That's the twenty-first century love song, baby. Glitz and glamour and every one of us is a liar.

Arthur and Eames are older, and they have never had sex in their own skin.

Eames is a movie star down on his luck. Arthur is the writer sent to interview him.

Dreamshare goes legal, Arthur goes corporate, Eames goes and (against his better judgement) falls in love.

"It's come to my attention," says Pierce, "that Jeff is dead."

(But Sherlock Abed is born).

aka the juicebox fic. In which Arthur's ass is magic and Eames likes sticking his tongue into small, tight holes.

Arthur is an ex-model and Eames is Vegas card dealer. Arthur wants Eames to help him with a con.

Arthur/Eames domestic adventures. Or: the mystery of Eames' disappearing underpants. Or: what Arthur wants to do on his birthday. Or: how Arthur and Eames learned to live together, put up with each other's weirdness, and learn that being a BAMF doesn't mean you can't also be a dork.

Crowley is, apparently, being recalled for good. Aziraphale doesn't like what that does for the Arrangement.

Arthur likes to invent things. And grow mustaches. He's a man of many facets.

Tony is the only one who can defend Steve's virtue. Tony hates his life.

"You really are the dog that follows me home and pees on my shoes," Arthur says. Eames laughs and takes it as a compliment.

"Ah, but I don't have to be a dog. I can be anything you want."