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]

"You're so warm," he breathes, wrapping his arms around Matt's waist. "Kiss me again."

[semicharmed]

"You got it," he laughs.

Matt shifts up, sneaking his hands under Sherlock's open shirt; one runs up his stomach and chest, the other around to the small of his back.

He tilts his head and presses a slow, thorough kiss to his mouth.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock closes his eyes and moans softly.

[semicharmed]

Matt murmurs in counterpoint, his fingers digging into Sherlock's back.

[wearsthecoats]

All right, that's it.

He lets go of Matt long enough to squirm out of his shirt, then kisses him again, pressing close.

[semicharmed]

"That," Matt says between kisses, "is actually-- a great idea."

He pulls back slightly himself; though he's reluctant to let go of him, he lifts his hands away and starts fumbling with the buttons of his own shirt.

[wearsthecoats]

After watching him for a moment, Sherlock pushes Matt's hands impatiently aside and tackles the buttons himself.

[semicharmed]

He laughs again, sheepish, and keeps his hands out of the way.

[wearsthecoats]

After a mere second or two, success! Beaming, he pushes Matt's shirt off his shoulders and leans in to kiss along his collarbone.

[semicharmed]

"Oh," Matt gasps.

The cold is so good. He wants to bury his face in Sherlock's neck and clutch at his back and just-- not let go.

[wearsthecoats]

He presses his mouth to Matt's shoulder and sucks. The heat and the taste of his skin are glorious.

[semicharmed]

Matt whimpers.

"God-- your instincts are fantastic."

[wearsthecoats]

"Thank you," he says a little breathlessly. "I want to do this with fewer clothes. I want to find out what the rest of you tastes like."

[semicharmed]

... Okay, this guy is amazing.

"Yes," Matt says emphatically, nodding.

His hand slides down to Sherlock's waistband and flicks open the button. He is evidently more adept with other people's clothing than his own, for the moment.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock politely refrains from distracting him.

The minute his trousers are open, of course, it's kisses again.

[semicharmed]

Matt's hand slips inside his trousers, over his underwear.

His teeth close on Sherlock's lip.

[wearsthecoats]

He moans.

[semicharmed]

Encouraged, Matt's fingers trace the outline of his cock. His palm rubs against it, starting at the base and running up.

He turns his head to kiss along his jaw.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock squirms closer, wrapping himself around Matt; with no need to worry about how cold he gets, his temperature drops until frost starts forming on his skin.

[semicharmed]

This is one of the most intense sensory experiences Matt can remember having.

(Well. Except for that other Sherlock of note, who Matt keeps accidentally thinking of as my.

Hands on his neck, teeth sinking into his thigh, pinning him to the door--)

This is a whole different ball game.

Warmth rushes in to fill up the delta, leaving the frost deliciously cold against his skin. Matt moans softly himself, against Sherlock's neck.

He trails kisses down, letting his teeth scrape his neck, and his hand keeps stroking Sherlock through his briefs.

[wearsthecoats]

He lets out a ragged breath that hints of whimpers to come.

[semicharmed]

Matt bites his neck; he intended to cover new ground where he could, but this time he doesn't check.

He pushes close as he can, chest to Sherlock's chest. The feeling is incredible.

His fingers slide under his briefs.

[wearsthecoats]

And there, right on cue, are the whimpers.

[semicharmed]

Incredible, completely incredible. He kisses down his neck and over his collarbone, soothing or at least intending it.

Then Matt's hand closes over his cock, and he starts to stroke.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock groans into the pillow. He never expected the warmth to feel this good.