Eames was not so lucky. He had been more than enjoying himself, pulling Ariadne down onto his cock and dispelling every thought of how much he really, truly hated Arthur--hate being a relative term he didn't quite focus on at the present time as, really, he's only human.

But he wasn't so lucky, and the moment the door opened, Eames knew. "Ariadne..." Her name was a quiet warning on his ragged breath, so easily confused with a moan. He kept trying to pull her attention to the fact that they needed to stop, unable to do it himself because Jesus Christ, he was close, and he body just wasn't doing what he told it to do. He groaned when she came but didn't follow, breathing hard and looking over Ariadne's shoulder, right at Arthur.

I can explain was probably the right way to go, but right now, he had far too much pride to go with anything but, "You look absolutely wrecked, darling,"