#if the words alone don't catch your interest here are some visual aids 😆

[in-my-loki-feels]

👔 for Sharperton! (all those layers hnggggg)

Who's ready for some more Sharperton??? 😆 That's these two, in case anyone needs a reminder:

(This one's a little NSFW.)

3. 👔 Adjusting clothing

Benedict was no young lady with marriage prospects to be ruined, but that didn't make what he was currently doing any less illicit.

That knowledge should have made it easy to stop, but Benedict found it impossible. Not when he had Thomas by the hips, pulled close enough to feel a hardness pressed against his own. Thomas had lured him out here with a coy, half-lidded gaze and yet Benedict was the one crowding Thomas into the hedge wall. 

“Thomas,” Benedict groaned, as Thomas trailed kisses down his jaw to his throat, his deft fingers working on Benedict's cravat. “We should really be getting back.” 

“Hm?” Thomas continued with his work and when Benedict’s throat was bared, he set his lips to it, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Benedict should have been concerned by that; instead, the knowledge that he would be walking around with Thomas's mark hidden beneath white cloth went straight to his groin.

Benedict tightened his hold on Thomas' hips, dragging him closer so that Thomas was the one to groan. The sound vibrated down Benedict's throat, making him even harder.

“You are the new mysterious eligible bachelor.” Benedict attempted to find reason, as Thomas turned his attention to the other side of Benedict's throat. “Your presence, at least, shall be missed.”

“Then let them miss me,” Thomas said against Benedict’s skin. His fingers were at the buttons of Benedict’s waistcoat now. 

“What sort of deviant have I introduced to the ton?” Benedict asked with a breathless laugh. “Perhaps I should warn all the eligible lords and ladies?”

“They are not in danger,” Thomas said, lifting his head. “Only you.”

It was dark in their hiding place but the moonlight caught in Thomas’ startlingly blue eyes. There was such an intensity to him at times, a desperation that made Benedict’s heart ache. He wondered if this was yet another effect of Thomas’ chilling childhood. 

Benedict moved his hands from Thomas’ hips to cup his face, pulling him close for another sweet kiss. Thomas responded eagerly, resuming his attempt to divest Benedict of his clothes despite their quite public location. 

Sudden giggling caused them both to freeze. It was a woman’s voice, followed by a baritone chuckle. Two more hopeful lovers, sneaking off as Thomas and Benedict had? It was further proof that their spot within the hedges was not as secret as they had hoped. 

Benedict caught Thomas’ hands before they could continue their work on his buttons. 

“Let us return to the party,” he said quietly, mindful now of others nearby. He could see Thomas preparing himself for disappointment; his heart was worn so plainly on his sleeve. “I shall tell my mother my good friend, Sir Sharpe, has indulged a bit too much and requires help getting home.” He raised Thomas’ hands and pressed a kiss to the knuckles of both. When he lowered them, Thomas was smiling with something like relief in his eyes. 

“And then, perhaps, I could tempt you to indulge yourself?” Thomas asked, his voice low and hopeful. Benedict chuckled. 

“Of that you can be sure.” He released Thomas’ hands and felt for the ends of his undone cravat. 

“Please,” Thomas said, catching his gaze. “Let me?” 

Benedict swallowed and nodded. Thomas started by fixing the buttons he’d undone on Benedict’s waistcoat. He did so much more slowly than he’d attempted to undo them. All Benedict could think of was having those hands lower, but he attempted to restrain his imagination. 

Thomas’ hands rose to Benedict’s throat and he gently stroked one side of it. It had to have been one of the marks he left. Benedict’s face flamed at the thought and he caught Thomas looking up. A smile teased those devilish lips before Thomas returned his attention to fixing Benedict’s cravat. He took more care than Benedict did for himself, each brush of his fingers against Benedict’s skin a small torture. When he’d finished, Benedict felt somehow less put together than he should have been. 

Thomas rested a hand on Benedict’s chest, at the V in his waistcoat, and said, “Shall we go inside?”

Prompts are here. Other ficlets here.