Giving an enthusiastic groan, Watson threw his head back, bucking up into Holmes's thrusts, trying to match his rhythm. His breath came in short, desperate grunts which were already completely out of his control. Everything in the world was Holmes, scent and sensation and sight; he could even still taste him from that brief kiss.

He was as aroused as he had ever been in his life, in posession of an achingly hard and mostly untouched erection, and he was in no mind to let it be ignored a moment longer. Watson couldn't quite bring himself to release his white-knuckled grip on the sheets, but he brought his other hand in close and wrapped his fingers roughtly around his own cock. Even that was a relief, but he stroked himself with an almost violent desperation, trying to fit it into the wildness. The grunts of his breathing were rapidly becoming definite cries, sharply rhythmic moans that he could not have stopped if he'd wanted to.