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

[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.

[wearsthecoats]

The blood is cold. Apart from that, though, it tastes very human.

[semicharmed]

Matt kisses his chest.

Experimentally, his hand squeezes Sherlock's cock a little harder on the upstroke.

(He kind of wishes he had some way of writing this down.

And in hindsight of five seconds ago, maybe ingesting blood during sex is only okay for vampires.)

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock seems to approve!

And Matt isn't the first person to have tasted his blood, oddly enough. Or maybe not that oddly, considering who the other one was.

[semicharmed]

From what little Matt's seen, it's possible he wouldn't be all that surprised.

That's far from where his head is at right now, however.

Once you have someone's permission-- or blessing, rather-- to get rough with them, it's fascinating to see where it takes you. Maybe there are some aspects of this he wouldn't want to do every day, but Matt likes biting Sherlock. He likes his lips and his teeth on chill skin, the Hanuman tattoo burning brighter on his hip--

He reaches his shoulder again and kisses it; this time, though, his lips brush down Sherlock's arm, towards the soft inside.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock makes an anticipatory sound.

[semicharmed]

Matt finds a likely spot and sucks.

(Meanwhile, his hand continues to stroke-- though never in quite a steady rhythm.)

[wearsthecoats]

He shivers, tipping his head back against the couch.

[semicharmed]

He knows Sherlock knows where this is going, but he doesn't want to be too predictable.

He kisses down his arm, brushes his nose and lips back up, and lingers there a moment.

It's then he bites down, slow and thorough as one of those kisses, stopping just before he breaks skin. His hand tightens on Sherlock's cock and starts to move a little bit faster.

[wearsthecoats]

It goes right through him—like fire, like lightning. He moans urgently.

[semicharmed]

Matt makes a soft sound in reply, his hips grinding a little against Sherlock's thigh. His hand moves in quicker, firm strokes.

(And he finds another, slightly higher bit of tender skin to bite.)

[wearsthecoats]

That one goes through him like ice.

He controls himself after a moment—not enough time for frost to form—but the best he can do is to keep himself a few degrees above freezing.

It won't be long now.

[semicharmed]

Matt gasps at the change in temperature.

"Incredible," he says against his skin.

"God ... that's ..."

There's one place he has to bite him before he comes. He'd taken note of the marks on Sherlock's thighs already, but now the idea strikes him as an irresistibly good one.

Matt kisses down his chest and over his stomach, nails raking down his side as he slides back, still balanced on his thigh.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock stifles a whimper, his hands gripping the couch cushions needlessly tight.

[semicharmed]

Oh yes, yes.

Matt bites at his hip in passing, trailing worshipful kisses down and down and--

Here.

As his hand strokes, grip harder to make up for the angle, Matt's teeth graze over the inside of Sherlock's thigh.

Then they close sharply.

[wearsthecoats]

He comes with a moan and a long flare of cold, but he doesn't frost, not even a little.

Success all round.

[semicharmed]

Matt feels it, letting out a long sigh and pressing his face to Sherlock's thigh.

Slowly, his hand drops.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock just as slowly brings a hand up to run his fingers through Matt's hair.