HI MATT

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock has:

• an armchair by the fire
• an expression of unreasonable cheer
• a mug of cold-pressed coffee
• a truly impressive collection of hickeys, accented by a well-bitten lip that only recently stopped bleeding.

Comments

[semicharmed]

Matt makes a soft mm noise, teeth scraping.

"I could do this a while," he murmurs by his ear.

"But give a shout if you've got other ideas." He shifts again, so his hand can slide to Sherlock's thigh. "Questions, suggestions ..."

And his nails pinch his nipple again.

"Etcetera."

[wearsthecoats]

"I like this," he sighs, his hand drifting down the curve of Matt's spine.

"But I think I'd like it better if it hurt more."

[semicharmed]

"Ah," he considers.

A pause.

"Let me know if I'm getting closer, then."

When his nails scrape again, it's more of a scratch, and they dig in.

[wearsthecoats]

"Mmm... better," he says consideringly, but the word trails off—an indication that it could perhaps be better still.

[semicharmed]

He bites down on Sherlock's ear-- hard.

His nails only have so much scratch in them, after all. (The grip of both his hands tightens, though, on Sherlock's chest and thigh. Maybe it's tension.)

[wearsthecoats]

He makes a soft, pained noise and breathes out a shuddering, "Perfect."

[semicharmed]

Really, Matt could've figured this out before: There's no way the marks he's left are gonna bruise like the ones that were already all over him.

Still, that's the purpose of lots and lots of field trials. He turns his head and bites Sherlock's neck, lingering over it; he doesn't plan to break skin, but he lets his teeth dig in harder as he goes.

He presumes he'll be told to stop if he goes too far.

[wearsthecoats]

The pressure seems to gradually transmute Sherlock into a loose-limbed happy puddle, fingertips circling idly on the small of Matt's back.

"I like that," he says, soft and breathless.

[semicharmed]

"Good," he says, a little out of breath himself.

His nails trail inward along Sherlock's thigh, digging into the soft flesh.

It's weirdly liberating.

"Tell me when you don't."

[wearsthecoats]

"Mm. Will do."

But they're nowhere near that point yet. He didn't get there with Jim; he doubts he'll get there with this fluffy little thing.

[semicharmed]

In some ways it's exactly what he's afraid of, but it's also really good, on some level, to slash hot nails along soft, cold skin and not worry about keeping himself in line.

Matt traces the line of muscle down the side of Sherlock's neck, sometimes biting and sometimes sucking, following old bruises like constellations.

When he gets to the meeting of neck and shoulder, he lets his teeth sink down.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock wraps his arm around Matt's waist and groans, flaring cold for a moment before he controls himself.

[semicharmed]

The reaction is most reassuring.

Matt mouths at the spot a moment longer, biting sharply again.

Then, since he's now straddling one of Sherlock's thighs and his hand was already on its way inward, it seems like an excellent time to brush his fingers up Sherlock's cock.

[wearsthecoats]

"Mm," he sighs, his arm tightening.

[semicharmed]

At first it's a brush, then a caress, then it's his hand wrapping around him and giving a lazy stroke.

Matt's teeth dig into Sherlock's shoulder.

[wearsthecoats]

His fingers trace the curve of a rib, then wander down to Matt's hip.

[semicharmed]

When Sherlock's fingers touch his tattoo, several things happen more or less at once:

Matt feels that piercing heat spike through him, the so-cold-it's-a-burn that sets his heart racing and his breath coming in a gasp.

His hand tightens abruptly on Sherlock's cock.

And his teeth bite down much, much harder than he meant them to.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock moans softly; for a moment he's colder than ice, and when he gets his temperature under control again he has to blink frost from his lashes.

[semicharmed]

Matt pulls back, concerned. (He's breathing harder, and though he's let go of Sherlock he can't quite seem to stop himself from running his fingers along his cock.)

"Oh-- I'm--"

Oh God he broke skin.

[wearsthecoats]

"That worked out exactly as planned," he murmurs, glancing down at the drop of blood slowly rolling down his chest.

[semicharmed]

"You planned it," he gasps.

A disbelieving, unsteady laugh.

Fucking Sherlock Holmeses. They get him every goddamn time.

[wearsthecoats]

"Mmhm. Sorry," he adds, not sounding terribly apologetic.

[semicharmed]

"I did it for you," Matt says, curling his hand over his cock again, "I knew you were going to use it ..."

He bends his head to Sherlock's nipple and bites, hard.

[wearsthecoats]

A long breath shudders out of him, hooking into a gasp just at the end.

[semicharmed]

Oh, that sound. And the way he feels--

Matt keeps the movement of his hand slow but the grip firm; his nails drag down Sherlock's side.

With his tongue, he laps at that thin trail of blood.