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"Wh--? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!"
Eames blinks up at Arthur dazedly and shifts underneath him in a way that both of them find devastatingly distracting. "My dream, my physics."
Arthur keens softly and braces a hand on Eames' chest. His hips are moving and he really, really wants to stop that but it's like there's a disconnect between his brain and the rest of his body and he just keeps going. "I am going to kill you."
Eames smiles, bright and open and so happy Arthur can practically hear cartoon birds twittering in the wings. "Arthur! I had no idea you were into that." His hands curve around Arthur's hips--and where the hell did his clothing go?--and Eames' hips surge up, pressing into Arthur in a rhythm that is delightfully punishing.
The door begins to rattle and shake, Arthur's projections honing in on them quickly with the changes in physics and magical disappearing clothing but Arthur can't seem to care because Eames is almost, almost hitting the right spot and and and--
Arthur opens his eyes. The warehouse roof is swathed in cobwebs and the front of his pants are uncomfortably sticky. Arthur sits up and rips the cannulae out of his wrist in one smooth motion; he's over to Eames' chair before Eames can even lift a hand to remove his own.
Arthur's hand curves around Eames--admittedly substantial--neck and he squeezes just enough to threaten, not enough to block his airway or leave a mark. Yet.
"That's harassment, Mr. Eames," he murmurs, voice calm and cold, clinical. "And you got it all wrong."
Eames raises his eyebrows and does his best to look unperturbed but Arthur can see the wet spot on the front of his maroon slacks and feel the tension running through him. "Oh?"
Arthur leans down, until their noses are almost touching, until Eames can't look anywhere but into his eyes. "Yes. In the real world, I'd be fucking you." He releases him and steps back. He adjusts his clothing to make himself as comfortable as possible and snags his jacket to drape it over one arm as camouflage, at least until he reaches his car. "My place. Seven o'clock." He doesn't bother to look back at him as he leaves. "Don't be late."