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]

Forming words is not currently Matt's strongest suit.

In fact, at the sound of his voice-- maybe it's the pitch of the whisper-- he thrusts into his hand with another soft whimper.

He can't keep this up for too much longer.

[wearsthecoats]

Can't he? Because Sherlock wants to see how long they can make this last.

[semicharmed]

And in fact, as soon as he has that thought, Matt decides to try to stick it out a little longer.

He sucks in a breath, face still pressed to Sherlock's neck and his fingers digging into his scalp.

[wearsthecoats]

He is fascinating.

This time, though, Sherlock holds his tongue on the word.

[semicharmed]

A little longer.

Just a little longer.

Slowly, he exhales, trying to be in the moment-- Sherlock's fingers on his cock and burning him deliciously with cold from the touch on his hip-- without becoming overwhelmed by it.

At every moment, he's fighting the urge to thrust into his hand, and keep thrusting, and beg him to go faster.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock decides that after this, if Matt is up to another round and amenable to the suggestion, they are going to find out what Sherlock fucking him is like.

[semicharmed]

Matt gasps.

He's still shaking.

[wearsthecoats]

It's entirely too gorgeous.

Sherlock keeps determinedly to his measured pace.

[semicharmed]

The mantra just a little longer speeds in his mind: a little longer, a little longer, a little longer a little longer alittlelonger--

Every stroke starts to feel like an eternity. He's losing presence of mind.

There are a few long, mostly-silent moments of Matt shuddering and struggling for even inhalations and mouthing at Sherlock's throat.




"Oh," he breathes against his neck, pained.

"I don't-- I don't think I can--"

[wearsthecoats]

"Mm?" he prompts, smiling.

[semicharmed]

His hips buck.

"Please."

[wearsthecoats]

"All right."

His hands tighten. Both of them.

[semicharmed]

Matt's breath catches in his throat with a sound that's so relieved it's almost despair.

"Hmm--"

He shifts desperately against his hands in short, sharp movements.

"Yes, thank you oh-- God."

[wearsthecoats]

He strokes faster, letting himself burn cold. But, deliberately, he doesn't frost.

[semicharmed]

Matt's hips are jerking quicker now, of their own volition. He moans at Sherlock's touch, he can feel he's nearly there.

[wearsthecoats]

Good.

Colder, then. Just to be sure of him.

[semicharmed]

In such literature as is germane to his practice-- Crowley and tantra are the big ones-- delaying gratification has a spiritual significance. It is the nearest you can come to asceticism in the middle of sensuality; it lends you greater power.

With no aim, no goal, only the thing itself, Matt will remember this orgasm as one of the most intense he's had in a very long time.

[wearsthecoats]

And Sherlock will remember it as one of the loveliest things he has ever witnessed.

[semicharmed]

When he's done, he slumps bonelessly against Sherlock's chest, head on his shoulder, and tries to catch his breath.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock tucks his arms around Matt's waist, warms himself, and waits him out.

[semicharmed]

It feels like quite a long time before he's able to speak.



"Well."

(He still can't breathe entirely regularly.)

"That was ...

Thank you.

Wow."

[wearsthecoats]

"It was rather delightful, wasn't it?" he agrees, smiling.

[semicharmed]

"I don't think I can move right now."

He does not sound like he finds anything wrong with this.

Quite the opposite.

[wearsthecoats]

"Lucky that you aren't required to, then."

[semicharmed]

"Mmmm," he agrees.

He can feel himself starting to cool down-- only a little, but the spell overheats him to the point that it's difficult to miss.