Crossing the Line
By: Sassa-Who For: Amie33 Summary: Many years ago they made a deal. They agreed never to cross the line between personal and professional. Now, all these years later, will the line even still be there? PROMPT: In the future. At least 5 or 10 years. Where is Matt? Where is Alex? Are they married with lots of curly haired children or alone and regretting they never tried anything together, or did they try but it failed…I let you decide (but I have to admit a bit of angst in this one would be great). Rated: M WORDS: 6700 With thanks to Charina for the beta.
March 11, 2017
“A little bird told me you’d be here,” his voice whispers, low in her ear, “Happy Birthday, Kingston.”
“Hello sweetie,” she purrs back, trying to keep her voice casual and channel what she can still muster of River Song.
“Was the little bird named Steven, by any chance?” she laughs.
“As a matter of fact, it was,” he replies, chuckling.
They both know precisely why they are here. Steven Moffat has assembled a stellar cast of Who alumni for the read through of the fifty-fifth anniversary special.
Matt and Alex are standing just outside the studio on a little patch of grass; a place where they ate innumerable lunches and drank litres of tea and coffee, what feels like a lifetime ago.
“It’s just so gratifying being forever the same age as this program,” she laughs at her own sarcasm and for the first time since he stepped out of the limousine and back into her life, she allows herself to properly look at him. Of course, he has picked the exact same moment to look at her. Their eyes meet and hold for a few seconds before Matt says, “You haven’t changed at all. But then you never really age do you. How do you do that?”
Alex smiles self-deprecatingly, “You don’t see me in the mirror every day.”
No. But I’d have liked to.
“Have I changed?” Matt asks, from under that floppy hair, perhaps a little greyer now than before.
She studies him more closely, answering, “There are one or two lines around the eyes I don’t remember.”
Because I know your face so well. Every freckle and line and crease. It is etched into my mind and carved into my heart.
“But you’re allowed some age-you’ve been busy,” she continues.
“I’ve kept myself out of trouble,” he replies.
I’ve kept myself so busy I haven’t been able to think about all that I lost. All that might have been.
“Yes. You’re a famous movie star now, eh?” she smiles
“I’m doing alright,” Matt answers with great modesty.
Fact is, these days he’s an international superstar. Alex has kept up with his career with enormous pride and interest. He’s been doing great work. There’s Oscar buzz about him this year and he’s already on his second BAFTA. Not that she’s counting.
A long pause follows. Neither of them is quite sure what to say. It’s been such a long time.
The work ended.
They didn’t keep in touch as they’d known they wouldn’t.
It had been for the best.
“I missed you,” Matt says at length, “every day for a long time.”
“You never called,” she responds but even as she says it she knows why.
“We didn’t exactly leave the door open, did we?”
Its best we don’t. That way only to heartbreak lies.
They continue to make small talk for a while. Both had agreed to Steven’s invitation to film the fifty-fifth anniversary special, for old time’s sake and because they adore the show runner so much, owe him a great deal. There is a lot of Press speculation and rumour about the episode. The triumphant return of Eleven and River Song.
When approached four months ago by Steven himself, Alex had decided that enough water had passed under the bridge; enough time had elapsed for them to film together again. She was certain that the emotional ‘complications’ that plagued them years ago had long since faded away. They could be professional colleagues now. Nothing more. It would be easy. It would be fun.
But already the past is sliding between them like an unwanted third party on a date and they both realise that this reunion is going to be so much harder than either of them had expected.
They walk for a bit and sit on a bench, continuing to make small talk. They reminisce about old times; ask after people they have in common. Matt asks after Salome, now almost eighteen and driving about LA worrying her mother to distraction and talking about going to Drama School. Alex is unsure she wants her daughter in that world but feels like a hypocrite for saying so. They talk about everything except the one thing that hangs between them still.
Ultimately the small talk gives way to an awkward silence and eventually Matt can’t help himself. He has to know. Has to ask.
“Did you ever think about it?” he blurts out, his need to know overriding his need not to know the answer.
“Did I ever think about what?” she replies, twisting her scarf nervously in her hands, knowing full well what he means.
Kissing you. Wanting you. Adoring you. Loving you.
“Crossing that line,” he says softly, “the line we drew so carefully and so clearly. Did you ever think about crossing it?”
“Of course I did. Every time,” she whispers, nodding.
Every time I saw you. Every time we worked together.
“Then why didn’t you let us?” he implores, after another long pause.
“Because we agreed,” Alex says simply, “and you know what happened when you tried.”
Then they are both lost for a moment-remembering…
A stretch of sand by a lake in Utah. Alex sitting comfortably on a case that at some point had contained a piece of filming equipment. Dusk had come and gone- the last embers of a funeral pyre lighting the night. Suddenly he was there beside her.
“You don’t need to look so sad,” he joked, “the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”
She laughed but the tears were still there. He knocked her shoulder gently with his own.
“What’s the matter, Alex?” he asked.
“It’s so overwhelmingly beautiful,” she said, regarding the lake and the view around them, “But that’s not why I’m sad. I started to get all melancholy and then I started to think about my life; what a bloody mess I’ve made of everything. Rubbish wife. Rubbish mother.”
“Stop that. Stop it right now,” he said almost angrily, “It’s simply not true, so stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get up and keep moving. It’s what we all do. Every day.”
“Easier said than done, darling,” she smiled through her tears even as his arm curled around her shoulders, warm and strong and it would be so easy, so easy to turn her face to his. To start something they would never be able to stop. It would escalate to an almost certainly devastating conclusion. She was vulnerable right now, laid bare. She couldn’t do this to him or to herself.
He was still gazing at her as the conflicting emotions played across her face.
“There’s a line we can’t ever cross,” she said meaningfully, letting the weight and understanding of the statement wash over him.
“I know,” he replied at length, then smirked, “but you can’t blame a man for trying.”
She had laughed then, a genuine, throaty laugh, “You are so naughty, you are.” And with that Matt saw the mask had fallen back into place. The actress was back in the room.
She had stood, hauling him to his feet saying, “Come on then Matt, you can buy me a drink; help me drown my sorrows.”
They had gone drinking that night with cast and crew and although they had been in the same room, Alex had ensured a respectable distance was kept between them, for the rest of the evening.
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A set in a studio. A pyramid and a wedding. She felt uncharacteristically nervous. The last couple of onscreen kisses had seen her taking the lead; she had been in control- well, River had been anyway. This time it would be all Matt and it unnerved her.
When it was over, she had blurted out, ‘I could just kiss you all night,’ out of a ridiculous nervousness and a need to diffuse the emotional intensity of the scene. He had replied, ‘and I you Miss Kingston,’ and it had suddenly been all too warm in the studio; he was too near.
She had fled as soon as she could and he had followed a short while later, knocking on her trailer door.
She had allowed him entry with a reluctant sigh.
“We need to talk about this,” he said.
She sat nervously and fidgeted with the hem of the black suit jacket she wore.
“There’s nothing to talk about. It was an intense scene. We were letting art bleed into life. But we’re professionals. There’s a line we don’t cross.”
Matt rounded on her angrily, “Do you really think it’s just our characters influencing this- thing- between us because I think that’s bollocks, Alex. It’s an excuse to be afraid and alone.”
He knew as soon as he’d said it that he’d hit a raw nerve but his emotions were too exposed. He couldn’t stop now.
“Don’t,” she snapped, standing and advancing on him a little, “Don’t speak to me about afraid and alone. Don’t you even presume to know anything about my pain. I’m an actress. This is a role and I will walk away from it one day, just like any other role. What makes you think you’re special?”
She could see the hurt burning in his eyes but she needed him to understand and she was hurting too. So she went on;
“There’s a line. We drew it as professionals. And we don’t cross it. Not ever. One day when you’re older you’ll understand.”
His anger burst forth then, “Oh, how did I know you’d play the age card at some point. You seem to think that I give a damn about that and I don’t. I just don’t. When I’m with you all I see is you- not your age- not bloody River Song. I see you. And your pain; your fear. And all I want to do is make it go away.”
“That’s enough Matt,” she spat a warning, “I have rules and I don’t break them. Not for you. Not for anyone.”
“Not even for someone who loves you?”
She had been completely lost. His statement hanging in the air between them like smoke; heavy and dulling. He looked at her; her vulnerability; her soul laid before him; the hint of something in her eyes- and he hoped with all his heart that this was their moment. That she would understand and love him back and everything he had ever wanted would be his.
“Get out!” she cried and he recoiled like he’d been slapped.
“Get out of my trailer and never, never say such a ridiculous thing to me again. You’re a child, Matt- go away and grow up- this is real life not a sodding romantic comedy. I don’t fall, fawning into your waiting arms. We don’t ride off into the sunset on a white horse.”
He stood, lost, in the middle of the floor, unable to move or understand.
“Get out!” she screamed again and he ran, slamming the trailer door behind him, tears clouding his eyes.
They didn’t speak or communicate in any way until she returned to the role of River almost a year later and she filmed her last two episodes, telling Steven her time had come- she was too old and too tired to keep playing River Song.
She and Matt barely spoke throughout the filming of those episodes but professionals that they were, none of their tension bled into their performances.
The crew threw her a party to say goodbye but she left early for LA and sent her apologies along with bottles of champagne as parting gifts; the same message on every card:
‘River Song has left the Library. River Song has been saved. Thank you for the spoilers, sweeties. AK.’
Matt thought he would never recover. Never get over her and in a way he never had. He could never make any relationship work after that. He ended up hurting girls because he couldn’t love them with his whole heart and they knew. They always knew he held something of himself back. It hurt him to hurt them, so eventually he stopped trying. He tried instead to work out the best way to get through each day of grieving; the best way to get over her…
They smile sadly at one another, sitting on the bench on a tiny patch of grass and then they stand and head into the rehearsal room. The hustle and bustle of familiar voices filling their hearts with so many fond memories. Matt just stares at Alex for a long time and sees her professional façade fall neatly into place. He knows this face better than any she wears and it is almost unbearable. He finally says, “It’s been good to see you again, Alex. I’m looking forward to working with you. Just like old times.”
He walks over to join the rest of the crew and she stands immobile, whispering, “Just like old times.”
Don’t go. Come back. Don’t leave me.
A sudden thought occurs to her. Here, in this place she knows so well and feels so comfortable in, she has been handed a second chance. This time despite the five long, lonely years that have passed, she has the opportunity to make things right. She has to tell him. He has to know…
She calls out to him as he moves away, “Matt?”
“Yeah?” Ask me to stay. Tell me not to go.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know, love. I know. So am I”
And with that he is gone.
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DAY ONE OF FILMING
She is studying her script. So absorbed she does not notice him staring unashamedly at the tilt of her head, the soft curve of her neck, her adorable habit of biting on her lower lip as her forehead creases in concentration. He remembers everything about her. Everything he loved. Everything he loves still.
He’s been watching her for a long time now and she finally looks up, catching his eye and smiling a little nervously as he is forced to look away, shaking his head slightly.
He sometimes wishes she wouldn’t feel his eyes on her, wouldn’t shoot him those sympathetic smiles. He has always loved to look at her when she thinks no one is. It is like he catches the purity of her, the essence.
But somehow, in the second it takes for her to look up, the honesty and truth of her expression is lost and the actress reappears. He wishes she would show him the real her again and not just the façade she presents to the world. He longs to see something real in her eyes, not just artificial playfulness or worse; sympathy for him.
He saw it once, the truth, for just a moment and it haunts him still.
Whilst lost in thought, she has approached the seat he sits in.
“Are you ok?” she questions, quirking a brow at him as he stands meeting her gaze.
“Yeah, m’ fine,” he answers, but it is clear from his tone that he is anything but.
She returns to her script, “It’s a big complicated scene,” she says, “there’s so much at stake for both of them, don’t you agree?”
“Yeah,” he responds and feels instantly like he’s the village idiot. Nothing of any great importance to add to her observations.
He looks thoughtful for a moment then adds, “I think though, that she has more to lose than him at this moment. That must frighten her quite a bit.”
“She’s strong. Doesn’t frighten easily. And he has quite a bit at stake too,” she answers, but risks meeting his eyes for the first time since their conversation began.
“She’s not really as strong as she pretends to be,” he replies holding her gaze steadily as he lets his words sink in.
“You must know her well,” she smiles sadly and folds up her script, walking away.
He feels the loss of her instantly, as he sighs deeply.
It’s lost on neither of them that their conversation has had nothing to do with the characters they play and everything to do with them. But is there even a them after five years?
Matt feels the tug; the pull towards her still. He wonders what she feels.
I still want you. Don’t walk away. Talk to me. Please.
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DAY FIVE OF FILMING
He watches her wander over to the tea trolley as she begins ‘the ritual’ -as he thinks of it- of her tea making. She seeks out Earl Grey-bag in first then sugar, then a dash of milk. Then the hot water and a quick stir. She leaves it to steep and searches the trolley for a sweet biscuit- just one-usually shortbread but occasionally a cream. She selects carefully and nibbles off one corner before returning to her tea, dunking the bag precisely three more times, stirring vigorously once again and depositing the bag in the nearest bin. She sips, sighs and leans against the closest wall awaiting the power of the tea to revive her.
He doesn’t have to watch the ritual to know it intimately. He’s seen her perform it so many times he could recall it in his sleep. It’s one of the things he loved most about her. The rituals. She had many, but tea making was and is one of his favourites.
One of his least favourites was the ritual of withdrawal. That was where, he felt he’d been making some headway with her, breaking down some of the protective barriers she had long ago created against him, against others. Suddenly and for no apparent reason she would close up again, move away, make a joke or flirt and toss her mane of curls and she would be lost to him once more. The actress returned.
These past few days, he reflects, since their quite remarkably frank reunion chat before the read through, she has rarely allowed herself to be alone with him for more than a few minutes. He blames himself for that. That last argument between them playing over and over in his mind; causing him sleepless nights filled with memories of her. He destroyed their friendship. He shouldn’t have pushed her all those years ago. He shouldn’t have told her-but how could he not?
How could he have allowed himself to go through life having never said the words; having never seen his feelings reflected, however briefly, in her eyes? Sometimes he thinks it was worth it to see the façade stripped away for that one glorious moment of truth.
Before the anger. That awful, numbing anger. The anger he brought upon himself by being such a pillock.
Most times, even now, he just feels her loss intensely, along with a sense of his own stupidity. He feels more alone in this studio than he has ever been and yet there are so many people here who care for him, pamper him, pander to his every wish and whim.
But none of them are her and they will never be enough to fill the void she left in his heart.
He risks glancing her way, only to meet her gaze and see her quickly look away. He wonders fleetingly if she stares at him when he’s not looking, in the same way he stares at her. He’d like to think she does. It warms him a little.
Alex’s breath catches as his eyes meet hers. She’s been studying him for some time; trying to work out how to get him alone. Trying to think what to say. Has it been too long? Is he with someone else? Does he hate her for the way she spoke; for what she did all those years ago?
And yet, when they had spoken before the read-through it was as if no time has passed at all. Matt was still the same clumsy, adorable man-child he had always been, and at thirty-five her fifty- five didn’t feel quite so wrong anymore.
They say you can’t go home again, but you could build a new home-couldn’t you?
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DAY TEN OF FILMING
Alex wanders over to him and he is surprised when she simply lays a hand on his arm, leading him, guiding them around a piece of scenery to a small, relatively private area just off the set. He says nothing, unsure what to say, unsure why she is here with him.
It must show on his face because she speaks first, inquiring in a low voice, “Penny for your thoughts?”
“You’d need more than a penny, love. These are some very complicated thoughts right now.”
“I’m independently wealthy,” comes her immediate response and his heart quickens, a feeling he hasn’t dared to feel in a very, very long time trying to bubble back to the surface as he tries just as quickly to push it aside. Is she flirting with him?
“Would it surprise you to know I was thinking of you,” he responds, lifting a hand to brush an errant curl from her face.
She steps back from his intimate touch but doesn’t recoil, “Not surprised,” she replies, “just concerned.”
“Well, you don’t need to concern yourself with me though do you? You made that abundantly clear five years ago.” It comes out far more bitter than he’d intended and he clears his throat offering an apology.
“I’m sorry. I’ve no right to speak to you that way, when you’ve been perfectly civil with me.”
“And abundantly clear, apparently,” she smiles ruefully. A Pause.
“Pity it’s all been lies,” she adds quietly, risking a glance at him.
She sees the look of utter shock that passes over his face before he reigns in his emotions, and asks, in as even and neutral a tone as he can manage, “What do you mean, it’s all been lies?”
“I’ve been lying to you for the past five years and worse still I’ve been lying to myself,” she sighs, leaning against the nearest wall.
He can only ask again, “What do you mean?”
He doesn’t look at her, daren’t hope, can’t even fathom going through her rejection again because last time it felt like she almost killed him and he’s never really been quite whole since then.
She tries again to find the words she needs, “Last time we were here; on this very set, you ambushed me and I wasn’t expecting that. I mean we’d always enjoyed a close working relationship and I valued your friendship… and we’d agreed. I mean I thought we’d agreed not to cross…”
His legs no longer seem able to support him and he slumps into a nearby chair. She follows his lead and sits opposite him, concern flaring in her eyes as he considers that this is probably the longest they have been alone together like this in years. He also thinks he never wants her to go. Never wants her to leave him. It feels like ice water is flowing through his veins, even as heat suffuses his skin.
Talk to me.
When he can bring himself to look up again, her eyes are wet with tears and he can see she is trying to tell him something.
“Tell me,” he chokes out, afraid and uncertain; his own eyes growing damp.
She continues at last, “Five years ago, y-you frightened me. The last thing in the world I was expecting from you was a declaration of love. How could that even have worked? My age, my location my,”-
He cuts her off with, “Yes- you made your reasons very clear to me five years ago. We really don’t need to go back over them again, do we?”
“I – it’s just, oh God, I’m doing this so badly. It all sounded so much clearer and easier in my head. But in my head you weren’t responding so…” she fixes him with a stare and he cannot look away. Cannot breathe.
She is unutterably beautiful and, he realises with surprise, utterly vulnerable. He has never seen her as vulnerable before. All her guards are down. She is here, present with him in this moment. No pretence, no act. What passes between them here and now, is as honest as he’s ever going to get and he can’t bear it. But oh, how he wants it too.
“Alex, what are you trying to tell me? Because if this is another goodbye I don’t want any part of it.” He clutches at her hands, holding them tightly in his own. Only a stagehand passing by causes him to drop them, edging his chair backwards to return the professional distance between them. He risks looking at her again, sighing as he expects to see the mask firmly back in place once more-but it’s not there. She still looks lost, uncertain. She is shaking a bit; her trembling obvious through the ends of her untamed curls.
“You must hate me,” she states simply and the pain burning in her eyes tells him she really thinks that. Really believes it.
He reaches out once more, this time taking one of her hands in both of his and squeezing gently as he replies, “I told you I loved you five years ago. What makes you think anything you’ve said or done since then has in any way changed the way I feel about you?”
“I ran,” she sobs out, “I gave you a million excuses. I shouted and I ranted and I tried to push you away. I lied. And I ran.”
He can scarcely believe his own ears, ‘I lied’ echoes over and over again. He is hardly breathing as he asks again, “Lied about what? Alex? This is important. Lied about what?”
“About how I felt,” she whispers and she cannot meet his eyes staring instead at his long fingers wrapped warmly around her freezing, shaking hand, “I felt the same, but I was so afraid, so shocked so stu-”
She doesn’t get to finish that sentence, he hopes she never will. His hands cup her face, drawing her forward until his lips are pressed to hers, his hands attempting to pull her closer, to never let her go. She kisses back, uncertainty mingling with desire. He senses her conflict and pulls back fixing her with a look of such intensity she forgets how to breathe.
“I’m going to kiss you again now Alex,” he says, “and I don’t want you to run anymore. I want you to let me love you. I want us to try and make this work and I don’t care about our ages and I don’t care that you’re afraid because frankly, I’m shitting myself right now.”
She laughs and it is the most wonderful sound he has ever heard. She leans into him this time and her mouth is soft and warm and inviting and full of promise. Eventually he pulls back, breathless, thumbs grazing her cheeks.
“Alex, I want us to try. Please say you will.”
He moves closer again as she breathes, “I will, darling. I will. As long as you can forgive me.”
They hear a sound and break quickly apart as two stage crew round the corner that has been shielding them from view, dragging a massive alien prop towards the set. Matt and Alex gaze shyly at one another, then break into matching grins, then begin to laugh. The tension ebbing from them both. ‘This is what happiness feels like’, Matt thinks and grins ridiculously at her, saying, “Of course I forgive you.”
Alex fixes him with a serious look and says nervously, “Matt, we need to take this slow. It’s been five years and we’re bound to have changed.”
“Ok,” he agrees readily, even as he presses a quick hard kiss to her lips. She gasps as he says, “I had to. Come on- those lips. I’m only scared if I start again I might never stop.”
‘Oh, lord I hope so,’ she thinks as they head hand in hand back to set.
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POST DAY TEN OF FILMING
The knock on her hotel room door that night startles her but is not wholly unexpected.
“What part of we need to take this slow, did you not understand,” she smiles.
He looks gorgeous, pale blue shirt, casual black jeans.
She stands aside to allow him in and moves through her suite towards the kitchen, “Would you like a drink or something?” she asks.
“Or something,” he responds, his voice thick with emotion; his eyes dark. She turns towards him.
They stand at either end of the room and just stare. Long seconds tick by; the only sounds their breathing and the ticking of a clock.
It is too much- unbearable. He advances on her rapidly, grabbing her by the hips and slamming her against the nearest wall, burying his hands in her hair as she grapples with his shirt, giving up on undoing it and tearing it open, the sound of buttons peppering the floor, making her giggle nervously and blush.
That is very soon forgotten as his mouth devours hers and she pushes her palms against his chest, before fisting her hands around the ends of his shirt and spinning him; thrusting him against the wall and pressing herself against him, pulling at his hair until it is painful.
She feels like she would willingly crawl inside his skin if she could. Every thwarted hope, every moment of longing; every filthy fantasy and desire have contracted into this moment. This tiny point in time; so inconsequential and yet so powerful; so loaded with possibility.
She bites at his bare chest even as she drags the shirt from his arms and he yelps as her teeth rake against him, then moans as her tongue soothes.
He pushes her top up past her lacy black bra and he squeezes her breasts, feeling their perfect size and weight in his hands. Years of wondering had not prepared him for the perfection that is her. He lowers his mouth to the lace and bites at her nipples, already straining against the fabric, aching to be freed. She keens and arches towards him and he throws his head back banging it against the wall as he spins her thrusting her forwards against it, her palms beside her head. He hikes up the skirt she wears. One hand grips her tightly around the waist as the other moves lower.
He seeks to pull her knickers aside and slide a long finger into her perfect wetness. She pushes back against him; his growing erection brushing her arse and she pushes back again, even as he slips a second finger inside her. She writhes against him, undulating her hips and causing unbelievably powerful waves of sensation through his whole body. He shivers, he trembles, he fucks her with his fingers; her mewling, keening sounds driving him crazy.
He teases her wet folds with a third finger and finally pushes his thumb against her throbbing clit, rubbing maddeningly gentle circles around it as the hand holding her waist moves higher to cup her breasts. He bites at her shoulders through the top she still wears, hiked up around her neck. He kisses the back of her neck and she turns her face to meet his mouth in a wet, sloppy kiss. It is sublime.
He presses his thumb harder against her tiny bundle of nerves and her legs quake and twitch as she feels the building, burning perfection of orgasm. It gathers, draws tight; she pants and clenches against his fingers; she’s so close; so close and she realises she is moaning this over and over; his fingers continuing their torture until she feels the final tightening; the burning wanting and the release; her climax crashing over her in wave upon wave of unbearable pleasure. Her legs give way and she slides down the wall collapsing into his lap, into his waiting arms.
“I’m not done with you, yet,” he pants in her ear and she reaches behind her to squeeze and release the not disappointing bulge in his trousers. He groans and pulls her around to face him, pushing her onto the hall carpet and kissing her furiously, his tongue thrusting against hers even as his hips start to do the same.
“Going. To get. Carpet burn,” she laughs, thinking fleetingly that she feels about sixteen not fifty-five. He makes her feel young and desired. So desired. So desirable.
He drags her shakily to her feet, moving with her to the bedroom of her suite. It takes them a long time to get there, discarding clothing as they go, leaving a trail of garments all the way, until she stands before him in just her bra and knickers, all black and lacy. He in navy boxers, clearly straining under the weight of his desire. She breaks from him, kneeling on the bed, looking for all the world like a Playboy model twenty years younger than she is.
“Take off your bra,” he commands, eyes almost black with wanting.
“Make me,” she teases.
He considers for less than a second before he pounces upon her dragging the bra straps down her arms and pulling her breasts free of the cups. His mouth descends to the hard aching peaks at once and he pulls and rubs and rolls them using teeth and fingers and she feels the build of orgasm again from his touch on her breasts alone. How can he do this? Has it really been that long?
He shocks her by suddenly throwing her onto her back and dragging her knickers down her legs; her bra now more like a belt round her waist and she struggles to turn it and unhook it and finally, gloriously, she is naked.
He stops his frantic assault and pauses; takes her in. She is covered in a thin, glowing sheen of sweat, her eyes wild and unfocused, yellow and green and blue all at the same time. She is panting, unable to still her body, her need for release building by the second.
“God. Please. Matt,” she begs, “Please. Just- Please, please.’
She shocks him by running her own palms over her breasts, letting her fingers trail downwards over her stomach before they slip through her curls and she touches herself, writhing against the onslaught of her own fingers, moaning softly as he simply watches her pleasure herself.
“Go on, love,” he encourages, lightly stroking his cock through his boxers, “Come for me. Show me what you like.”
She doesn’t need much more than this and screams her release as he speaks to her of love and sex and the future; bucking up against her own fingers and twisting on the bed as she wrings every drop of pleasure from her body. She keeps her eyes fixed on him throughout and it feels dirty and intimate and sexier than anything she’s ever done with any man. Ever.
She watches as he steps out of his boxers, his erection springing free.
‘Oh, wow,’ she thinks, ‘majestic didn’t quite do it justice.’
Matt climbs onto the bed and she expects a continuation of the rough, frantic fucking that has punctuated their session of lovemaking thus far, but he surprises her, kissing a slow line from her throat to her stomach, down the cleft between her breasts, her hands gently stroking though his soft, silky hair as his stroke her skin, feeling it break into goose bumps at his feather light touch. He moves over her, kissing her mouth in a slow, sensuous rhythm, his tongue pressing against hers but not battling. He sucks gently on her bottom lip and she feels it all the way to her core.
He palms her breasts, licking them lightly and flicking his tongue over her nipples, kissing her navel, swirling his tongue there and then his kisses move lower and he parts her thighs, pressing his tongue against her sex, kissing her other lips as gently as he kissed her mouth. She cries out and feels the need to fly off the bed and grind herself against him. He repeats the action and she mewls, dragging him up her body by the hair and panting out, “Matt, I want you inside me. I’ve waited long enough and so have you.”
She strokes his hard length again, feeling the beads of moisture that seep from the tip as he groans against her mouth; kissing her passionately once more.
She surprises even herself as she says, in the filthiest, most erotic voice she possesses, “Get inside me. Now.”
“Do we need-?”
“Hurry. Now.”
And with that he makes her laugh and pant in frustration as he rushes from the room to locate his trousers, fumbling adorably with his wallet and finally, locating a condom. His hands shake so much she takes it from him, rolling it over his length as he twitches and jumps against her hand.
He finally hovers over her for long agonising seconds before he begins to ease inside her, one inch at a time. She feels her body stretch and open for him and suddenly she thrusts upwards as he pushes down and with a scream, he is buried inside her.
Concern floods his features as he brushes curls from her forehead, “Did I hurt you?” he asks. “I never want to hurt you.”
She shifts against him; the ripple of glorious sensation almost his undoing, “It hurt,” she says, “but it was a good hurt. I promise. Now move my love, move.”
He feels a wave of utter bliss at her words, ‘my love,’ and indeed that is what they are now and forever more; lovers.
He moves, withdrawing ever so slightly before thrusting again. Each stroke becomes easier, slicker with her juices and soon he is moving forcefully against her, her meeting his thrusts with pants and groans and frantically raised hips.
She feels the familiar tightening ache again and cannot believe that he will bring her over the edge a third time. He is close too, his cries becoming more erratic; his breathing more laboured. Suddenly he adds a twist to his hips as he thrusts against her causing her clit to be abruptly pressed against him and she rushes towards orgasm; crashing over the brink as he cries out; pulsing and throbbing inside her fluttering, clenching flesh.
She thinks she might have passed out for a few seconds and he is already withdrawing, disposing of the condom and growing heavy lidded with the need for sleep when she comes fully to. She curls against him and feels his warm hands stroking along her back.
“That,” he says at last, “was glorious.”
“Promise me we won’t be waiting five years to do that again,” she drawls into his ear, even as she sucks on his earlobe, causing him to squirm and grip at her hips.
“Keep that up and we won’t be waiting five minutes,” he pants back at her.
She runs her hand along his length; soft, warm yet twitching already in her hand.
“Who’s a clever boy then?” she purrs.
“Not a boy, love, not anymore.”
She continues to stroke him gently as her eyes close, “No, not anymore.”
And all too soon, they fall asleep.
xxxxxxxxxx
Hours later, they lie in sweat tangled sheets, arms and legs jutting out at all sorts of odd angles, as they curl around each other.
Soft curls tickle at Matt’s chest as Alex struggles to find the energy to move, so she can sit up a little and meet his gaze.
Finally they are eye to eye.
“Why did we wait so long?” she asks in awe, and he laughs as he replies.
“Because you’re daft and I gave up too easily.”
“There’s a lot to work out,” she begins seriously and he shushes her as he presses a long finger to her lips.
“One day, one detail at a time, love. We’ll make it work, I know we will. It’s not as if we’re rushing into this.”
She opens her lips, drawing his finger into her mouth as she watches his eyes glaze with desire once more.
“Are we crossing that line again?” he asks hopefully.
“Oh, my love,” she laughs, rolling over on top of him, “we’re obliterating it.”