Eames groans low in his throat, hips pushing forward into that grip, into the warmth of Arthur's fingers and his words.

"Y-es, Sir," his reply comes hitched out, gasped along with his breathing, "Any - fuck - anything you say."

It doesn't take long, not with Arthur commanding it, the way they're coupled and the pure frisson of chemistry between them. Eames has to turn his face into his shoulder, mask the keening sound he makes as he comes in thick bursts.