Watson let out a long sigh, an assent and agreement. He had gasped at the feel of teeth, but had made no argument, had welcomed it. Let him be marked, be owned. No one would see it but the two of them, after all. His fingers fisted in Holmes's hair now, while he still braced himself against the sink behind him.

"Yes," he murmured. "Yes, I am." Anything else he might have had to say was lost in a breathless moan. He was attempting not to thrust wildly into Holmes's mouth, to wait and be patient and be owned, but it was a strong temptation.