This wouldn't be as much fun if Watson did succeed at following Holmes's orders, but it is fascinating to consider just how much a difference two words can make in a situation. Watson has not ceased moving, Holmes doesn't really want him to, but to know that he's now moving against his own wishes, that he is struggling not to move, it's all the more enjoyable.
Holmes's attitude contrasts Watson's; he's purposeful in his attention to Watson's stomach, now. He isn't rushed, but he isn't drawing out the moment ridiculously; his pace is steady and in control. There isn't necessarily much honey on Watson's hip, but he stops there anyway to leave a harder bite than he'd been able to give.
And now he comes to Watson's thighs. He looks up, briefly, to get a picture of Watson in his mind, and the sight nearly causes him to lapse in his calculated attitude. With somewhat renewed vigor, he is a little rougher, scraping teeth, biting gently, thoroughly cleaning Watson up.
His eyes are very dark indeed when he finishes and looks back up at Watson, and he realizes that there's nothing more he'd want to do now than pay some attention to the very area he instructed Watson to let alone before. He's almost had enough of the taste of honey by now, if he's honest, so some honey-free skin in the shape of Watson's cock seems to be just what his palette calls for.
"I've had my fill of honey, I think," he says throatily, his fingers walking up Watson's thighs to grip his hips. "I have another craving, however, that I wish to satisfy. If you would hold still a moment longer..."
It's a halfhearted order; his mind is already on lowering his mouth to Watson's cock, brushing his lips against the head; while he has been in control, now this gesture is permission-seeking.
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Holmes's attitude contrasts Watson's; he's purposeful in his attention to Watson's stomach, now. He isn't rushed, but he isn't drawing out the moment ridiculously; his pace is steady and in control. There isn't necessarily much honey on Watson's hip, but he stops there anyway to leave a harder bite than he'd been able to give.
And now he comes to Watson's thighs. He looks up, briefly, to get a picture of Watson in his mind, and the sight nearly causes him to lapse in his calculated attitude. With somewhat renewed vigor, he is a little rougher, scraping teeth, biting gently, thoroughly cleaning Watson up.
His eyes are very dark indeed when he finishes and looks back up at Watson, and he realizes that there's nothing more he'd want to do now than pay some attention to the very area he instructed Watson to let alone before. He's almost had enough of the taste of honey by now, if he's honest, so some honey-free skin in the shape of Watson's cock seems to be just what his palette calls for.
"I've had my fill of honey, I think," he says throatily, his fingers walking up Watson's thighs to grip his hips. "I have another craving, however, that I wish to satisfy. If you would hold still a moment longer..."
It's a halfhearted order; his mind is already on lowering his mouth to Watson's cock, brushing his lips against the head; while he has been in control, now this gesture is permission-seeking.