Watson obliged, breathing hard, almost to the point of moaning. He was feeling owned, and the feeling was remarkably intoxicating, far better than he would have suspected.

"Not your pleasure alone," he said, breathless. He pressed himself down onto Holmes's fingers, his hips bucking eagerly. What he tried to say next was lost in an incoherent moan, and he clutched at Holmes desperately, kissing him, devouring him. Sometimes he feared that he was in this relationship only for the physical release, but this was so much more than that, he knew that. He had been in purely physical relationships. This was a far deeper connection.