Shaking his head, Eames squirmed as best he could at the feel of something digging into his back, and then looked back up at Arthur. "s'gonna hurt," he muttered, before shrugging off the blanket. His bare legs were pale and clammy-looking under all the filth and grime that looked caked-on, and he didn't like to think about how the rest of him would look. Not to mention the fact that he'd hardly eaten for almost a fortnight; he was bound to have lost weight.
Now he just had to take off Dean's jacket and socks, his boxer shorts and stand up. Possibly, it would be easier to reach for the moon.