He presses back, thrilled by everything; by the breath on his neck, by the kiss there, by the perfection of Watson's leg mixed up in his own, by the curves of their bodies fitting together. He seeks out one of Watson's hands and tangles their fingers together, but then thinks better of it and brings it to his lips; he kisses his knuckles, his fingertips, his palm, treasuring the ability to do this again.

"Hello," he says at last, struck with a sudden desire to hear Watson's voice, to complete the sensory image his mind is currently recording.