Don't move, he said. As though that were an easy thing to accomplish anyway, at a time like this, with tongue and teeth over his stomach. Watson was already shifting under the attentions of a very clever tongue, not to mention tensing in anticipation of the next potential bite, not knowing what or when it might be, relishing the inherent violence and the intense possessiveness of the gesture. To be told on top of that not to move... it was devilish.

Damn the man.

With his fingers tightening convulsively in Holmes's hair, Watson made a game effort at keeping still, but it was a lost cause before he ever had the order to stay still. To fail an order given hurt his pride, but surely this was an impossible order in the first place. Despite his best efforts he was squirming in his chair, his back arching, the muscles in his legs tensing with suppressed adrenaline and arousal.