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]

The next kiss is somewhat lower, and the one after that lower still.

[semicharmed]

This time the appreciative sound Matt makes starts as an ah and trails off to an mmm.

It's an effort not to squirm; he satisfies it somewhat by digging his fingers into the muscle low on Sherlock's back.

[wearsthecoats]

Sherlock experimentally trails his fingers over the tattoo on Matt's hip.

[semicharmed]

He was at least sort of expecting it this time, but that doesn't change how he reacts: Matt gasps, head falling back.

He arches his back and rolls his hips against him.

[wearsthecoats]

His kisses are definitely meandering in a hipward direction, now.

[semicharmed]

Oh, God.

His breath is already coming faster, Sherlock's lips already feel incredible on his skin; if he kisses his tattoo now Matt knows he'll completely lose it.

In his anticipation, he becomes cognizant that he's breathing in a series of perfectly audible shudders.

[wearsthecoats]

His mouth trails down over Matt's ribs, across his stomach... and there, slow and wet and cold as ice.

[semicharmed]

"Ohhh--"

Automatic, like a chemical reaction. Sherlock's mouth against the Sanskrit on his skin feels elemental, powerful, like ice pinning him to the mattress and spearing through his core.

"Please," he gasps, "oh, my God--"

[wearsthecoats]

He wraps a hand around Matt's cock.

Is that about right?

[semicharmed]

"Oh God yes, like that--"

... Apparently!

Matt pushes into Sherlock's hand with a whimper.

[wearsthecoats]

He licks at the edge of the tattoo and starts to stroke.

[semicharmed]

The noise Matt makes is almost a sob.

But it resolves quickly into a series of shaky ohhs as his hand moves.

[wearsthecoats]

It's fascinating.

Sherlock tries a nibble, just to see.

[semicharmed]

Matt's back arches, with a very loud, pained-sounding, "Ahh."

His eyes are open but it's debatable what he sees.

"Please," he repeats, "please ..."

[wearsthecoats]

If he's not going to be specific, then Sherlock will just have to keep doing what he's doing and hope that suffices.

[semicharmed]

It seems to suffice very nicely, given the way he's thrusting into his hand.

The mantra please, please slides off into incoherent moans.

[wearsthecoats]

There's something beautiful about being the centre of such intensity. He's felt like this before, and it was pure glory then, too.

Moaning, he presses his mouth to Matt's hip and sucks.

[semicharmed]

In hindsight, Matt will have a difficult time choosing between which he finds more embarrassing.

1) That he comes with a moan so loud and sharp it's nearly a scream,

or

2) that a vivid flash of sensation comes along with it; not just his mouth, you're on fire but his mouth is so, but teeth breaking your skin hot blood oh god Sherlock--

[wearsthecoats]

And in return—

He remembers Jim's fingers digging bruises into his shoulderblades, his hands white with frost around Jim's neck, the way Jim shivered under him.

[semicharmed]

There's something very familiar about that picture.

But the only coherent thought that will stick in Matt's brain, as he sinks helplessly onto the mattress with a groan of utter satiation, is:


I overdid it on the cardamom.

[wearsthecoats]

"...Well," Sherlock murmurs.

"That was interesting. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to call the experiment a success."

[semicharmed]

Matt glances to him, dazed and very pleased.

"Mmm?"

He should apologize for the overshare.

He should try to figure out exactly what happened with his tattoo.


"... Yeah," he agrees.

"Me too."

[wearsthecoats]

He snuggles closer.

...Somewhat ruefully.

"If that spell of yours has a finite lifespan, you should plan to be out of this bed before it expires," he notes. "Because I appear to have created a small snowdrift."

[semicharmed]

Matt casts a quick look around at the frost and ice on the bed, and laughs.

"'Mstill a little too hot," he says, snuggling gratefully with his cheek to Sherlock's chest.

"But ... yeah. It'll run out. Sooner rather than later."

Beat.

"How you doing?"

[wearsthecoats]

"Brilliantly," he sighs.

"I want to try again, though, and make some effort to control myself this time."