"Damn, I should have given you a photograph or something, huh?" he teased, just because it was easier than accepting it as a compliment. It wasn't as if he hadn't felt exactly the same way about Eames. Oh God, even the thought of it, knowing that he'd spent so many nights imagining what it would be like, imagining Eames' mouth, his hands, his cock- and now he was pressing him into the wall and- "Fuck-" he gasped, every move of his hand was like a beautiful torture. This was better than anything.
"Mm?" he hummed against his mouth, but nothing could have prepared him for the question. Not that it was a shocking question that he didn't want to answer, but because the very words sent a rush of heat to his cock, his mind swimming with the filthiest of thoughts, all involving Eames' beautiful mouth. "God- fuck- I- don't know," he stuttered, apparently unable to form fully coherent sentences when his head was full of imagined blowjobs and his cock was still in Eames' hand. "Months. A year- more than a year- I don't know-"