the loss of Eames’ heat and want pressed against his own Arthur made a keening noise that he would never admit to.

“Here,” Eames’ yellow eyes were a little frantic as he cracked a mischievous grin and reached above his head. He made short work of tugging the fire escape down and when Arthur managed to drag himself off of the brick and towards him he smirked at him.

“How about a cozy apartment with a proper bed?” Eames asked, he barked a laugh when Arthur reached forward to pull painfully at his hair and crush their mouths together again.

“Just get up there,” Arthur said, jerking his head towards the ladder, making sure that Eames saw that he was achingly serious.

The mad scramble up the fire escape was sloppy and uncoordinated at best, but eventually the two men managed to tumble through a hastily shattered window and onto the floor of the slum apartment’s dirty kitchen.

Eames didn’t bother to scan the rooms for projections and neither did Arthur. Arthur felt more secure now that they were inside, and was willing to begin to take care of his more pressing needs. A few jerky movements later and he managed to shove Eames onto his back, and straddle him similarly. Arthur didn’t even pay attention to the shattered glass digging into his knees.

He attacked Eames’ mouth with relish. He gripped the other man’s hair, darker in the dream than in reality, and shoved it backwards to connect painfully with the floor, however allowing Arthur the access that he wanted.

Eames’ growl may have been a concession of the supernatural dream state but Arthur still felt it vibrate up Eames’ thick neck and against his own lips. It was enough to make heat race through Arthur’s veins and pool uncomfortably low in his stomach.

“Off,” Arthur growled back, leaning on his heels just enough to tug Eames’ long coat off his shoulders and give the other man the idea that he needed to get rid of it. “Now.”

Eames needed no more prodding. He shrugged out of the coat, letting it lay across the glass still scattered on the kitchen linoleum and act as a barrier for them.

Then Eames flipped their positions and ripped Arthur’s shirt open in one arm flexing movement.

“Feral aren’t we?” Arthur managed to spit out before Eames’ mouth was attaching itself to every piece of warm flesh it could find. Eames’ arms were on Arthur’s biceps, firmly holding the smaller man against the ground.

Arthur fought against in briefly, if only to give the moment an added flavor. But then Eames lifted his head just enough to give Arthur a playfully baleful look before both his mouth and his yellow-eyed gaze dropped to Arthur’s chest. Eames nosed against the scattering of warm dark hairs spread across the expanse of flesh before he dropped his mouth down to Arthur’s nipple and bit, hard.

“Fuck,” Arthur exclaimed “Fuck,” he repeated and it soon became a pant as Eames was only too eager to use his dream world canines to repeatedly bite at Arthur. Every time the pain would ratchet higher the man would back off and turn to lapping and suckling at the nub in slow, comforting movements, before repeating the process all over again.

Arthur had his hands buried in Eames’ hair, pulling harshly when he remembered to. His mind was elsewhere than the task at literal hand. He was only focused on the way Eames’ body was laid slovenly across his own, and how the other man’s lips seemed to never part from Arthur’s own body.

Before long Arthur began to tug Eames upwards, though, pulling the man by his hair and his shoulders until he was willing to comply. “We don’t have enough time,” Arthur gasped against Eames lips, simultaneously trying to explain what he wanted from the man and take it for himself. “Ten, fifteen minutes dream time. Tops.”

“I have an idea, darling,” And Eames voice was wrecked which made Arthur twitch in all the right ways. His mind already derailing from proper thought again, only thinking of the ways he could taste Eames.

Eames was off Arthur a moment later, though. Arthur tried to force himself not to shiver at the abrupt loss of heat, but found himself doing so nonetheless.

Eames looked around the kitchen as if he were reading a particularly tricky set of directions. He was eyeing every surface completely before looking for something new. Finally, after careful consideration Eames made a move towards the smaller than normal cupboard above the sink.

“Aha,” he muttered softly. Eames tugged the cupboard open and withdrew a familiar looking, shiny, silver case.

“You want to go down another level?” Arthur barely managed to make the words tumble out of his mouth in proper order. He realized he was panting on the floor rather wantonly.

“You want to wait until we can get away up top?” Eames raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Arthur said ostensibly, “But that’s rather lacking proper discretion.”

“Arthur,” Eames said flatly “It’ll be wasted minutes here, then hours of debriefing up top, and then, maybe, we’ll be able to get away with little other hassle. It will be hours, an entire part of a day, before I get to shag you proper.”

Arthur’s mouth closed tight, his brain and his body warring against logical thought.

“Helmsman will never know,” Eames said, popping the clasps on the case “No dignity shattered, Arthur, I swear.”

“I don’t know,” Arthur sat back on his elbows, honestly trying to clear his head and think a moment.

Eames wasn’t having any of that. “Please, darling,” he said leaning forward to mouth the words right against Arthur’s lips “Go down with me, and let me take you apart.”

The words had their desired effect. “What makes you think, Mr. Eames,” Arthur retorted leaning forward and snatching a line of tubing “That I won’t be taking you apart?”

“That’s the spirit,” Eames all but moaned.

X-_X-_X

Arthur’s eyes shut reflexively the instant after he tried to open them. He was laying on a mostly flat surface, and compared to the dark and shadowed dream level he had just come down from this new level was uncomfortably bright.

He turned to the side, squinting at the bleary forms he could make out. After a moment he looked down at himself, around at the room again, and then realized that it made sense.

It was Arthur’s level for the job.

It was Star Trek.

Arthur sat up immediately, climbing to his feet. He was wearing a gold shirt, and had a phaser attached at his hip. Around the room different people were moving to and fro, and Arthur realized that he had been lying on the transporter pad.

This level’s details were immaculate, as Arthur knew they would be. This was the level he was charged with maintaining for the job. He was supposed to appear on the transporter pad with their mark; their mark dressed as the captain, and then purposefully lose the mark in a maze of Jeffries tubing while Helmsman searched the captain’s privy room on the bridge. It was where, if they did their job correctly, the information they were seeking would be stored.

Though they weren’t on the job now, Helmsman wasn’t even on the same level, and Arthur had some unfinished business with a previously canine forger.

Eames was naturally nowhere in sight.

A man in a red shirt came stumbling up to Arthur and Arthur hastily crossed his hands behind him in what he hoped was a commanding pose.

“Sir?” the man said “The Captain will want to hear your debriefing, commander; the Plaatu Ambassador is hailing the ship currently.”

“Tell the Captain I’ll report shortly, Ensign,” Arthur’s own military experience and a careful combing of show details gave him the information he needed to send his projection off.

“Not before you’re bloody well checked over you won’t,” Arthur’s head snapped up embarrassingly fast and he spied Eames and a ship nurse in the entrance to the transporter room.

Arthur didn’t bother hiding the fog of lust that crawled up his spine and onto his face, in his own dream he didn’t figure he had to. “Doctor?” he asked after a moment.

Eames grinned, gesturing to the blue that was stretched tightly across his chest and the nurse that was standing to attention at his side. “Apparently. I think somebody’s subconscious decided they wanted to play physician.”

Arthur scoffed. He stepped off the transporter pad and brushed past the other Starfleet officer’s without sparing them a glance. He stepped past Eames and out into the hallway close enough that he knew the other man would be able to feel their arms brush together.

“Well?” Arthur asked when Eames didn’t immediately follow him. “Clear me for duty, doctor.”

X-_X-_X

Eames mourns the years he went not knowing how sinfully delightful Arthur’s tongue was.

Extraordinary, sinfully delightful.

“Shite,” Eames groaned, letting his head fall back. His arms were braced backwards on the desk of the Chief Medical Officer’s office, and Arthur was dutifully at work between his legs.

“Should you be cursing?” Arthur leaned back on his heels to say, a thin trail of saliva connecting him to the head of Eames’ cock. “It can’t be very good for your bedside manner.”

“I do not have the willpower to be witty with you right now, Arthur, so I would instead ask that you kindly return to the matter at hand.”

“Matter at mouth, actually,” Arthur muttered before making a show of running his tongue around the perimeter of Eames’ foreskin.

Eames felt his elbows go dangerously bowed at the image and decided that it would be in everyone’s best interest if it wasn’t up to his self-control, rather shaky at the moment, to hold him up. He scooted back so that he were sitting more fully on the edge of the desk and took the opportunity to bury a hand in Arthur’s no longer perfectly slicked hair.

Arthur grinned in what Eames supposed was meant to be smug, but when Arthur began running a thumb vertically back and forth from the head of his cock to the sheath of his foreskin he lost the ability to deduce such facts.

Sinfully. Delightful.

Arthur knew exactly what his actions were doing.  He also knew that he’d stay in this same position until his kneecaps bust if it meant Eames continued to be reduced to the sweaty, panting mess that he currently was.

When Eames’ breath hitched next Arthur wasn’t able to repress the sharp, aching, throbbing sensation that shot along his own clothing restricted erection. He hastily palmed himself and rocked forward at the sensation.

Then, because he wasn’t one to do things by halves, he grabbed Eames’ hips possessively and downed the other man’s cock in a fluid motion. He paused only when he felt Eames’ shaft bob uncomfortably against the back of his throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Eames swore “Christ, there should be temples built in tribute to your particular brand of wiles, darling. I’m half willing to offer to enslave myself to your bed and never leave again.”

Arthur pulled off and stood. Eames gave him a look that clearly said he was not a fan of Arthur ceasing his previous actions.

“A doctor’s office should be well stocked.”

The time between Arthur uttering the statement and Eames understanding it was shamefully long, but after an exaggerated sigh from Arthur Eames pulled it together and immediately dove towards the different cabinets of supplies that the office boasted.

He didn’t come back empty handed.

Arthur began stripping Eames and himself at the same time, causing a tangle of limbs and clothing.

“Wait,” Eames said, fighting Arthur’s hands away. “Let me--”

He reached out with his free hand and wrapped it around the back of Arthur’s neck, tugging him closer and claiming his mouth. “I just need you like this for a moment, Arthur.”

Arthur complied willingly, deepening the kiss as much as he could. A different kind of need was roaring through Eames now, and Arthur could feel it as if Eames were transferring it bodily. Eames needed this moment, needed a quick reassurance of who they were, and evidence as to why they were there together. He got that and more in his kiss. Affection, devotion, strength, and fully bared truth were easy to taste.

When they broke apart and Arthur turned to face the desk and brace his arms Eames reached forward to turn him around again, so that they were facing each other once more. “Like this,” Eames insisted.

A few moments later saw them divested of their clothing, and Arthur on his back on the desk, a PADD digging uncomfortably into one hip. It didn’t bother him the next moment, though, when Eames followed him up onto the desk.

A few moments after that and Eames was hastily lubing his fingers, Arthur propped up on his elbows and watching. A quiet intake of breath later and Eames was breaching the tight ring of Arthur’s muscle.

“Yeah,” Arthur breathed. He laid back on the desk again and crooked his hips upwards.

Eames leaned forward on an arm braced to the side of Arthur’s head, slipping a second finger in without warning. Eames tracked every change in Arthur’s breathing, and when he heard the other man loose an exalting breath he almost came just from the quiet decompression of air.

He’d never had a lover quite like Arthur.

Arthur was relaxing around him by the second, so Eames wasted no time upping the ante and letting a third finger gently spread Arthur.

“You’ve got to do it now, Eames,” Arthur panted, and the dream office around them gave a humming vibration in agreement, the baubles that decorated it swaying threateningly “I need-”

“I’ll take care of you, love,” Eames promised, ducking down to press a kiss to Arthur’s lips and a bite along his jaw. He slipped his fingers from Arthur, and used the hand to guide himself into the point man.

“Fucking hell,” Eames breathed, sinking as deep as he could go. Arthur echoed his sentiment in a moan. Eames pulled Arthur’s legs up around him, almost dislodging the both of them from the desk, but he steadied the them and shifted so that both of his arms were braced on either side of Arthur.

Arthur listened to each exerted grunt of Eames’ as the man wasted no time in picking up a quick rhythm, bringing them together over and over again. Arthur dug his fingers into Eames’ arms and hooked his ankles tighter around the man’s waist. Eames doubled the pace.

Soon they were both doing little more than making half animalistic, half encouraging noises. Eames’ muscles began to tense almost imperceptibly and Arthur brought a hand down to his own already leaking cock, setting a rhythm with his hand that matched the pattern of Eames’ thrusts.

Soon they were there. They were at the edge, toeing the brink of pushing one another over, each second becoming agonizingly unfulfilled.

Eames began to hit that felicific spot with stunning accuracy and two quick pulls later Arthur was coming. Barely a thrust later and Eames was holding Arthur tight enough to bruise and jerking to his own climax inside of Arthur.

“So,” Eames managed “How’s my bedside manner now, pet?”

Arthur shook his head, putting a hand over his eyes. He refused to feel anything but utterly satisfied just yet.

X-_X-_X

For a minute Arthur hadn’t the faintest clue what Helmsman was saying to him.

“What?” he asked, he felt like his heart rate was still racing, and his body was still feeling phantom sensations of being spread across that desk in medbay.

“Did you guys manage the mazes on the first level well enough?"

“Oh,” Arthur’s brain caught up with what was going on, and he unhooked the cannula from his arm even as he glanced towards Eames, who was now awake as well. Eames looked…enjoyably winded. “They’re good to go. We weren’t anywhere close to being out before the dream ended.”

It wasn’t technically a lie.

“The mark won’t make it out of the alley system. We’ll be able to grab them without a hitch.”

“Good,” Helmsman clapped his hands together and walked away from Arthur. “You have to admit this plan is coming together well, eh Arthur?”

Arthur twisted a grin in Eames’ direction “It’s not bad,” Arthur allowed magnanimously.