A/N: Forgive me. Please, dear readers, forgive me, for it has been far too long since I've lost myself in lovely Matt fandom. But! Do you like lemons? Hmm? Because I like lemons, and I like angst-y, Matt-ridden lemons, and I've re-written this one several times over the past few months, but I finally think it's good enough for you, the beautiful public. Did I mention this is a lemon? A really juicy one? Oh, you didn't, know? Well, this is a big, fat lemon. Don't say I didn't warn you. Note the rating change? You did? Good reader. :3 Bon apetite.
Her eyes are puddles of gray, like rain on the road, and they melt into his with the fuzzy blindness of a lover who is just learning as she goes. It's almost too much for Matt to meet those dizzy eyes without a trace of guilt telling him that he does not belong there with her, in a moment of lost and pure intimacy that is so honest, and so close, and so… everything that he is not.
But she kisses him. Audrey pulls his face down to hers and tentatively takes his mouth, with her hands holding him there, with her heart praying he'll take what she offers, her body shuddering to his touch. Matt whimpers into the embrace. His hands clutch at the sheets to stop themselves from stealing over her body again. He'd surely lose himself, he's surely losing himself. He can't deny her anymore. He does not belong here, this moment cannot be his, he knows this cannot be his, but he's stealing it this time, for all of those other times when he let someone else have it. All of these brushes of skin and tastes of flesh are all his wrongdoing, his undoing, and he is guilty, guilty, and he cannot deny her anymore. All of these little pieces make up his crime, and he cannot deny her anymore.
His fingertips hook into her undergarments, and tug them downward a little: an ask for permission without words, a final stand, a last chance for one of them to turn back. The roughed pad of his thumb moves against her hipbone. Her eyes flutter shut and there's an exchange of involuntary movements as response. The air feels too thick to breathe. Neither breathes.
"Ah- Audrey, I- I need you."
It's a strained sound against flushed skin between tangles of limbs and heat. A breathless quiet, a silent decision-making.
Audrey's vision blinks blind, like a person in an overexposed photograph. They fall still. His breath is heavy against her bare shoulder. His hips are heavy against hers. He might break her, oh, God, he could break her so easily. Matt's body is a shaking. Sweet God, he is so guilty. He'll ruin her, for certain, and he'd be so guilty of it.
"Mm - I - ah, God, Matt, I -"
"Say you need me, too, please, need this as much as I do -"
Tell me I'm not the only one making an offense here, tell me it won't ruin you, tell me -
The length of him is heavily settled into her most virginal corridor; she can feel him, oh, dear God she can feel him. Clothing inches away until it falls useless to the bedside.
"Matt, I need you, I need you," she breathes, frantic, shaking. "Here, now, like this, I need you, -"
Barren, flustered, barely breathing, her hands push down at the waistband of his sweatpants. His hands smooth up her sides, taking the too-big-t-shirt with them, lifting it over her head. There's a catch of breath as exposed skin meets so completely for the first time.
"God, have me, have all of me, please -"
Dual sides push, and then collide.
He presses into her, and his head falls into the cradle of her neck with a strangled groan forcing its way up his throat. And this is what the patience wears down to. This is what the crime builds up to. This is what every passing glance and all the would-have-should-haves break down on; this raw, shattering togetherness that neither has ever felt before.
And this is everything.
He touches her; runs his hand up the curve of her waist, and over the slope of her breast, and he breathes in deeply, bracing himself for another push. Matt's eyes have blacked over; there is only the feeling of her. The only parts of him that exist are the parts that her body touches. And he presses further. A stifled something erupts from the gap between Audrey's parted lips.
There is a moment of sheer, beautiful quiet as their hips finally meet. Matt's eyes are squeezed shut. Audrey can barely breathe. The air is so thick, she can barely see. Matt is luminescent over her, inside of her, all around her; that's all she can see. She looks up at him, and reaches her hand up to touch his cheek. He's glowing, like light through broken glass.
Matt moves his face against her palm. He bites his bottom lip and moves outwards, almost completely, just to slide all the way back to start in a grating explosion of absolute feeling.
Audrey's hands grip his hips with a helpless groan of something she can no longer control escaping her opened mouth. This sort of collision is the strangest brand of ecstasy she ever could have imagined. At once, there is pushing, and pulling, and pressing, and oh, God, his hands are smooth and soft and gentle, and it's everything, everything, everything when he bends his neck to move his mouth against hers, with muttered words getting lost in between, and heavy breaths carrying them away.
Somehow, they've gained a rhythm. With each push, she takes him deeper and pulls him further from the ridge of sanity that he's been clinging to. In a flurry of weighted exhales and shakes of the head, Matt catches her eye, and lets out a shaking moan. She's too much, this is all too much, but God, is it beautiful.
It's everything he ever wanted to be right, everything he ever needed, and damn, does it feel just so good, damn does it feel just so right to give in to her.
Audrey's eyes are a muddled shade of something he can't place his finger on. They flit from open to close, from one side of his face to the other, and wince shut. A wave of hammering, guilty need washes over his body in a sweat that blooms hot and cold all over. He stops his movements, waits for her head to loll toward him and for her eyes to unclench themselves, drops the crown of his head into the crook of her neck and brushes his lips over the pale expanse of skin the stretches over her sharp shoulders.
"Talk to me, baby."
Matt's words are a strained whisper to her flushed skin. He doesn't mean to sound like he's pleading, but that's the way it comes out. His breathing comes out jagged and short, and dear God, he is just so desperate for her to need this the way he does. It wouldn't be right if she didn't need this, too, it wouldn't be right, if she didn't need him the way he needed her. God, he would be trespassing, God, he would be stealing.
And then, while searching the storm clouds of her eyes, something occurred to him: why is it that Mello could preach until he was blue in the face, but it took this moment for him to believe in anything? Matt found himself nearly praying right there. He found himself nearly babbling to something he didn't have faith in, in hopes that she would start to believe in him, and the way he felt, and the way they felt, and God, it's getting to be too much.
Her voice is a quiet, hoarse sound. She says, "I - oh, God, Matt, I can't -"
Alarm. Pure, terrifying alarm. "Can't? Can't what?" The word sends his body to a standstill. Can't? The world stops moving. A panicked dread tightens all of his muscles.
"What, what is it, tell me what to do, I -"
"No," she breathes. "No, no, everything's, oh, God, everything is -"
Her head falls back again, dark hair fanning the pillow, chest rising and falling rapidly. Helplessly, Matt shakes his head, muttering tell me what to do to the curve and peak of her breast, his hands asking for her to need this the way he does, her heart on her sleeve saying God, yes.
Matt wraps an arm around the small of her back, using the other to support himself. He focuses on her face, on her eyes, he's pleading with her. Her hips angle upwards; he moves himself inside of her. Her eyes spring open, the muddled gray alive with a glorious shining. Some delicious groan catches his name as it slides out of her lips. "Is this okay?" He's so ardent, he needs her to need this, and sweet Mary, she's glowing, sweet Jesus, he needs this -
"Ohh, God, Matt -"
And it's too much. Soon enough, he's crashing against her like waves on rocks, driving them both closer to something that feels just out of reach. Soon enough, he's losing his mind against her. Soon enough, she's doing the same. And soon enough, the sopranos are building on each other in a blinding white finale that sends the pair convulsing and shuddering into one another like there's nothing left in the world to hold on to but each other.
Matt collapses in a shuddering heap with his head burrowed into her shoulder and sweat blooming over his body. His ragged breath hitting her skin. Audrey's labored breathing slows down in his ears. Her hands find a soft refuge over his skin. He can hear her heart pound, and there isn't a sound he would rather hear in the world, ever again.
If I'm a thief, than she's a liar, and fuck, isn't it just wonderful?
"Beautiful," Matt breathes. It's the only word he can hear at that moment, and its repeating itself, on loop in his head. "God, just beautiful.."
Audrey lets out a breathless chuckle and her eyes close. His skin is warm, just so warm against hers, like there's a glowing fire running through his veins. They lie there together, really together, with nothing between them but an emanating warmth, and they carry each other away to rest on soft breathes and quiet expels of breath.
The room seems to fill up with the musty scent of what they just gave to each other. And Matt realizes he's just made a beautiful mess out of her. Disentangling himself, he is met with mutters of protest from Audrey's lurid mouth and lazy, pulling hands. He drops his lips over her cheek, the corner of her mouth, down her neck, he tells her he's coming, he's coming right back, and he reaches an arm over the side of the bed and fumbles for some fabric.
Maybe it's a t-shirt, maybe it's his sweatpants, Matt can't really tell, but whatever it is, he slips it between Audrey's oleander legs. He lays his head in the cradled hammock of her hips, runs his fingers softly over the skin of her thigh, kisses her stomach, kisses her chest, kisses her lips.
He tugs the bed sheet up and drapes it over them, moving his body up close beside hers. His arms wrap around her, her skin presses against his.
Time doesn't exist. The hallway outside of his apartment door doesn't exist. In her glow, there is no past, and no future, just the present promise of dreamless sleep.
The nothingness that they slip into together is everything either ever could have wanted.
A/N: Well? Worth the wait? :3