[Arthur is terribly attracted to something about this. He doesn't know if it's the blood, the discipline Eames is showing, the noise he just made, or a combination somehow, but it's enough to take precedent over savouring the blood. He quietly finishes his glass in a couple large gulps and then puts it down on the table, sliding down the couch to get up into Eames' space, nosing and kissing at his neck as the effect of the fresh blood hits him and his senses start to sharpen up.]
no subject