( scott grins--honest to god is just smiling, stupid, lips to matt's neck as he tugs his dress shirt free from matt's trousers. matt wears silk; no doubt it must feel nice on his skin. scott's own shirt is cotton, but old and worn and warm. scott doesn't need suits or echoes--just the knowledge he's doing the right thing--and that counts all the time, even when he's busy sucking a mark into skin otherwise covered by fancy collars. )
Mm--fuck, Bee-Man-- ( his kisses decorate matt's neck: a good offering if he's ever seen one. scott's mouth sucks more, lingers more, is more patient as he drags his tongue up one of the birds' angles of matt's clavicle. the momentum leads him back up, lips latching onto an earlobe and nipping with teeth, but he knows he's laughing just a little. ) Paint my throat with your honey, Daredevil.
( his hands finally get enough of matt's buttons gone and slide the sleeves over his shoulders, but scott meets matt's mouth just for the firmness of it, the confirmation, the reassurance of his tongue. and then he breaks it so he can lift his arms up, flushed already, heartbeat stuftering already.
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Mm--fuck, Bee-Man-- ( his kisses decorate matt's neck: a good offering if he's ever seen one. scott's mouth sucks more, lingers more, is more patient as he drags his tongue up one of the birds' angles of matt's clavicle. the momentum leads him back up, lips latching onto an earlobe and nipping with teeth, but he knows he's laughing just a little. ) Paint my throat with your honey, Daredevil.
( his hands finally get enough of matt's buttons gone and slide the sleeves over his shoulders, but scott meets matt's mouth just for the firmness of it, the confirmation, the reassurance of his tongue. and then he breaks it so he can lift his arms up, flushed already, heartbeat stuftering already.
scott wants him so badly. )
What's your gut tell you about guys like me?