Arthur was rooted on the spot, doing his mightiest to avert his eyes from the way the head of Eames's cock glistened from the smeared precome, two fingers clinging at the base, tugging his cock with his other hand, groaning, his fingers rolling his sac the best he could under the circumstances.
If by a miracle, Arthur managed to close the door of the adjoining bathroom and slumped against it, hands scrambling to get his cock out, his orgasm startled from him, shaking him, beatitude in the clarity of listening to Eames coming with "Arthur" spilling out in a moan.