"It's right here," Arthur says and leans over Eames from behind to point out the secret corridor in the dream level he's been designing, "hidden in the last cubicle of an in-suspicious ladies' room on the floor above. This will lead you directly into his apartment. Into the closet of his apartment, actually, to be precise."

Eames is sitting at the table, looking over the model. "Into the closet," he repeats slightly amused, but Arthur doesn't take notice, completely oblivious to the innuendo in his design.

"Yes, the closet," he says irritably and explains. "It's a back-up plan, if you can't gain access via the hallway, or if you need to get out of there quickly and undetected."

"Yes, yes, I know," Eames says, getting up, "anything else?"

It takes him a while for the question to register. "Ariadne had a couple of ideas I think, something about an emergency switch of some sort," he replies mindlessly, keeping his eyes on the maze, absorbed in his own creation.

When he doesn't say anything further, Eames speaks up. "Well, care to enlighten me, darling?"

Arthur looks up. "Ariadne had a couple of ideas, Eames," he repeats, "go talk to her."

"Oh that delightful aura of condescension, Arthur, always a pleasure," Eames remarks sarcastically before turning around and trudging off toward the other end of the warehouse, where Ariadne has set up her own little working space. "Ariadne, dear, your lovely friend Arthur sent me to inquire about your additions to his otherwise flawless design," Arthur hears him call out from across the large room. Then he disappears behind the office walls defining her small cubicle.

Free of Eames' sarcastic commentary, Arthur returns his attention to the model, surveying it for possible errors and potentially fatal mistakes. He doesn't find any. Of course. This design is about as good as it gets, if he should say so himself.

"Arthur," Eames calls suddenly, and Arthur is reminded that he's not alone in the warehouse, "Arthur! Come here a second."

"What?" he calls back, his voice resounding in the open space.

"Just come, I think you need to see this."

He crosses the warehouse in a few seconds and turns into the cubicle he saw Eames disappear into minutes before, where he is greeted by the sight of Ariadne fast asleep on the lounge chair, the characteristic tubes of the PASIV device hooked up to her wrist. Eames is sitting in front of her computer, deeply absorbed in something on the screen.

"What? Eames, I really don't think you should be snooping around in her computer."

"She left it open."

Arthur can tell he is lying and raises his eyebrow. "No she didn't."

"She left it practically open then, but regardless, you need to hear this."

"If it's her personal files, I don't want to hear it, Eames, and neither should–"

"Shush, just listen." He starts reading aloud from the screen. "He was on his knees, looking up at the big burly man in front of him, a lustful gleam in his eyes. He ran his tounge across his lips as if in preparation of the things to come. Gently, ever so gently, he spread the man's legs and positioned himself in between them, slowly running his hands up and down his thighs, massaging them with his delicate fingers.

But he was so eager to have him, driven wild with desire, and his hands soon searched upward. He undid the buckle of his belt and pulled down his pants in one swift motion.

"I want you," he groaned, "right now. It's been so long..." He lost himself in lustful thoughts and instead of finishing the sentence buried his head in–"

"Eames," Arthur stops him, not at all sure what to say, but definitely sure that he does not want to hear more of this.

"No, really, you need to listen to this."

"No, really, I don't. So she enjoys distasteful erotic fiction, that doesn't give us the right to read through her personal files."

Eames ignores him and starts reading aloud once again. "He stopped, heaved himself off the ground to place a big, sloppy kiss on the Forger's lips, his tongue greedily exploring the inside and outside of his mouth.

"I'm not nearly done with you yet, Eames," Arthur whispered, and tea–"

"What!"

"I told you you had to see this," Eames says, his voice revealing that he finds the situation immensely comical.

"Liar." He can feel the blood rushing to his face. "You obviously just put our names in there yourself, she wouldn't-" He stops, not knowing what to say. She wouldn't. Would she?

"Come and see for yourself, the document is even saved as Arthur and Eames. That's why I looked at it; I thought it was notes for us about your design." He sounds earnest as he says it, but also as if he is about to crack down in fits of laughter at any moment.

"She wouldn't. Why would she do something like that?" Eames is sitting across from him, and he walks around the table and leans over his back to see the screen, pushing his hand away from the mouse. "Let me see that," he says and scrolls to the top. He starts reading.

Arthur had had one too many drinks already, but still insisted that Eames buy him another one too. Eames, happy to oblige, got up to buy the next round. Beer for him, dry martini for Arthur.

They both knew where this was headed, for it always ended the same when Eames invited Arthur out for a drink after work.

Arthur stops reading in complete disbelief. The words are right there on the screen, black on white, but this can't be real, surely it can't. An elaborate prank, that's what this is. He scrolls down the page.

""Maybe it's time I took you home, Arthur," Eames whispered in his ear with a voice smooth like velvet, while his hand found its way inside his shirt and crawled up his chest. Arthur wiggled his body under the touch, letting out a small moan.

Scroll.

They kissed, feeding hungrily on each other's mouths, as Arthur pulled the shirt off of Eames. He was on top of him, legs wrapped tightly around his back, and he could feel–

Scroll.

Their naked skin rub–

Scroll scroll scroll.

Suddenly aware of how close he is standing to Eames, he shuffles uncomfortably. Their heads are practically next to each other and he can hear Eames' undisturbed breathing, but doesn't dare look in his direction. He stands up and clears his throat, his body bathed in sweat, he realizes.

"How – absolutely – distasteful," he stammers.

"I don't know," Eames takes control of the mouse once again and starts scrolling the page up and down, "it's got its parts. With the grace that comes from years of practice, Eames lifts Arthur onto the bed, the smaller man admiringly caressing his muscular body."

"Eames."

"What, you can't say she hasn't got an eye for detail." He flexes his muscles demonstratively.

"Stop that. This is wrong, I'm not even-" He doesn't finish the sentence before a sudden realization hits him. "… Are you?" he asks slowly.

A sound startles them both, and Eames pushes away from the table in shock, sending the chair and himself flying into the back wall with a loud thud. It's Ariadne, she's waking up.

"Huh," she says when she sees the both of them in her work space, both of their gazes intensely fixed on her, "what?"

"What are you doing?" It's Arthur that speaks, Eames still only watching her, now with a curious look on his face.

"Just wanted to test some concepts," she explains, removing the needle from her wrist.

"No, not that, this." He gestures toward the computer.

"Huh?" She gets up and leans over the table to see the screen, flying back in horror as soon as she sees what fills it. "You – oh god – you weren't – oh my god – you weren't supposed to see that." She is covering her mouth with a hand and her panicked look darts from Eames to Arthur and back again repeatedly. "I'm sorry." She leans forward again, her face a deep red, and closes the laptop. Mumbling to herself, she picks it up and hurries past them toward the exit, "oh god, oh god, oh god."

Silence fills the warehouse after she leaves, neither of the two men saying anything. Arthur's still trying to make sense of it all, but mental images of Eames and him, together, keep infecting his mind, making it impossible to concentrate on anything.

"What a nice girl. Such a vivid imagination," Eames says suddenly.

"Aren't you – don't you think it's – wrong?"

Eames laughs, leaning his head back against the wall. "It's just a story, Arthur."

Arthur turns to look at him and finds a pleased smile on his face. Sure enough, trust Eames to have fun with it. "I'll be going too," he says at last and starts heading for the door.

Halfway across the warehouse Eames calls his name.

He turns his head and finds him standing against one of the partition walls, a hand on his hip.

"Want to grab a drink?"