He can smell the wine, smell Tim, from his laundry detergent to the no-name brand of aftershave to the fact that he's sure Tim has emptied a clip at a range a few days ago. It's heightened, too, and he can feel Tim pulling at his shirt.

He considers that an invitation. Matt's careful not to spill a single drop of Tim's wine as he moves his hands down Tim's frame, feeling every inch of him before swinging his leg over, nearly straddling him. One foot is between the back of the couch and Tim's side, his other leg is dangling off of the couch, and he's still trailing his fingers down Tim's sides, stopping only to pull the tucked in shirt out of his slacks and begin to slowly undo it.

This is much better.