Winners and Losers
Title: Winners and Losers
Author: ssw_loved
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Becker/Matt
Warning: Cupcakes. No, I’m not kidding. Plus some PWP.
Spoilers: general series 4
Summary: The boys are covered in icing and flour, and there’s only one solution.
Notes: *curls up in a tiny corner and hides* This is my first time writing this kind of stuff, so, *big puppy dog eyes*. I’ll just go die of embarrassment now, all right? Glaringly obvious errors are mine, and also glaringly obvious. Second Note: The situation in this fic comes from another fic that will hopefully be up by the end of the week, in which Abby notices Matt and Becker fighting and decides to solve their argument by having them bake cupcakes. And because they’re them, they turned it into a competition. All you really know to read this, and that this takes place after that.
A hand running down a shirt that’s a second skin. He can feel the nails through the fabric, pushing him backwards until his back is pressed flat against the wall, every nerve in his body on fire. Matt’s mouth is hungry against his, tongues colliding and exploring, teeth grazing over lips, biting and sucking. Hands search greedily over his torso, lower and lower, and his hips buck against Matt’s desperately, wanting this, needing this.
The portion of his brain that still works registers the faint taste of strawberry frosting and he thanks God they made it out of Abby’s flat (even when he doesn’t know how they made it up the stairs and through the door of his own.) Apparently cupcakes are the new aphrodisiac, but he stores the information away for later use (and oh, he would be using it). He doesn’t dwell on reasons as Matt tugs his shirt free of his trousers, pushing it over his head, slow and teasing so that Becker has to work not to do it himself, is almost growling by the time he’s done.
The heat on his mouth is suddenly gone, a rush of cold air and the grazing of teeth and warm breath where Matt had smeared the icing on his cheek. A hand still covered in flour and sugar brushes against his growing erection, Matt’s warm breath still on his cheek and Becker wonders why he didn’t use icing, because flour isn’t as fun to lick up.
Becker’s hips buck against his hand involuntary, teeth grinding against the urge to whimper.
“Matt,” He says, no more than a groan.
“Getting there.” The words are uttered playfully against his cheek and he feels teeth grazing once again, the zipper being undone and his cock twitches against Matt’s fingers. He can feel the smile against his cheek before the lips are working their way down to the base of his throat. “Strawberries suit you, Beck.” He murmurs, and the vibration of sound against his skin only serves to make him harder. His hands roam to curl in Matt’s hair, where he finds flour and the remains of the cup of sugar he so recently deposited there. The remains of the flour makes his hair pale, his skin more tanned in contrast.
“Fuck, Matt.” He’s still unable to offer anything other than a groan.
“That’s the general objective.” Lips trace their way down his chest, trailing down to just below his navel with such deliberate slowness that he’s almost purring by the time Matt’s undoing his trousers, can no longer remember why holding a grudge seemed so important in the first place.
(And if he still has a problem with the EMDs in the morning, he’s sure they can find some way to come to an understanding.)
Matt’s fingers run down his length, making Becker’s attempts not to moan in a rather undignified manner nearly futile. He’s teasing, stroking him until he can feel his eyes starting to roll back in their sockets and he can’t contain the moan any longer.
“Matt, I swear to God…”
It’s not a second longer before he takes him whole, lips closing around the base of his cock, Becker’s hand gripping Matt’s flour coated hair in response, fingers intertwining around several strands. By this time he’s just as coated in flour as he’s coated in icing, and the scent of sugar and strawberries and Matt is nearly enough to make him come all by itself. He’s breathless though he’s standing still, can hear his own heartbeat and sure Matt can hear it, too.
It takes only a few swirls of Matt’s practiced tongue (there are delicate shudders working their way down Becker’s spine) before he comes with a groan and dark eyes all but rolled back in his head. Shudders still work down his spine like the aftermath of an earthquake, a fitting description for the man standing before him.
He wastes no time in undoing Matt’s trousers with steady fingers, brushing against his cock deliberately, taking no little pleasure in the way he makes the man’s eyelids flutter closed for the briefest of instants, reveling in having that ability. Breathing ragged, he wraps his fingers around Matt’s cock as the man bucks desperately against his hand, Becker smirking and running his thumb over the head, eliciting a shudder that runs all the way down through the other man’s legs. He took his time with him and now Becker will take his. Using touches that are feather light and torturous before dropping to his knees, Becker flicks his tongue over the head and has Matt groaning in seconds.
It doesn’t take long for Matt to come with his hands in Becker’s hair, holding him there for hours that are seconds before his knees have given out and he’s joined Becker on the ground,
“Defeat the purpose of the activity, you know.” Matt murmurs raggedly.
“That’s all right.” Becker says, lips ghosting over his lover’s neck. “I was never one for purpose.” Words are spoken against sweaty, flour covered skin. “Did you really expect to get clean like this, Matthew?”
“A man can try.”
“You could keep trying in the shower.” He says, smirk still touching Matt’s neck. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your expectations.”
“You’re a greedy winner, Becks.”
Butt Matt doesn’t complain when Becker leads him to the shower.