( mat ought to feel self-conscious as milo pushes his shirt up over his belly, exposing more of his delicate, pale skin to him, but it's truly hard to mind such a thing when the feeling of those long, languid kisses against his abdomen washes over him, when he's unable to keep from squirming a little beneath that lovely, warm mouth. it's distracting — and then some, truly — to the point where mat's answer to milo's question is a beat and a half delayed, a soft, breathed: )
Okay, Milo.
( even if mat is barely cognizant of what he's saying okay to, just that those soft puffs of laughter against his skin tickle and that milo's forehead pressed against his stomach feels so warm, just like the warmth behind his gaze as milo looks up at him, so strong that mat thinks he might just melt here and now.
he's spent so much time in the past few weeks being unsure of himself, missing so many things and afraid of what those things may be — but mat can't think of any of that now, can only lose himself in the feeling of milo's tongue against him, the drag of his lips as he lowers his head, the way he salivates around him, bobbing his head up and down, the feeling coiled deep in his belly tightening and burning white hot until he can't take it anymore, coming undone, with a final, frantic gasp of milo's name, fingers grasping at curly strands of dark hair, seeing nothing but white, white, white and he's not sure if it's from the snow zigzagging through the room or from the overwhelming sensation washing over him but it doesn't matter because he feels like he's floating now, too caught up in milo ...
when it's all said and done, mat flops back against the sheets, panting softly, vaguely trying to regain himself but content to ride this high he's certain he'd like to ride forever. )
no subject
Okay, Milo.
( even if mat is barely cognizant of what he's saying okay to, just that those soft puffs of laughter against his skin tickle and that milo's forehead pressed against his stomach feels so warm, just like the warmth behind his gaze as milo looks up at him, so strong that mat thinks he might just melt here and now.
he's spent so much time in the past few weeks being unsure of himself, missing so many things and afraid of what those things may be — but mat can't think of any of that now, can only lose himself in the feeling of milo's tongue against him, the drag of his lips as he lowers his head, the way he salivates around him, bobbing his head up and down, the feeling coiled deep in his belly tightening and burning white hot until he can't take it anymore, coming undone, with a final, frantic gasp of milo's name, fingers grasping at curly strands of dark hair, seeing nothing but white, white, white and he's not sure if it's from the snow zigzagging through the room or from the overwhelming sensation washing over him but it doesn't matter because he feels like he's floating now, too caught up in milo ...
when it's all said and done, mat flops back against the sheets, panting softly, vaguely trying to regain himself but content to ride this high he's certain he'd like to ride forever. )