ultraviolents | inbox | in the night.

[ his hand traces over her body, mapping over her face and neck before traveling over her arms and chest. her eyes close as she lets him say his piece, suppressing a shiver as his fingers trace over her collarbone. it finally lands on her cheek and she removes her own hand from his face to cover his, eyes opening to look into his. ]

I want that, too. [ it's all she's wanted, since they'd gotten here and before dying. she won't bring up a promise he doesn't remember making, but it echoes in her head all the same. ] However we can make it work, I want to try.

( he could spend a lifetime mapping her body under his fingertips and still never be satisfied. for the interest of time, he sticks to the places he remembers most vividly. the strong muscles in her upper arms, the cords in her throat. the beautiful tilt of cheekbones and the corner of her mouth that tends to lift especially when she smirks at him. he runs the pad of his thumb under her eye, hand lingering at her face and at least momentarily idled of its wandering. the hand she curves around his helps to still him, too.

the smile he gives her this time is a little less heartbreaking. he's slowly thawing to the moment, despite the misery that prompted it. ) Then we'll try. ( it's what both of them want, and now that they've both admitted it, there's no reason to shy from the fact or pretend otherwise. he nuzzles toward her for a moment, like a needy cat demanding affection, before kissing her. no more heated than the last time — Matt just enjoys that he can. )

[ she returns his smile with a similar one, one filled with tentative hope and affection, and she nods against his throat, her head dipping forward to nuzzle in return and breathe in his scent. her heart beats faster and heat floods her skin beneath where his hands still lie on her body. ]

Okay.

[ he kisses her then, tipping her face towards his to do it, and she returns it eagerly but with no less reverence and softness. it doesn't need to lead anywhere but where it is (although she wouldn't mind that), she's content just to be with him like this. ]

( it’s almost hard to accept this moment is real. to be fair the past week they’ve been haunted by incredibly creative hallucinations. Matt hasn’t mentioned it but truly the hardest hallucination for him to shake hadn’t been Foggy, or Karen, or his father. it’d been his ugly thoughts wearing her voice in a luxurious purr. trying to convince him she’d never loved him, mocking him for falling for it twice. it’d been incredibly difficult to shake that voice, not to believe the hateful whispers — because they’d been ones he’d told himself for years.

he’d honestly been reeling from it a bit, before she stumbled her way to his door terrified she was bleeding to death. reality had done plenty to shake him of the hallucinations.

if he is hallucinating, well, this is about the only hallucination Matt is happy to indulge in. for a long few moments he just enjoys kissing her, while he lets his hands stroke at her sides, reliving the taste of her mouth. he doesn’t pull back far to talk, just lingering a breath away. )

I missed this. ( holding her. touching her. kissing her. it’s a little depressing he’s been missing her for years, and despite plenty of opportunity it’d taken him months to convince himself to allow closeness again. )

[ he still hadn't told her what he'd seen or heard. it would break her heart to know he was hearing her, make her supremely grateful that she hadn't heard him. it'll occur to her later that he hadn't told her what he'd been hearing, too wrapped up in tending to her and her own poisoned mind, and she'll ask him about it. maybe it's selfish not to do that now, but she doesn't want to. she wants this moment to remain uninterrupted for as long as it possibly can. ]

So did I. [ it's muttered a little breathlessly against his mouth, following his own confession, and her hands run back and forth over the broad expanse of his shoulders, heartbeat thudding steadily inches away from his own. they've touched since arriving, since her confessions of everything that had happened in the years since she'd left him and the time when she'd come back. they'd sparred, tended to each other, huddled close for warmth, but this is something different, an intimacy she's longed for, one she'd only ever found with him. ]

( considering the shattering revelation of exactly how much she'd hidden from him the first time around, perhaps it's not a surprise that they've build so much on honesty between them now. if Elektra asked about his hallucinations, he'd tell her. perhaps not easily or in much detail, considering things between them are old and new all at once. but he'd tell her, even though it'd be uncomfortable. he doesn't blame her for never asking — she'd been suffering with her own in far more depth and complexity. it was hard for her to leave her own torture to worry about his.

she's right, that this is very unlike the touches they'd allowed themselves before. there'd been some underlaying tension to it, the itch for more and the refusal to entertain it. especially sparring, why on earth had he ever thought that was a good idea? pressing her against the mat (or having her lay him flat and climbing on top of him to pin him there, victorious) only sparked memories of a time when sparring together had usually ended in sex. and sometimes quite abruptly.

the rest had been a different kind of closeness, maybe a closeness they hadn't had much of a chance to indulge in before disaster — they'd been high on life and each other, both, there hadn't been many wounds to care after that they hadn't made themselves. no emotional or mental torment that they needed to escape. they'd truthfully leaned on each other more in Beacon than they had in their wild past... apparently it'd been a part of their relationship after her return, he just doesn't remember the intricacies of it. he knows them now, because for all Elektra tried to hide her feelings, she'd never managed to hide when she was concerned about him. she fell back into tracks that were familiar for her, ones he couldn't remember, though he certainly connects with it now.

it makes the simple kisses feel a little deeper, truth be told. )

I don't want to miss you anymore. ( it's part of what spurred him to press in the first place, when arguably it was wiser and safer to keep pretending. he leans back a little, a slight frown playing at his face as he stares at her with empty eyes. he hates his blindness most in moments like this. ) What you're feeling, what you're thinking... you don't have to hold it back. I want to know.

[ he stares at her with such open, naked vulnerability, and she freezes, her heart pounding a little faster, echoing in her throat. he's being open with her in ways she knows he's been avoiding to protect himself, and she's been holding back to protect herself. she'd told him the facts of everything, but the facts hardly cover everything. they certainly don't cover how she's been feeling.

she falters a little, eyes canting to the side, landing on his shoulder. she anchors herself to him, hands bracing on them. she doesn't know if she wants to do this, but it doesn't feel fair not to. ]

I - [ she forces herself to look back at him, drawing in a breath before continuing. ] - I didn't think you'd want me. You moved on, back home. I thought you'd want to here, too.

( you moved on. he frowns, even as his thumb traces idle easy patterns on her thigh. as far as Matt remembers, he's moved on in that he'd finished his degree, started a practice with Foggy, built a life for himself without her — he doesn't remember being with Karen. not that he'd be particularly surprised, he was attracted desperately to how Karen perceived him, and it was easy to be endeared to someone so adamant about caring about and protecting others. he's had lovers since Elektra, though all rather short lived. never anyone he'd trust enough to admit the darker parts of his life. the only one who had even known about it decided caring about him that deeply was too dangerous because of it.

it takes him a bit to answer. he'd just asked for openness, he needs to offer the same as what he's asking for. it's not easy, when he's so practiced in caging his emotions and his thoughts in his head until they more or less implode. that doesn't mean he's not determined to try. )

When you left. I was convinced you'd come back. Maybe in a week, or a few months, a year... I was so sure. ( it's hard to think back to that time, when he'd nearly flunked out of all his classes, where his entire life was in desperate shambles. on one hand he was deliriously angry with her, trying to force his hand towards something she knew he'd never agree to. for disappearing in the first place. and the other was sure, dementedly certain, that since she loved him and they were two sides of one coin, two halves to one whole... that sooner, or later, she'd be back. ) I kept waiting, but you never did. You knew where I was, you knew how to find me, you just... didn't.

( it's like opening those old wounds to talk about it, and he's sure it won't be particularly enjoyable for her to hear. it's not exactly delightful for him, either. he can hear the fearful flutter in her heartbeat — whether it's the rawness of the question or fear for the answer, he's not sure. )

At some point I decided that you weren't going to. I couldn't live half a life waiting for someone that was never going to come back. ( he curls his hand around one of hers, braced against his chest. the words might sting, but he hopes to temper them with touch. ) But it was like living half a life. Nobody's ever known me like you. Either I couldn't tell them, or... or they didn't want to know. ( the angry rejection of his best friend still stings, no matter how deserved. Matt realizes he's a terrible person and the constant lies are a horrible strain on a relationship if they are to ever unravel... but in the end Foggy's reaction has more or less assured what Matt always assumed. that there are just parts of him, the angry, ugly, dark parts, that nobody would accept.

nobody except the woman that had disappeared like a breath in the wind. )

[ he brings up that she hadn't come back, that he'd thought she would, how much it had hurt him when she didn't, and she has to look away for a second, face canting down towards his chest. he might notice that her eyes are filling a little with tears she refuses to let fall. ]

He would have made me keep trying. [ stick, that is, and she looks back up into his face, her voice a little clearer as she starts to relay why she hadn't returned, even though she'd wanted to. ] He kept wanting to send me back to you, but I didn't - I didn't want to succeed in what I'd been assigned to do.

[ she'd seen what even the idea of killing the man who'd murdered his father had done to him, how it would have shattered him. she hadn't wanted to do that to him. ]

And when I - when you were attacked. [ he should know what she's referring to, when she'd killed that would-be assassin, quickly and without mercy. ] You were horrified at me. Scared of me.

[ and maybe things had changed between then and their fight on the rooftop, but that memory and the hurt associated with it hadn't disappeared. ]

( for what it is worth, he's not saying it to upset her. he's not trying to weaponize it, he doesn't really want to hurt her with what she can't change. uncomfortable as it is, it's a part of them now. better to admit it, as ugly as it is, than to hide it. she looks down and he watches her with quiet empty eyes, his thumb running light circles on the inside of her wrist. a note of comfort, for both of them really.

he could protest, insist that if she loved him she could have come anyway, it didn't matter what an old man demanded. in reality, he knows it is not that simple. he's been in the same thrall in the past, even as an adult. as a child he had far less defenses to the demands Stick had placed on him — giving a shit about the old bastard had apparently saved him from being drawn into the madness further. Elektra had never been so lucky. she hadn't seen an option to refuse, he doesn't have to ask her to know. maybe in hindsight she could, though what good could hindsight do them now? it wouldn't change anything but guilt her for things she couldn't change.

he does know what she means, though obviously he can't remember his reaction to it. Elektra mentioned him asking her to leave, though he'd never thought much of it. it sounded like a believable, reasonable reaction. he surely can't remember being dazed and horrified at the blood splayed over both of them, or hear the echoing heartbeat of a teenager slowly fading away next to him. )

I'll never be afraid of you, Elektra. ( and he means that. to be scared of her implies he has some fear that she'll hurt him — physically, anyway. and Matt has never been afraid of that, despite how visceral they both could be during sparring. he's never been afraid Elektra would truly harm him, it's usually his heart that ends up in danger when Elektra is involved. a bruise here or there doesn't matter to him.

that said, he can't discredit her entirely. he knows himself well enough that he can guess how he'd felt, why he'd reacted the way he did. ) I can't tell you I'm not horrified by the lengths you're capable of, but that doesn't mean I can't love you despite it. ( it's certainly not going to make things between them easy, Matt will simply never be okay with killing someone, especially needlessly. that said... ) You said you didn't want to succeed, to push me that far. Don't you think that means something, Elektra? If killing is meaningless, then why would it matter?

( he pauses, measuring what he wants to say. Matt is always thoughtful about what he says, and this conversation especially needs to be spoken well. )

Stick wanted both of us to fight and to kill for his war. You wanted to protect me from that, but there was no one to protect you. ( he'd been coercing her from the second he found her. to be a weapon, to follow his orders, to do as he demanded and to never question it. he convinced her to believe exactly what he wanted, that casualties were just a part of war. Matt doesn't buy that she delights in killing — however, he does buy that she was trained and groomed to be exactly as vicious and ruthless as Stick wanted her to be. that isn't her fault, though as someone who loves her, he wants more for her than that. )

[ it's not necessarily that she takes joy in killing as much as the thrill of being alive, having survived something she probably shouldn't have, taking the life of someone who would have gladly taken hers. it makes her feel powerful in a way that should probably feel more frightening and dangerous than it does. she'd lied when she'd told him that she'd taken her first life just to see if she could, but he hadn't detected it. maybe there'd been just enough truth to it to convince him, maybe it had been her convincing herself.

her heart starts beating a little faster when he says he can love her in spite of the lines she's willing to cross, the ones she'd tried to keep him from crossing himself, and she looks into his eyes in spite of knowing he can't look back into hers. this is what she'd feared, when it really came down to it, part of why she hadn't told him about how she's been feeling. she hadn't known if he could return the feelings simply knowing what they'd been through together instead of living through it.

he brings up that there was no one to protect her from stick's influence on her, and she'd known that already, but hearing him confirm it is significant in a way she hadn't expected. he doesn't know the full extent of it - how he'd found her as a child, barely out of infancy, in a village among hundreds of the dead, including her mother. he'd provided her with care and shelter, but had really been grooming her as a warrior for his own selfish needs, for control and for an army. and then had tried to snuff her out once she'd finally walked away. ]

Except for you. [ a tiny smile curves her mouth as one hand comes to frame his face again. ] You were the first one who thought I could be something more.

( no, he doesn't know the full extent. the horrifying full extent, as the case happened to be. it'd only make him more certain, that she'd had little choice and little perspective until it was too late. just like Matt's father had raised him unbearably Irish Catholic, Elektra had been trapped in a situation where the only guide she had was always skewed. Stick had some questionable morality at the best of times, and as far as his war with the Hand it mostly went out the window.

it's a story for another time. despite the fact they're both sad orphans, neither had really detailed it much. Elektra knew about his father and the details of how he died, but little about the years he'd spent in the orphanage. he had fairly little perspective on her life outside of her rich adoptive parents, ones that they'd barely bothered discussing.

he's not sure he'd agree that he's ever protected her. he's felt proof of the fact that he hasn't — Matt doesn't remember and never lived watching her cut down on a rooftop, and yet the proof of her scar under his touch makes it real enough. he hadn't protected her from Stick and he hand't protected her from the Hand. there's probably plenty in Beacon he can't protect her from, either, and it's not a fact he's particularly happy to accept.

the one thing they can agree on, though, is that he wants more for her than to be turned into someone's weapon. he leans toward her touch, and then forward, pressing his forehead against hers. ) You are more. ( he's determined to believe that — he hopes she believes it, too. )

[ he'd been willing to see more in her, even in spite of how they disagreed, even in spite of how she'd left, even in spite of moving on. maybe that's not protection, but in the end, she hadn't really been asking for protection. she'd made a choice that she'd make again, to protect him, to protect herself from being used as a weapon ever again, by the chaste or by the hand.

he knows this, but she's sure he'd have his arguments about whether or not he'd actually done anything for her and she doesn't feel like arguing that he had anymore. she doesn't feel like talking about any of this anymore, she just wants them to allow themselves to enjoy this moment, to really feel it.

her hand moves to the back of his skull, fingertips carding lightly through his hair before she pulls him closer, close enough to kiss. which she does. ]

( he knows. he definitely does still have plenty of arguments. they're all very good, which should be expected. he didn't pay for that columbia education for nothing! still, even Matt doesn't have it in him to argue endlessly. especially in a battle where there's likely no winners. no right, no wrong, just reality that can't be fought or changed, not when it's past already carved into stone. inescapable.

he can't do anything about what happened to her then. honestly there's not terribly much he can do to keep Elektra safe now. perhaps a part of accepting this requires he accept the inevitabilities. he doesn't have to like them, and he isn't ever likely to. still, knowing what can't be changed only seems to push the point that they take advantage of what they have. it won't be easy, and it'll never be perfect. it's still endlessly better than the loneliness both of them know too well. it's a far cry better than wanting more and refusing to let himself, because of the pain that will eventually find them.

it's worth the pain.

her nails hint at her scalp as her fingers pull through his hair. it's longer than he usually keeps it — easier to dishevel, Elektra is like to find. Matt likes the slight pull in his hair as she kisses him again, a little whisper of demand and possession that he has always liked, maybe more than he should. it pulls somewhere deeper, darker, a place words can't reach. not even someone as gifted at words as Matthew Murdock. it makes his response a little more urgent, maybe almost despite himself. Matt likes control, and nobody has ever managed to dissolve his restraint like Elektra. he kisses her back and allows himself to pull her closer. )

[ they both value control and hate giving it up. she'd known that back when things had first started - before they'd started, even, but that ties back into topics that she doesn't want to think about at the moment. his response to her relatively chaste kiss is eager enough for her to push things further, her fingernails biting lightly into his scalp before her hand flattens against the back of his skull, pulling him closer as she deepens the kiss, lips parting and tongue darting out, seeking permission to taste.

her arm slings around his shoulders and she shifts on his lap as she moves closer, pressing in as she pulls forward, eliminating most of the space between them. she's eager but not taking the reins just yet, wanting to make it clear that moving any further physically is up to him. ]

( it's true, he doesn't want to think about their complicated start. honestly he is quickly verging on a path where he doesn't want to think about anything. a rarity for Matt, he spends too much time thinking and often times over thinking. right now, he's falling back to a place where he wants to feel and experience more than he wants to let his thoughts run in circles. carve out paths of blame and guilt that changed nothing and made him miserable. which is not to say he won't do that, at some point. he just doesn't mean to do it now.

Matt hadn't predicted how this conversation would go, though it's safe to say he hadn't expected it to go quite this far. he'd have assumed he didn't want intimacy so soon, while she was still fragile and they were still making sense of each other in a way they hadn't let themselves in years. right now, though, he's not at all interested in letting go, setting any more lines or restrictions. even if this is as far as they go, finding simple delight in the taste and touch of each other on his musty old couch like teenagers, he thinks he'll be content.

there's a hum of approval in the back of his throat as she presses forward, eliminating space between them. he's held her a few times since she stumbled to his door in a panic, though there's something to be said about being this close because they want to be, and not because she's terrified. his hands are determined to travel, because despite his explorative touches so far... he's far from content. one is tipped through the fine strands of her hair to hold her fast as he reminds himself of the taste of her mouth. the other tightens on her hipbone, just for a moment, before moving behind her to run the sharp notches of her spine. even through the thin fabric of his shirt, it's as familiar as running his fingers along piano keys. might seem like an odd touch, if it weren't also a familiar one. he has always been fixated on the strong muscle of her back, the narrow cut of her spine. )

[ when her hallucinations had been at their worst, the only thing that had made her feel safe was his touch. it had grounded her, broken through the dangerous, vivid images, sounds, and pain to bring her back enough to reality to calm down. they've touched before then and since, but this is a different level of intimacy, one she's missed and craved, especially as they've grown close again.

there's a quiet noise of contentment from her throat as she feels his hand slip from gripping her hip to trace up her spine over her (his) shirt. her back straightens, hips rolling forward slightly as she shifts, her shoulders rolling back.

the fingers of the hand at the back of his hand twist into his hair, tugging lightly in encouragement. it has indeed gotten longer since they've arrived her, reminding her slightly of their earlier days, how his hair would get mussed and unruly during their sparring sessions or during sex. recalling that flushed, breathless excitement spikes her adrenaline and she deepens the kiss a little more before drawing her tongue back into her mouth, unleashing her teeth to nip lightly at his lower lip. ]

( it's a little like falling back through time, when everything seemed as easy as her kisses. as easy as loving her. he knows it isn't, anymore, there's so many complications he can't hardly name them all. so there's some reassurance in the fact wanting her is still so very simple.

there's at least some part of him that doesn't want to move too fast. she's plenty fragile still, whether she'd admit it or not. the rest of him is too indulgent of the closeness he's been mourning for a decade or so. it is hard to feel like there's harm in expressing what they feel in actions instead of words. in this instance, actions come a bit easier.

as he traces lovestruck patterns into her skin, even with the fabric between them, just enjoying the kiss for in an almost leisurely way. there's a hint of almost a smile at the pull of her teeth — something he's missed about Elektra is that she's never been afraid to brace her sweetness with sharpness. she's never worried about what he can or can't handle, when most of the world can't help themselves.

finally he reaches up to pull her hair over her shoulder. his shirt is sagging loosely on her far smaller frame leaving plenty of skin easily available, and with the hair out of the way he places his mouth there instead, feeling the trill of her heartbeat. the heat of her skin and the subtle smell of her that hasn't changed as much as he'd have thought, considering their circumstances. he's gentle at first, hot presses of lips over her pulse and her clavicle, but without much in the way of warning his teeth catch, just for a moment.

it's not as if he feels sorry for it either, because he sucks it after. Matthew is a bit possessive, so sue him. he likes that he'll smell that blood under her skin, and the reminder that he put it there. )

[ as much as he likes her balance of sweetness and sharpness, she loves the moments when he gets a little dominant and possessive. a quiet gasp is emitted as his teeth mark her skin, heat flaring underneath his mouth as he sucks at the mark he's made, her heart beginning to beat that much quicker. her head tips back, exposing that much more skin to him, a wordless invitation for him to continue.

the hand still at her side, tracing love notes over her body, is reached for with her hand twisting behind her back, and she captures his fingertips with her own, squeezing lightly before she pulls it to her front and rests it on her thigh, just underneath the hem of his shirt. ]

( it's little surprise, then, that so much of their history is painted with her pushing him to be possessive. to break free from his meticulously organized control and grab what he wants with both hands, and fuck being gentle about it. it'd been a lot easier to inspire that when he was younger, now he realizes how dangerous it is for him to embrace. that it's too close to dancing with the devil, that when he lets himself be impulsive he spirals out of control. he's not the same kid that followed her into a stolen lambo or would willfully break into buildings anymore, Elektra has surely noticed that.

it doesn't mean that side of him is completely absent, though. it just means it's a little harder to push him that far. it has to be deserved — and a few months of sexual tension? it's deserved.

he doesn't make another, not at the moment. it'd be expected, and he likes when he can make her heartbeat race. make her breathe those delightful little exhales, the ones that make his hair stand up on end. that said the idea of marking her is clearly tempting, even if he won't be able to see any hickeys he leaves. all the more reason to make more, it'll be easier for him to sense, to find whispers of himself still on her skin. )

I like you in my shirts. ( it's whispered against her skin, a breath against her jawbone. this isn't the first time she's wound up in something of his since they got here, but it's the first time he's let himself admit it. his hand pushes up her leg, toward her upper thigh, hooks at her hipbone as he rocks her back against him. ) I'd still like you better without it.

[ it's enticing, the ability to get someone usually so in control to let go and stop questioning the consequences and whether or not something should be done. it makes her feel powerful in a way that's proven dangerous in their past, something she knows she should keep in check now. but this is different, this feels safe. more importantly, it makes her feel alive again.

she doesn't know if it's the same for him. she hopes it is.

his mouth hovers over her skin, words and breath hot against her jawline, and her eyes close against the combined sensations of that and his hand pushing up her thigh. and before she knows it he's gripping her hip and pulling her forward, and her eyes reopen, fluttering slightly as she settles into her altered position, grinding down onto his lap. ]

So take it off. [ a smile blooms on her lips. ] Unless you want me doing all the work.

Edited 2019-12-03 01:56 (UTC)

( she does make him feel alive, though, not exactly in the same way. Matt doesn't feel his death as keenly as Elektra, he faded away after taking a few too many hits. suffering a little too much in silence, and refusing to admit how far he'd fallen until it was too late. he doesn't have a battle scar to remind him of what happened to him, it hardly feels real at the best of times, even though the fact they've died is impressed on them fairly constantly.

it's more that Elektra has always made him feel alive. she's always dragged up parts of him that Matthew has consistently tried to silence. she made him feel alive in that he could be his entire self when he was with her, not just the polished and charming parts, but the damaged and dangerous and violent parts too. it's hard not to feel alive when so often he lives half a life, half an existence for the comfort and simplicity it offers. being with Elektra is complicated, it's like traversing a landmine of their past and emotions and fears. but it's also the most whole, most complete, he's ever allowed himself to be. )

When have I ever complained about you doing all the work? ( he enjoys having her on top, even though usually they're battling for that position of control. they wouldn't be them if they didn't.

he nips at the smile curling at her mouth, mostly because he can't help himself, but after that his fingers knot in his own shirt to pull it up and off of her. it's loose enough that it's not even that difficult, and she doesn't have to worry about the cold, because about a second after it skirts off her skin he twists to press her into the couch, his body sealed against hers and her legs still hiked on either side of him. the bed just seems too far away at present. it's easier to reach her and to feel her when she's underneath him, and it just seems fair to get to be on top for a little while. his hand is free now slip up her side and curl around her breast, even as his mouth lingers under her jaw. mostly because he likes to feel any breath and gasp directly under his lips. )

[ if she'd helped him feel alive, he'd helped her feel at all. not many of the people in her life (hello, stick) had done much to make her feel like she was anything but a tool. whatever happened between them, whatever happens in the future, she'll always love him for that. ]

Never. [ but things are different. their dynamic is different, even though they haven't actually changed that much. they've just been made aware of things they hadn't known about before.

he makes quick work of the shirt and before she knows it, he's reversed their positions, pinning her beneath his weight on the couch. her thighs tighten around his hips as his hand skims up her side and she arches into his touch as he cups her breast, exhaling roughly against his cheek. ]

( her body reacts so easily, the strong press of her muscle at his sides is instantly familiar and all at once, a little foreign. it honestly might be too soon for this, even if they've probably been skirting around wanting to for months. still, when what pushed them into this moment is the idea of making the most of what time they have... well, taking things slow just for the sake of it would be a waste of it.

they had impressed on each other the importance of honesty, of saying what they were thinking and saying what needed to be said. he thinks if this is too much for her, she'll tell him, with words or with her body. right now neither are telling him to stop, and even if maybe that would be smarter, he can't make himself want to just for the sake of it.

Matt incredibly sensory, the more the better. it's enjoyable to touch her, he has always enjoyed exploring her body and making a map of it with his hands. it wouldn't be quite the same without the sharp exhale, so close to his ear. it hits him harder than just feeling her ever could, an electric current down his spine. he ducks his head to press his mouth to her throat, the hand at her breast pressing for just a heartbeat before he releases again, thumbs at her nipple in more of a tease than the grab. )

[ she's not about to. the only thing that's kept her from doing this so far, from doing so much as kissing him, is the belief that he hadn't wanted to. now that she knows he does, that he has, she's not interested in slowing down or holding back.

his thumb circles her nipple as his mouth finds her throat, and the sensations combined make her moan lowly, hips pushing up and into his, rubbing herself against his groin. she can feel his excitement and she grinds harder in response to it, the skin between her legs going slick with want. ]

You can do better than that. [ her voice is rough, husky with desire, but there's amusement in the challenge and even some sincerity. she doesn't want either of them to hold back. ]

inbox | in the night.

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i feel like a monster for this but i don't have kiss icons for them yet

omg this betrayal

meanwhile you out here using kissies against me smh

i ain't done yet either :*

A MONSTER!!!

THAT'S MEEEEEEE

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now who's using icons against who!!!

at some point i'll torture you worse consider this a promise

BRING IT ON (fight to the finish)

WHO WILL WIN??? ? ? (it's not like i can cheat and make more as i go)

WELL THAT ONE JUST HAD YOU LEAPING AHEAD

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