A.N: And after over a year, here's another installment! "Whipped Cream" by Ludo, a song that is unbearably catchy, but touches upon another type of dysfunctional relationship. Not that I think Arthur or Eames would sexually harass each other or someone else- it just looked like an interesting "but what if they were doing a job for-something something- pertinent Ludo lyric inserted here?"

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or Ludo.

"I just want to say that this is a stupid idea."

"Let the record show that Arthur thinks that this is a stupid idea," Eames repeated after Arthur, already primping and preparing before a reflective surface in the dreamscape.

Arthur would deny that he was sulky, but he had at least three sulky reflections that would say different. He shut up and watched as Eames carefully put his forgery in place, piece by piece.

From the mirror to his body; the superficial aspects that would change him from Eames, forger and dream criminal to Valerie, the bakery owner were put in place so that if Arthur looked away, he would have almost missed the transition, the thrum through the air as things changed.

The Valerie shaped body peered into the mirror in just the same pose as Eames had, now looking at the Eames shaped reflection. He often left the voice for last.

Clipped British words tripped from Valerie's cupid bow lips. "It's stupid, I agree. But this is what happens when you get into legal dreamshare, love. Compromises! We've traded being able to shoot ourselves out of a dream and escape unsatisfied clients to facing the often unrealistic expectations of people with enough money to pay our fees, but no understanding of how dreamshare works."

"They think its therapy. We're treating it as therapy!"

Eames as Valerie shrugged one delicate shoulder, brushing at a fallen eyelash- Arthur thought about this carefully. Because he was watching Eames as Valerie do this, gently brushing at the fallen lash that was below her right eye. But when Arthur looked at Eames's reflection, there wasn't a fallen lash. He wasn't even in the same pose- the reflection of Eames's true form was peering at Arthur with a laser focus, a small smile teasing the corners of his lips.

Eames as Valerie laughed a little, having successfully brushed away the stray eyelash, and noticing Arthur's distracted state.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Stop doing the forgery equivalent of throwing your voice."

The Eames reflected in the mirror winked at Arthur before resuming normal reflection activities and mirroring the movements of his physical manifestation within the dream. Arthur wasn't even going to try to not be impressed. He'd remember to mention it later when he wasn't so annoyed at the role he'd have to play once the job began.

"You're Valerie, the cute girl from the bakery. The girl that our client Sam has silently loved for years, often has a rowdy jerk of a customer that comes in drunk and gets fairly close to making advances." Arthur grit his teeth. "We've built the bakery, you're posing as his dream girl, and I'm supposed to play the drunk guy that makes passes at her. All so Sam can get over this inferiority complex and actually come to the real Valerie's aid."

"I've watched her," Eames as Valerie said. "She's firm, she's strong, and she has no problem brushing the guy off. The problem lays with Sam's perception of himself- he feels he has no worth to her if he can't try to protect her. We're giving him a little positive reinforcement and a chance to realize that his dream girl can handle things herself."

Arthur still didn't like this.

"I hate playing the drunk asshole in need of a beating. Not that I can play much else in this scenario..." And Arthur continued to sulk.

Eames as Valerie primly buttoned one extra button on Valerie's favorite blouse and then looked away from the mirror, giving Arthur a smile over one shoulder.

"Woe is Arthur, point man who doesn't have the ability to shift genders in dreams or wear any face but his own, maybe with some variations. You'd have some trouble forging women without lots of practice, love. I'd be the first to admit that vaginas can be complicated…"

And with that little tidbit of information that proved Eames's forgeries were anatomically correct, Eames as Valerie turned away from Arthur and continued preparing.

Before while up above, Arthur had spent some time in Valerie's bakery for research. He needed the necessary intel because the cute website she'd gotten someone to design for her business was that and only that. It was cute. Uninformative and cute. So Arthur nursed coffee and some baked goods that he'd promised to work off later with a vigorous run but had really only managed a so-so run that day, ending it all with some time spent with Eames not going over particulars of the job. He supposed that there was some sort of equivalence and calorie burning, but wasn't going to do the math or make their sex life as demanding as a regular exercise routine. He supposed that some of those thoughts must have shown on his face, making Valerie's smile become brittle as she looked in his direction and worked harder to get him off the stool and out the door.

When he told Eames that, the forger nearly collapsed laughing. He laughed even harder when Arthur mentioned that he'd run into the drunk he'd have to imitate during the job.

"She saw your sexy contemplative face?"

"Yes, she saw my sexy contemplative face." Arthur frowned. "I don't think I should call it that. I don't think that you should call it that either, Eames."

"When you think sexy, sexy thoughts," Eames had said, reaching out and cupping Arthur's frowny face between his hands, "- it's impossible to deny that we know exactly what you're thinking about. Calling it by any other name would be lying without purpose. I'm too thrifty to lie without an excellent reason!"

Face still cupped in Eames's hands, Arthur rolled his eyes and gave in. "Fine," he said. "Yes, I have a blatant, obvious, terrible sexy contemplative face. Are you happy?"

Eames's smile widened and he leaned in to press his lips gently to Arthur's, who had been expecting that. It was gentle and sweet and had Arthur leaning in for more as Eames was ending the kiss and trying to speak, instead.

"Ecstatic. I'm happy when you're happy. Your happiness is one of my primary goals. And if this job doesn't make you happy, we can drop it and move on."

"No." Arthur thanked Eames anyway, promising that he'd be able to handle it. He'd taken pictures (better than the ones on Valerie's website) of her and the bakery. He didn't need to get a picture of the man who Sam wanted to confront, but lacked the courage to do so alone. Arthur had slammed right into the man when he had been walking out the door.

The man was a decent match for Arthur. But only at face value. They were of the same height, same weight though Arthur knew that he had a better exercise regimen; the point man could already tell he'd been pounding the Jäger. The man's bloodshot eyes, more hazel than brown, narrowed as he took in Arthur standing in his way, an unwilling obstacle to what he wanted most.

Though he'd been pressured to leave the bakery, Arthur didn't feel comfortable leaving Valerie alone with this guy. So, he made it a point to shove him out of the doorway and into the storm the man had been trying to escape.

The sky opened up and torrents of rain fell on their heads.

The drunk immediately began to curse. "What did you do that for?!"

Arthur ignored the man's curses and question. Beating the tar out of this man wasn't going to give Sam the chance to save Valerie in his own mind. Not that Valerie needed to be rescued like Sam thought. As Eames said, she was strong. When he'd shoved the guy, he'd shifted his position so he'd have a better look at the door where Valerie was standing. She already had her phone out, no doubt dialing the police.

The man, drunk and stupid, was looking down at his soaked clothing. He flinched in surprise when lightening sparked the sky. Arthur took the chance while the other man was distracted to nod to Valerie, silently encouraging her to place the call.

"Better get out of here," Arthur said to the man. "You're nothing but a lightening rod. Go home and dry up."

Maybe the man wasn't as drunk as Arthur thought. He seemed to have had at least a little sense as another arc of lightening lit up the sky. The man cursed and left, not bothering Valerie for that day.

"Darling? Lost in thoughts not about me and sex, then?" Arthur came back to himself, frowning once more.

"It's fine."

Eames hadn't let go of Arthur, but looked at him with concern all the same.

"Eames, the guy is an ass. Worse, he's a drunken ass. I ran into him when I was leaving, but I doubt that he's going to stop coming to Valerie's bakery. She called the police, most likely filed another report because he keeps coming over there intoxicated. When this is over, I'm probably going to follow up and see what happened because we're only trying to give Sam self-confidence, not train him up to fight this guy."

"You keep saying this guy. Why do you keep saying this guy?"

"You didn't look at the file, did you?"

"I skimmed it. Last I checked it didn't have a lot of information on the guy we're trying to make Sam feel more confident about standing up to for Valerie."

Then Arthur cursed to himself.

"Hasn't Sam ever heard about giving a girl flowers? Asking her out to a movie? If he didn't pay our fees, I'm sure that he could take Valerie out to the movies, even 3D movies with the stupid glasses that cost extra, and dinners for a year. Maybe two!"

"Love, just tell me?"

Arthur gave into what he wanted to do most. He slipped his arms around Eames and hugged the man, resting his chin on the forger's shoulder. He wouldn't have done it if they were in public because he didn't like public displays of affection, they made him feel uncomfortable. But in their hotel room there was no one but the two of them, so Arthur didn't have to worry over prying eyes taking in him being weak or uncomfortable for no good reason.

"His name is Arthur. And I'm Arthur. I don't like calling him Arthur, but it's completely ridiculous. It's not like I have a monopoly on the name Arthur, I don't own it. But I hate him. That wasn't the first time I've run into him at the bakery, Eames. He's a pig. He's rude and crude and it's not enough that we share a vague physical resemblance, Eames. He also has my name, too. And I'm going to be playing him for obvious reasons now. I look a little like him and we've got the same name, not that it means all that much, I'm just being weird. But now I'm going to have to harass you in the dream so Sam can get his wish-fulfillment dream. So he can save Valerie in real life."

"Then don't do it."

Arthur shook his head. "We've talked about it before, but I don't think you'll be able to manage pulling off the two-person forgery. You'll run the risk of splintering your mind to save my vanity."

"Then I have one suggestion if you agree to continue this job with me and keep the role."

"I'm listening," Arthur said, arms looped around the back of Eames's neck so his words were a little muffled by press of his lips against the forger's neck.

"How about we rename the bastard? Arthur is such a noble name, why don't we call him something else if we have to refer to him during the job?"

This startled a laugh out of Arthur. "That- that doesn't sound bad! But you can't call me that name when I'm pretending to be him for the job, okay?"

Eames pressed a kiss against Arthur's temple. "I dub him Jäger. I'll never confuse him for you, ever. Same name be damned."

Arthur laughed aloud! "Oh, I didn't even think of that. I've just been using various curses to label him, but that's perfect!"

And the crisis was averted.

If Arthur were to do this right, he'd have to get plastered fast.

"Jäger?"

Arthur ignored the comment and continued drinking from a bottle of Jäger. He made a face and swallowed, feeling Ariadne's eyes on him as he did it. "Ugh, yeah. It's our lovely loser's drink of choice."

"Don't say that; you have to play the lovely loser. I don't think you're a loser, Arthur."

"Don't remember calling myself a loser," Arthur said as he took another drink, already getting used to the peculiar flavor. "It's like I've been drinking cough syrup and something else that tastes like licorice. Not even good licorice."

"How do you define good licorice?"

Arthur wiped at his mouth and shook his head. "East Coast Red Licorice. It comes in strings not those thick twisted braids like Red Vines. Better texture and portion control. When I was a kid I'd peel the strings apart and make it look like my Legos were being attacked by snakes." Arthur made another face and took a drink, getting used to the flavor. "All you can do with Red Vines is cut them up and make licorice houses."

Ariadne didn't say anything at first, and then went for it because they were in the dream prepping before the big performance for Sam, and Arthur was working hard at getting a little hammered for the sake of authenticity. She could have said "You're so chatty when you're drinking" or "Since when does anyone think about the many and varied uses of licorice?"

She talked about the job instead. The levels she built, the fact that while she wasn't strictly required to tag along on the job she'd designed the dream for, she liked to see how it worked from the inside, making notes to herself about how to refine it once it was in play. Test runs were all well and good, but once the client was inside the dream, things could change. They could change fast.

She was all set to observe and intervene if she had to, posing as another patron of Valerie's bakery, thankfully they'd built in a lull- though Sam had been put under, entering the bakery would occur at a specific time, starting when Valerie's business was "open". This way, they wouldn't have to find Sam, he'd find them because he already knew where he needed to go; specific instructions from Eames, an exercise meant to get Sam into the right mindset, something that began with the phrase "you'll only come to the bakery once it opens". Their chemist was up above, monitoring them.

"I'm going to have a front row seat to see you act like a drunk to help our client."

Arthur was still drinking, pausing long enough to say, "I live to entertain you." Then he put the mostly empty bottle down and blinked hard. "Okay, okay. I think I've had enough alcohol."

"True, you're a teensy bit wobbly. I never thought you'd be a light weight."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'm drinking dream alcohol, Ariadne. I may not be holding the level together, thank you backseat driver, but I can influence certain things as they appear in the dream. Like this Jäger," Arthur said, gesturing at the bottle. "I've made it twice as potent. And even if you don't consider the alcohol content, consider the fact that I'm more sensitive to alcohol. I don't like drinking."

"You should have said something."

Arthur shook his head. "No. I'm here to work. Eames is here to work. You're here to observe us in the level."

What Arthur wasn't going to say was: "And Eames is playing the pretty bakery lady and I have to be the ass that comes on to him as he's playing her." Arthur wasn't going to mention that he didn't like the idea of anyone else attempting this. Eames and Arthur were an item, a thing, but still a team.

If anyone was going to try and be a drunken jerk around Eames, it would be Arthur.

Arthur was willing to do this because it was something he could do. Though he hated to admit it, Eames was right. If their positions were switched, Arthur would have a much harder time pretending to be Valerie.

"I'm doing this because I love Eames," Arthur said seriously, not noticing the way that Ariadne smiled at those words. "I love Eames and he was right; vaginas are complicated."

Then Arthur turned away and didn't see how Ariadne covered her mouth with one hand to stop herself from laughing out loud.

Once Valerie's bakery was open, the dream began in earnest with Arthur already seated in the corner. He was drunk on dream alcohol, watching as Eames as Valerie worked in the bakery, passing him by carrying trays of baked goods, sweeping, or cleaning off tables.

The bell over the door chimed and Sam entered, looking nervous and worried as he locked eyes with Arthur and then quickly averted them. Arthur tried to not groan into his cup of hot chocolate, but only managed to make it a quiet disappointed groan. Why was Sam going to make this so much harder for them to accomplish? Arthur was going to have to be twice as much of a drunk asshole now that he had confirmation that Sam was terrible white knight material!

"-stop looking so pinched, love," Eames said, pitching his voice low as he maintained the physical shape of Valerie, pretending to be stocking shelves close to Arthur.

"I can't help it, he's terrible."

"Then be the sort of man he'd have to stand up to," Eames advised then said in a surprised tone, "Would you look at that, I'm going to have to bend over to put some of these things away! Hint-hint, darling!"

The way that Eames wriggled Valerie's shapely bottom while bending over and working on stocking the shelf, disguising the maneuver as having been an innocent result of Valerie shifting her feet, was enough of a hint for anyone with eyes.

Arthur hated himself, but did it anyway. He wore a lewd smile and slid his hand down Valerie's side, not quite cupping her ass but being close enough that it wasn't such a big difference.

Eames as Valerie jumped up and slapped Arthur's hand away, flushing a pretty pink but glaring at him darkly.

Arthur pointed at the baked goods in front of him, some sort of pastry, and licked his lips saying, "I want this with whipped cream on it, baby."

"I think you've had enough," Eames as Valerie hissed, pulling away from Arthur as he plucked at her apron to try and drag her closer, failing.

"Come on, don't be like that!" Arthur called after her. "You've got sweet loving still hot from the oven, how could I resist?"

Sam pricked his ears up when he heard Arthur's first comments, his eyes narrow as he tried to build his resolve.

Arthur noticed and wondered if maybe another push or two might force Sam into action?

Eames as Valerie moved as far away from Arthur as possible, sending a searching look towards Sam, a pressed smile that didn't reach her eyes, a silent message of Do you see this happening? Sam fiddled with items at his table; containers of sugar, napkins, doing anything up jumping up at the opportunity he was being given.

Arthur stood and followed after Eames. The shape of Valerie was becoming; during all of Arthur's research of the bakery so Ariadne would be able to build it, he'd also taken careful notes about Valerie's appearance, mannerisms. He wasn't sure how Eames had done it, but the forger had managed to master the woman's walk; a type of purposeful bustle. She was fit. Not just her arms, made strong from the repeated exercise of kneading bread, stocking shelves with products, and moving baking sheets in and out of large ovens like the one Eames was headed towards behind the counter.

Arthur made it a point to walk directly behind the counter, lifting the hinged partition and keeping his eyes on Eames. He had to keep reminding himself that it was Eames. Eames forging Valerie, who Sam didn't seem to notice was a lot stronger than he thought. It irked him, it pissed him off. Why didn't he see that Valerie really didn't need a knight on a white horse for them to be in a good, healthy relationship? Stupid popular, outdated societal ideals. Stupid Sam.

Arthur reached his target, who had already reached the oven and donned oven mitts. The oven mitts were of a strange design; he didn't recall seeing them or making notes about them during his visits. Maybe this was Ariadne not exactly building the bakery as Eames or Arthur recalled it. Or even the one time she said that she had gone herself because she was missing some seemingly insignificant detail that actually was rather important. And she'd wanted some tea and a scone.

But back to the oven mitts- they were red and had these round, white circles on them. At first, while Arthur was pausing to do a drunken sway, he thought that they were strawberry oven mitts. But then he noticed that there was no hint of green for the leaves. They were odd oven mitts, because Arthur also noticed that their shape was unusual. They looked like squares of red...and then he realized what they were.

He took initiative and skulked over to where Eames had been peering through the glass window of the oven, eyeing the baked goods for a moment. Maybe waiting for Arthur to get over there.

What he said confirmed it. "You could have taken longer, I'm sure. But darling, we've only got so long to get this done in one go!"

"You've got dice oven mitts," Arthur said in an undertone as he crowded against Eames, pressing him closer to the closed oven. "You've got on dice oven mitts for me?"

Eames as Valerie looked at his oven mitts and smiled at the oven, not turning his head so Sam couldn't see and get the wrong idea. "Of course, now how about you lean in a bit closer and try to drunkenly whisper something in my ear?"

Arthur smiled, still buzzed. "Whispering in drunk means loud, doesn't it?"

"No, no. Whisper like you whisper when you try to get me to leave the bar with you and you're trying to be subtle."

Arthur paused, thinking back to any of the times he'd tried to tug Eames out of a bar or some other place they'd gone with the rest of the team to celebrate the end of a job before going their separate ways. He'd have to tell Eames later that he didn't think that was so funny; not now when he could recall the way Mal looked at him when she was still alive, sane, and working with them, hiding her smile behind her hand, eyes sparkling with laughter she didn't express because Arthur was still right there, slumping against Eames's shoulder, believing he was being secretive and sexy, whispering to Eames that he should definitely take him home now. Or something. It totally made sense now why Ariadne had gotten so giggly after one drink, when Yusuf had volunteered to drive her home and Eames had been dealing with drunkenly affectionate Arthur attempting to make a quiet suggestion for later in the evening.

"Why do you have to destroy all my illusions?" Arthur asked softly.

"You would have found out eventually," Eames as Valerie said, then softly said, much more subtly than Arthur when he was drunk in reality, "Now go on and say it."

"Come on, baby," Arthur drunkenly whispered against Valerie's neck. It came out more as something that anyone could hear from across the room in the small bakery. From the way Sam jerked in his seat, abandoning his sugar packets and napkins, he'd heard them. "Nobody's here, nearly nobody if you count the little guy. Just say it- admit that you wanna be with me."

"I've told you dozens of times," Eames as Valerie said, holding onto his forgery, holding onto Valerie and the anger she no doubt felt with how often she had to deal with a drunken jerk who didn't understand the word no. "Leave me alone. I'm calling the police. If you don't stop-"

"Stop?" Arthur said, playing his part for all it was worth. He wanted what he wanted, be it her or her muffins, still hot from the oven. "I get it, baby. I'm a lot of work, but I think what we've got is good."

"Good?" Eames echoed, growing more disgusted with each word. "You're horrible! You ruin my business and drive all my customers away because you smell like you've swam through a vat of Jäger to get here!"

If he could have high-fived Eames right then, he would have, but maybe later. Instead of doing that, he wrapped one arm around the forger's waist and tugged Eames forwards. He'd surprised him, gaining no response for a few seconds as Eames's oven mitted hands were braced against Arthur's chest, pushing away and ready to escape, but waiting for Sam to get off his ass and-

"Hey!" a voice said, loud and almost unspeakably affronted. It was Ariadne. And she wasn't yelling at Arthur pretending to be the other Arthur (better known as Jäger); she was yelling at Sam!

She'd been seated on the other side of the bakery, reading a newspaper and sipping coffee; the only movements she'd made throughout the dream had been to flip a page or to pick up a Madeline to dip into her coffee.

Now she'd made her presence known, standing up and pointing at Sam.

"Why haven't you spoken up yet!?"

Sam gaped at her before finally regaining his composure. Or what usually passed for his composure, better known as his meek, mild, hesitant nature. And since that wasn't composure at all, he'd not regained it well.

"I-"

"'I-,'"Ariadne parroted back at him, eyes narrowed. "Ugh, I hate guys like you!"

"I love her, I really do," Sam said desperate to prove himself.

"But you can't bother to stand up to the drunk that won't leave her alone? You're not going to call the cops or even try to do anything?"

Eames as Valerie cleared his throat and pointedly shoved Arthur away, turning to face Sam. Arthur imagined that if he looked at Eames from the corner of his eye, he'd see through the forgery of Valerie and only see the forger. But seeing him head on, or holding him close, Arthur could still only feel the forgery at work- he'd held Valerie up against him. And even though he knew the truth, even Arthur was partly taken by the image. It was Valerie for Sam, because Eames was just that good.

"I can stand up for myself, thank you!" Her gaze softened. "I think you know it, this whole bid to practice standing up for me, to win my attention, it won't work."

Arthur looked at Eames, silently wishing he had telepathy, because while they'd discussed Sam's underlying issues with why he felt he needed to practice defending Valerie in a dream to get the courage to do so in real life, they hadn't come up with an explicit game plan that included Ariadne getting fed up with Sam being a wimp and Eames as Valerie making a speech that referred to how unreal the situation was, that it was practice. It was this sort of thing that Eames excelled at- make it up as you go along, work with what you find. Because research and rehearsing was good, but sometimes it paled in comparison to what Eames could construct as things were occurring.

"I can't respect you if you don't respect yourself. I like you," Eames said as Valerie. "I make the muffins for you, not this drunk. You're going to prove to yourself that you deserve a chance at being happy like everyone else, but you're going to do it for yourself first and for me second!"

"Valerie," Sam said his eyes wide. "I- it's true. I don't respect myself that much. You always know just what to say. Of course, you can slay your own dragons. You're- you're just so amazing and I want to be with you every day!"

Valerie smiled gently and took off her oven mitts, placing them on the counter next to the register.

"Then be just as amazing, Sam. Work through your problem in your own way. I don't need you to beat up Arthur. I need you to be in my corner, much like her," Valerie gestured to Ariadne, who had sat back down and opened up her newspaper.

Sam was nodding. "I will, I will!" He then turned to Ariadne and said, "Thank you so much, miss!"

And then, because they'd timed it just so, they all awoke.

After the positive reinforcement of his dream where he didn't do what he set out to do, Sam went back to the bakery on the same day the other Arthur, better known as Jäger to Arthur (the badass dream criminal and non-subtle drunken whisperer).

Arthur had tailed him and watched from a bus stop on the other side of the street. Timing it all carefully with bus schedules, Arthur had plenty of time to watch the other Arthur enter the bakery and soon after get thrown out by Valerie. Sam followed her out, and instead of stealing her moment, the one where she finally got the drunk out of the bakery on her own, he called the police while she was busy barring the other man's access to her business, hands on her hips, her smudged patchwork apron like armor.

Eames had settled down next to Arthur before the forced exodus of Jäger. He watched the police arrive and put him in cuffs, as he watched he silently offered the point man a still warm muffin from the bakery.

"These have chocolate chips, love," Eames whispered as he watched the man across the street get carted away.

Arthur plucked one out of the paper bag Eames had gotten from the bakery, gratis from Sam who had arrived early to pick up the fresh muffins and offer them to Eames, the only one he'd officially dealt with. He'd never have known Arthur's or Ariadne's faces, though he mentioned that Eames's team must have been excellent to provoke such a change in him. Eames related all of this between bites of warm muffin.

"God, if I didn't have you, I might have fallen in love with her, too. These are excellent muffins!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, but had to admit that her baking was good. She deserved so much credit as a small business owner. Arthur was just proud of her for finally getting that jerk out of the bakery.

"Business is bound to be better now that he's not going to be loitering around in there. That crowd looks to be made up of half of her customers. They're there to support her bakery and her. It's great."

Eames looked over at Arthur, smiling a little and gesturing that there was something on the point man's face. Arthur raised an eyebrow and looked for the napkin Eames had offered him once he'd taken a muffin. Before he could do much more than pat the spot where a very small amount of melted chocolate had smudged his lower lip, Eames had leaned in and drew Arthur into a kiss.

The next city bus rolled up, the driver honking the horn and calling out to them, put upon.

"If you're going to get on the bus, get on!"

Eames waved one hand, gesturing to him that they'd not be getting on the bus. It was hard to make a descriptive enough hand sign for 'go away, we're busy kissing' that wasn't just flipping someone off. The distracted wave would have to do.

The driver shut the doors and drove away to the next stop, Arthur and Eames uncaring.

"Wow," Arthur said once Eames pulled away. Arthur, still holding the napkin, didn't bother to use it to see if the stain was gone- after that thorough of a kiss, it probably was. He instead looked down at his shirt front and found that it was as pristine as when he put it on this morning. When he looked at Eames questioningly, the man winked and waved the bag of muffins, still safe in their paper bag.

"You really thought that in the heat of passion I'd smash chocolate chip muffins against you and ruin your clothes? Have some faith in me!"

"Let's walk to the car, Eames, and stop messing with the bus system schedules by using one of their bus stops as spot to make out."

"Right, yes, excellent plan, Arthur," Eames was saying as he stood and offered Arthur a hand up. "We could do that in the car and not bother anyone else. Another muffin for the walk?"

"Save it for later," Arthur said, knowing exactly what he was saying and not caring what it sounded like, because he didn't have to be a drunken SOB to like his pastries this way. "I want it with whipped cream on it."

Eames laughed and tugged him along, not saying a thing about it. Jäger was on the periphery, he wasn't important.

The forger had gotten two kinds with this development in mind. He wasn't sure if Arthur had a whipped topping preference, did he like the aerosol can better than the plastic tub? In Eames's opinion the aerosol can variety of whipped topping got points for efficiency. He was sure that Arthur might like that as well. Who wouldn't like that?

And Arthur had such a difficult time with Jäger, both the drinking of it and dealing with the jerk they'd named after said alcohol. His Arthur deserved something nice tonight.

As they walked to the car, Eames was thinking two things about whipped cream. The first was easy application, the second was anywhere.