"I'm here," he breathes, "I've got you." He kisses Watson, brief and distracted because his body's main focus is in his hips, driving into Watson. He finds Watson's eyes on him, and there's little for him to do but return the stare; sometimes he shies away from this in sex, finds sex too overwhelming to add a layer of this kind of a connection over it, but just now there's no way he could move from this gaze. He lays a hand against Watson's neck, fingers reaching up into the base of his hair, and he cradles him there.

His hips are determined, his pace constant, and he finds as middle ground between the kind of wild fucking they've taken to more often than not and a slower, making love kind of pace they've engaged in on occasion. Now seems more of a time for this, for measured, confident thrusts.