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 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.

[semicharmed]

Matt's focused on the feel of his cock in his hand, of starting slow and making it good. His cheek presses for a moment against Sherlock's chest, his breaths coming shallow; with the spell in place and no clothes between them, it feels so fucking nice--

[wearsthecoats]

God yes it does. Matt's hand feels like pure glory. Part of that must be the magic; mere heat can be nice, in its way, but the sensation here is something beyond that. Separately from its effects, the spell itself is a sensual pleasure.

[semicharmed]

For Matt, the temperature difference is a reminder as well as sensation; it keeps him desperately, entirely in the moment. His hand grips tighter, and he gives Sherlock a long, firm stroke.

His lips brush his chest, and start to trail messy kisses towards his nipple.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock wraps an icy hand around the back of Matt's neck to pull him closer.

[semicharmed]

He shudders, breath escaping in a shaky exhalation.

When his mouth reaches Sherlock's nipple, he gives a nip and laps at it with his tongue.

[wearsthecoats]

Moaning, he digs his fingers into Matt's neck.

[semicharmed]

Matt makes a sound against Sherlock's chest that could almost be pained, if it weren't for the way it trails off into a contented sigh.

He sucks on Sherlock's nipple. He notes peripherally the mess of bruises, but decides he has more or less given up on marking new territory.

(Before it was politeness. Now, with the warmth at his skin, it's especially wonderful to encounter an even-colder spot with his mouth.)

His fingers slide down Sherlock's cock, repositioning beneath the underwear he still hasn't dislodged with total success. They stroke back up.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock makes an extremely similar sort of sound, shuddering.

[semicharmed]

"God, your hands," he groans.

He intends to continue along this vein, now that he has the hang of stroking him and kissing and biting his chest-- but the feeling of cold fingers at his hip, over the tattoo there, sends a jolt through him like fire.

[wearsthecoats]

"Mm?" says Sherlock, pausing with his hand just past the tattoo.

[semicharmed]

"Oh-- God."

He sounds breathless and dazed.

Then his hand starts to move faster on Sherlock's cock.

"Kiss me," he breathes, kissing back up Sherlock's chest in a distracted trail, "please, kiss me."