Eames knows this isn't going to resolve anything, and they'll probably regret it later, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care if they end up hurting each other more, he doesn't care that the ache in his chest is just intensifying the more they kiss.

He's too busy shifting his hold on Arthur, his fingers quite possibly patterning Arthur's sides with possessive marks as he yanks Arthur flush against himself. And then they're moving again, across the little hallway and to the opposing wall where Eames can press him against the wall, pin him down as he's dragging his mouth to Arthur's neck, leaving marks that aren't going to stay for long in a dream.

He shoves his hand under Arthur's shirt and pushes it up, not caring to be too gentle about it. Sweet and caring didn't get tickets to this show.