He seals this moment -- whatever it is -- with a breathless kiss that makes up in intensity what it lacks in coordination. Coordination is hardly the point; finesse is something of an afterthought. What matters is their mouths coming together, their bodies coming together, because their souls are, too.

He's impatient, he will admit, and he adds a third finger, stroking and twisting inside Watson in an effort to prove how united they are. He doesn't want to name why this is so desperately important, why he must make his mark in Watson now; it's obvious, of course, but he reminds himself that right now, there is nowhere but here. He is no one else but John Watson's lover, no one but this flushed body pressed against his soulmate.