Gerard follows Eames' direction - he can't not right now, all he can think about is Eames' tongue inside of him working him up in an utterly wicked fashion. He wonders, absurdly, if they're showing any signs of arousal in the waking world and if he even gives a single fuck about that right now. He doesn't, he decides a second later, because Gerard may be new to rimming but he's fairly certain Eames' tongue isn't that long and all the perverse possibilities of being in a dream seem even more wild and open than before. He's slurring Eames' name on his tongue, repeated like a prayer as he clenches around him.