"Your body is a temple," Watson murmured. Something about the way Holmes was licking him clean put him in mind of a cat, perhaps some very large, sleek, dangerous wild cat. A panther, perhaps, or a cheetah. A brief kiss here or there between the mouth over his chest was not enough, not nearly, but he also recognised he wasn't exactly setting the pace for this, which was fine.

Oh, that smile. There was nothing else like it, and it gave Watson's heart the most absurd little sideways leap, as did seeing such tenderness towards the source of his whole blasted trouble in the first place. Watson was nothing special, but Holmes -- Holmes was very nearly a god, in Watson's admittedly biased opinion.

"You do," he puffed out, distracted, "toy with me."