Eames loves Arthur's ass. He worships them.
Arthur sleeps naked on his belly, thus giving Eames the perfect access to his perfect, magnificent, pert, glorious, divine arse. Eames' words.
Some mornings, Arthur would wake up to find Eames' hands on them, simply touching and admiring. More often than not, Arthur would give him an indulgent smile, and stay still for a few more minutes before getting up for a shower.
On the odd mornings, Arthur would wake up to find Eames snoring and drooling on his ass. How Eames could have migrated from sleeping beside him to sleeping down there, Arthur would forever wonder. Maybe he would install a camera. Hmm, yeah, he definitely would. Later.
Other mornings, Arthur would wake up to the feelings of lips and tongue on his ass, with thick fingers caressing the inside of his wet, fucked out hole, teasing his prostate and playing with the sticky remnants from last night's activities. On these mornings, Arthur wakes up with a moan, and both he and Eames would stay in bed for a few more hours; Eames would keep mouthing and nipping at the perfect mounds of Arthur's ass, finger fucking him, while Arthur would rub his cock desperately on the bed and begging to be fucked proper. Sometimes Eames does fuck him. But most of the time, Eames would just continue his ministrations on Arthur's ass and enjoy the sounds of him screaming and sobbing.
Most mornings, Arthur's body would be littered with marks. Hickeys and beard burns on his shoulders, belly and chest, handprints on his wrists, hips and thighs, and surprise, surprise, all of the above marks on his ass. Arthur would be able to feel them at work. Sometimes he squirms and shifts on his seat, to feel the ache. Arthur has taken to placing his hands near his ass, hooking his thumb on his belt and cocking his hip, all the while watching Eames' face from the corner of his eye. Once, while he was talking with Cobb, arms crossed behind his back, he slowly, slowly trailed his fingers down between his ass cheeks; Eames knocked down his mug and a few folders from his desk and promptly ran to the restroom.
And if he could feel Eames' seeds slowly trickle down his sore hole, well, maybe he will let Eames in on that little secret, perhaps right before they have to go down for a trial run.