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]

Executive decision:

While Matt's tongue laps at Sherlock's ear, followed by another bite, he starts unbuttoning his shirt with deft flicks of his fingers.

[wearsthecoats]

He hums contentedly.

[semicharmed]

"Let me know," as he tugs at Sherlock's shirt to get the last of the buttons, and runs his hands up over his stomach, "if this is okay ..."

It's a challenge, to say the least, to find a clear spot on Sherlock's neck to bite. But he starts below his ear, sucking at his skin.

(He feels, at this stage, a bit like he feels when he's been kissing someone on a chilly day-- cooler than he'd strictly prefer, but hardly impeded.)

[wearsthecoats]

"Extremely," he says, enunciating each syllable with clarity and precision.

[semicharmed]

Matt smiles against his neck, sucks--

And nips.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock hisses and pulls him closer.

[semicharmed]

He reacts to the pull with an involuntary push of his hips and a soft groan, his hands pressed to Sherlock's chest.

It doesn't take long to redirect his focus, though, and he bites his neck again.

[wearsthecoats]

Whimpering again, Sherlock wraps a hand around the back of Matt's neck. Controlling his temperature is the important part here, much more important than stopping himself from manhandling Matt or stifling all his increasingly desperate little noises.

[semicharmed]

Those noises, and the hand at his neck, threaten to momentarily short-circuit Matt's brain.

"If you're not going to get much colder," he breathes against his throat.

"I don't think I'll need any spells ..."

[wearsthecoats]

"I get colder than this," he murmurs. "Significantly. If I lose control."

[semicharmed]

His teeth drag down the side of his neck, over bruises.

"Would you like to?"

[wearsthecoats]

"Yes," he admits, half a groan.

[semicharmed]

"Okay."

Matt presses a kiss to his neck and pulls back slightly, enough to look at him. His fingers stroke absently over his chest, moving beneath his open shirt.

"There's-- a few ways I could get the self-stabilizing warmth thing going, then."

[wearsthecoats]

"Do tell," he invites, with a lazy smile.

[semicharmed]

"So, I figure if I try to create the warmth aura with energy I have ... in the moment, the law of diminishing energy returns means I'll end up fighting myself. And colder than I want to be." A crooked smile. "I think I need to store up warmth first, so it can fill up the aura."

His fingers keep moving while he talks; his thumbs stroke along Sherlock's collarbones.

"Given how I tend to generate magical energy, we can either keep going and you try and stay warm until I've gathered enough, or I take care of myself and we go from there."

[wearsthecoats]

"I find," Sherlock murmurs thoughtfully, "positive aspects to each of these options."

[semicharmed]

Matt's eyes widen slightly.

As he is currently straddling Sherlock's lap, Sherlock is in a perfect position to understand his own feelings on the subject.

"I, ah, do have a slight preference," he says, "for the latter. Just because it's quicker and more reliable, in the sense of ... fewer variables, known quantities."

He is now turning ever so slightly red.

Maybe it will almost be easier if Sherlock goes: All right, off you go, come back when you're done.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock grins and brushes his thumb down Matt's cheek.

"All right," he says agreeably. "Will it introduce any inconvenient complications if you do it here? Because I think I would like it if you did."

[semicharmed]

"Oh."

Matt's breath hitches.

"Nnno," he says, "no. It won't."

Scratch that, this could be incredibly hot.

[wearsthecoats]

"Brilliant. Go on, then."

[semicharmed]

And there would be Matt's brain.

Grinding to a halt.

He pauses a moment, trying to run through what he needs in his head-- but he realizes, after his sluggish mind agrees to process, that for this spell, he can meditate on a geometric boundary; he doesn't need a physical circle.

"Okay," he murmurs, sitting back far enough to undo the top button of his jeans and pull down his zipper.

"I might ... be a little unresponsive," he warns.

"And make a mess."

For this one, an orgasm would be ideal.

[wearsthecoats]

"So noted," he says, and gives Matt a quick kiss.

[semicharmed]

Matt returns it, still thoughtful, and--

He opts for Sanskrit. Celestial fire is in the spirit of things.

With Matt's mind slowly emptying, and his lips shaping the syllables of a language not his own, he squirms a bit to push his jeans and boxers down his hips.

He pulls his cock free carefully, with a brief glance to Sherlock's face (but only brief, or he'll lose the thread).

He starts to stroke himself.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock... is watching. Thoughtfully. With a slight, slight smile.

[semicharmed]

He was hard already; touching himself like this is a sweet relief, and the feeling of eyes on him could drive him really crazy if he let it.

He doesn't.

(Reverence be,

to thee coming,
reverence to thee going)

Matt keeps his first strokes slow, his breaths even as he can make them, and the lines of prayer his anchor.

(reverence to thee when thou breathest in,

reverence when thou breathest out)

He focuses on the growing light, building in his groin and his gut.