In truth part of him hated that there were those soft parts unless they were for the love he had for Eames and Ariadne. He'd worked hard to hide them, had them torn open time and again. By Mal. By Cobb. By himself when he'd given up this he had right now. All of it.

Slipping up, he pressing himself against Eames, needy and turned on and needful for more at the same time. Stealing a kiss, trailing them just under his ear, hands sliding along his hips. "There's nothing I don't want to do with you. I trust you, love you, need you. I want to make love to you and screw you until you're comatose. There's things I've never shared with another and I'm learning. I accept that, but I never not want to do them."