He makes an impatient sound and draws away; there are far too many items of clothing that they have to remove, and he shrugs out of his jacket with the expediency of an actor used to quick changes. The rest quickly follows until he's bared to the waist, and he reaches to help Watson remove the rest of his.

He falls on him again, a little less urgent this time around, but his kisses are searching and relentless; he needs Watson intensely, and he doesn't want to question why, why the sense of impending doom and an eventual finality might leave him gasping and writhing on top of Watson like a drowning man clinging to a life raft.

That he loves Watson is obvious, or he thinks it ought to be, because his body seems to be screaming it in the way it presses to Watson's, in how his tongue licks into his mouth, how his hands alternate between greedily mapping his skin and tugging at his trousers.