"Really," he says unashamedly, smirking; he catches Watson's hand and turns his face to kiss the palm, turning it into a very serious occupation. He kisses each of Watson's fingertips, and then places a kiss square on his wrist, where all the veins come together.

"I believe our stamina is up to the task. It certainly has been in the past." He flashes another predatory smile, comfortable and rather at peace with Watson nestled against his side. This is what Christmas should be every year. Since he's left home he's not always been completely satisfied, if he's honest, with the way Christmas turns out; something always seems to be missing, or he still manages to feel alone at the end of it all. He doesn't feel alone now, to be sure.

"But if you object, then... I suppose we could find other ways to spend our time. Reading, quietly, alone in our own chairs, keeping our hands to ourselves..."