"Oh, dear God, yes," Watson said, emphatically. He was all to eager to help Holmes get him out of his clothes, wriggling helpfully out of them, kicking off his shoes to make the process a little smoother. One of them, he thought vaguely, skittered off below the sofa, and would have to be retrieved later; he did not care, very much, just then. Look at them, look at the two of them, hardly having finished eating before they had been diverted by their own conversation, barely managing to undress before indulging in... in ridiculous games, involving honey, of all the unlikely things.

He could hardly wait to start, in all honesty. If Holmes decided that now was a good time to toy with him, then Watson would have to... well, he was in no state to think of consequences. They would be dire, to be sure.

He reached for Holmes's hand and moved it to his hip, while he moved to kiss him, hard, impatient, hungry.