Holmes doesn't waver from his task until he's scrubbed Watson dry; only then does he toss the towel away and look up with dark eyes, expression hungry and eager. He slides his hands up Watson's legs until he grips his hips, thumbs brushing over his hip bones, and he leans in to drag parted lips over his skin.

"That was your fault," he murmurs, pressing a few delicate kisses to his skin, mainly so that when he bites into the skin of his hip it's particularly shocking. It's important that he mark Watson too, that they claim each other, and he sucks a bruise onto Watson's skin. He licks carefully over it as he pulls away, and he locks his eyes onto Watson's.

"You are mine," he murmurs, and he lowers his mouth to the side of his cock, his tongue darting out to tease him; he murmurs it again, his lips brushing against the skin.