"Yes," he breathes, entirely involuntarily, but he has no arguments to that. It's true; they belong together, and sometimes it's romantic, but other times, like this, they possess each other. It's more frightening, perhaps, but also perfect in its way. He kisses the line of Watson's throat and bites gently at the base of his neck, working his finger with what's now expert precision. He knows how to curl and twist to get Watson to moan, to come unraveled at his touch. He busies himself with nipping and kissing, perusing Watson's body because it is, after all, his.

"Always, John," he says, a fierce whisper, because he's not sure he could do anything just now without doing it fiercely. "Do you understand? Always," he says against his lips, and he adds a second finger, scissoring them.