awww yeah

[mustbethetruth]

continued from here

To be honest, he isn't sure what he'd been waiting for; perhaps he was trying to see how long he could last without kissing, or clinging, or betraying his desire in any overly forward way; or maybe he was waiting for the both of them to be bared to the waist, so that when he finally gave in, they could begin right away with the honey aspect of this.

Regardless of what he'd been waiting for, it appears as if the moment has arrived. Certainly he can't negotiate himself into waiting longer. He reaches for Watson, sliding his hand into his hair, and pulls him in for an unapologetically passionate kiss.

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[lightconductor]

Watson jumped a little, turning to give Holmes a not-very-serious glare. "You are an incorrigible devil," he remarked, attempting to glare and failing utterly at it.

"At any rate, I am certainly not for sale." he asked, turning back to the bathtub to attend to the faucet. "The very idea. Nor do I make myself available for charity, if it comes to that. It's very selfish of me. Light me a cigarette, would you, love?"

[mustbethetruth]

"Funny. I thought I was the selfish one, not wanting to share you." He lights Watson's cigarette and holds it out to him; even this familiar act is charming for some reason this evening, and he kisses Watson's cheek. Once the tub is full, he eases himself into it, reclining back and drawing from his cigarette.

"And I'm not the only incorrigible devil around here, you should remember. Or was it that you're fierce." He smiles teasingly, resting his elbow against the edge of the tub.

[lightconductor]

"I still like that," Watson remarked, puffing on his cigarette. "Not nearly enough people tell me that I'm fierce. What a novelty it is."

Gingerly, he stepped into the bath, grateful for the water and the warmth and the sense of cleanliness that was already imparted by it. While hardly a small tub by any means, it was still a bit cramped for two fully-grown men, and the easiest position seemed to be to settle in with his back against Holmes's front. There was something comfortably intimate about that position, too.

With the hand holding his cigarette draped lazily over the edge of the tub, he reached for the sponge with his free hand and soaked it thoroughly in the hot water.

[mustbethetruth]

He isn't at all upset about how they must position themselves, and he dips his mouth to kiss the back and side of Watson's neck, tenderly. Snaking his arm around Watson, he plucks the sponge out of his hands.

"Allow me," he murmurs, then more lightly, "it is my fault, after all." He runs the sponge over Watson's chest, able to tell what he's doing without needing to see Watson's front at all. To have him so well memorized gives Holmes a sense of accomplishment.