There are some stumbled steps, hard, biting kisses as they travel across the floor, Eames is shirtless soon enough, only wearing the bandages that Arthur's been managing. But Arthur is still wearing his abused shirt when Eames reaches down to yank at the fastenings of his trousers, impatient hands pull the belt off, spreading zipper open, then they push under, one hand on Arthur's arse under all layers of cloth, the other between them to find Arthur's cock to fist it roughly.

They're not going to make it to the couch. They might not even make it to the floor. There are plenty of wall space for leverage in the hall. Eames usually plans these things out, he's meticulous about his business even, he knows what he's doing. It takes quite a bit for him to become unhinged like this, but apparently Arthur just has to be the exception for everything. Every fucking thing.