Fifty Times Matt kissed Karen Or Maybe It's the Other Way 'Round (But Who's Counting, Really?)
omg so much fluff let me die.
It's an on-screen kiss. Amy comes onto the Doctor and the Doctor is supposed to resist her advances. It doesn't go so well.
Karen can hear the frustration edging on Adam's tone.
“Stop kissing her back!”
“Sorry – sorry! It just happens!”
Karen laughs, “Sorry for seducing you so effectively!”
It's cabbage and some other sticky, disgusting stuff. It's seeped into her nightie (Amy's nightie) and is making her hair slimy and smell all sorts of strange. It's goop. Goop and garbage.
Matt nearly knocks her out as he throws his arms around her. “Kaz!”
She feels his lips brush against the nape of her neck.
By lunchtime, it's forgotten.
This might have been a dream.
She doubts it actually happened.
And can't very well ask anyone.
Teetering in between awareness and the dream world, she feels Matt's fingers (who else could it be?) brushing her hair from her cheek. The tour bus starts moving, its movements lulling her further into the world of brighter colors and imagination, and she swears she feels his mouth press against her temple.
~four: (does this one even count?)
New York is loud and full of life. Bus breaks squeaking, people talking, feet shuffling along the sidewalk – it never sleeps. Never stops moving. And her co-star is sprawled out in her bed, mind you, snoring loudly.
Karen tiptoes over to the bedside, debating internally whether or not to jolt him awake.
Instead, she leans down and touches her nose to his forehead. “Night, you big oaf.”
There's a pub involved and Arthur's band. A rather nice turnout and the booze is cheap. Though, once the bartender realizes who he's serving – the drinks become on the house.
Matt clumsily and hurriedly presses his lips to hers before she slips off her stool to get her coat.
He pulls away.
She's perched, half on the stool and half not, and she's waiting. Or he's waiting. There's a heartbeat and then Arthur kicks into his next song and the world starts moving again.
They scribble their names and other Whoverse symbols in the dust and sand on the floor outside of the Pandorica. It's swiped away with their heels before someone can start shouting 'continuity error!'
Matt scribbles his name on her trailer door.
She steals his egg and cress the next day.
It goes on like that for a while.
Karen curls into her blankets, her nose red, and her eyes still wet. The 'Goodbye' scene between the Doctor and Amy hit something deep in her chest.
She seeks warmth and comfort in the fluffy comforter of her bed.
But finds it hollow compared to the warm, tight-gripped hug Matt had given her after the director said 'cut'. The ever-fleeting touch of his mouth on the shell of her ear.
Platonic. Best friends. Like a brother. Best Mates.
Karen's lost all the labels she had stuck to him.
She's got to make new ones now. Bugger.
The snowball thwacks Matt in the face with a satisfying 'shlop' sound. “Oho! Mister Smith! Too slow!”
He spits snow from his mouth and grins.
Matt's snowball misses by a foot and hits Arthur straight in the back. “Oi!”
And that's when all hell breaks loose.
She makes it up to him with tea. Playing outside in the snow until you're soaked to the bone might be an alright idea as kids. But, not as adults with full-time acting jobs. Karen drapes another blanket over his shoulders and cuddles into his side.
“You're so Scottish. Not even affected by the cold!” Matt sniffles, looking like a miserable wet puppy.
His clothes tumble loudly in the washroom nearby. She tries to ignore the fact that beneath the nest of blankets and throws they've built – he's wearing only his boxers. Or briefs.
The thought makes her shift away from him – earning a look of; 'What?' from him. “I'm going to call Arthur – make sure he's got home safe and hasn't died of hypothermia.”
When he sets his tea cup down – Karen finally admits that secret, that tiny secret she's kept since their adventure started. This could be more, if we let it.
Her hand curls around the back of his neck and this time; she's pulling him forward. There's an urgency, a whisper of “God, Kazza...”, before every inch of her skin that's exposed through tossed clothing is claimed by his mouth.
Collarbone, shoulder, neck, ear, lips, nose, forehead, stomach, each fingertip, the pulse point on her wrist – he's making her dizzy.
Water drips from the dark tendrils of his wet hair onto her skin like tiny cold kisses.
“Stay.” She mummers against the soft curve of his neck.
He kisses her forehead and whispers, “Alright.”
Back on set, nothing changes.
It's only when they go home that things feel different. Unknown. They're actors, well known, sci-fi superheroes...and they agree that this (whatever this is) will remain secret.
She pecks his lips in the morning, his lips still tasting like mint and tea. In the safety of his or her flat.
He's more risky. Hides inside her trailer to scare her and after she screams, then laughs, he gathers her up in his arms and kisses her like she's oxygen. Vital.
Not to mention the time Steven was talking to the both of them and the head writer turned his head away for half a second and Matt took that half a second to drop a kiss on the top of her head.
Utah is vast and beautiful and full of history. She drinks in every sight that she can, walking with Matt, their fingers brushing – the only way to hold hands without the cameras catching notice.
He kicks sand at her. She throws her hat at him. He runs with it mocking her Scottish accent.
It's really like nothing's changed.
He's mapped out her skin with his hands. Turning freckles into constellations. His mouth whispering promises against her skin.
“When?” He asks, nose brushing against hers.
“After we finish shooting this series. Not part one – part two.”
“I dunno what I'm gonna do...always thought...you know, we came in together so we'd leave together.”
She twines her legs with his, “I'd like to be a companion forever.”
They don't talk about Amy Pond's departure again. 'Cross that bridge when we come to it'. It's better, anyways, because they're having too much fun enjoying the ride.
Karen grabs him by his blue-reindeer holiday jumper and kisses him in the small space between the Christmas tree and the table of snacks. No one really pays much mind.
There's a break up somewhere in March. Matt's fuzzy on the details. Or maybe his brain just blocked it all out. He calls her more than he should. Texts her. Arthur keeps talking about 'giving her time' and 'space' but that just makes him think of Doctor Who.
He turns up at her doorstep, wringing his hands in anxiety. “Kaz, please...talk to me. I'm your friend.”
Matt waits two and a half hours. He paces, he checks his phone, but eventually – her stubbornness cracks and she lets him in.
“It just got too much.” She admits quietly, “Leaving Doctor Who – working on 'We'll Take Manhattan'.”
He cups her face in his hands, “So, bearing all that alone was your idea?”
“I know.” And she falls into him and lets him lift some of the weight off her shoulders.
It feels like home.
She's always known about his musical ambitions. But, watching him play on his grandmother's piano at her house – his long fingers going across the ivory keys.
It feels more intimate than any time they've shared a bed.
“Do you have to kiss him like that?” Matt complains, her feet in his lap as they watch the premiere of “We'll Take Manhattan.”
“You kissed Alex.”
“Not like that.”
“You looked like you were enjoying it.” Karen can't help the slight edge to her tone. It was hard, watching him stick his tongue down the throat of another woman – even if it was acting and it didn't mean anything.
Matt shoves her feet off his lap, “No.” He says calmly and Karen feels a slight terror seize her chest and her defenses jump up. Is he looking for a fight? They only just made up a few months ago.
He throws her off guard, as usual, as his lanky form is suddenly pinning hers to the couch. “I didn't.” He kisses below her ear, making her giggle, “It was acting, I don't get jealous every time you kiss Arthur.”
“So you only get jealous sometimes?”
He grins and Karen feels her knees go rubbery, even though she's lying down, “Nine times out of ten.”
She kisses his nose, “Idiot.”
“Takes one to know one. Stupid face.”
Arthur's the first to be let in on their secret relationship. They make him swear over his collection of records and musical instruments that he won't tell. Matt threatens to torch his peasant sweater (which might be going a bit far).
Arthur rolls his eyes, promises anyways, and cheekily tells them that he knew since the start.
Karen's not sure where the start even was.
He runs his fingers through her hair, the half-finished game of Clue-Monopoly-Scrabble in pieces in front of them (Matt started it when he threw a board piece at Beth and Karen ended it when she found monopoly money and she shoved it down his shirt). Karen turns her head in his lap, wine glasses clinking in the next room, the low mummer of voices as party-goers take their leave.
Matt twirls her ginger locks in his fingers, the soft ministrations threatening to drag her back to sleep. She reaches up and Matt – knowing her all too well – leans down and lets her arms wrap around his neck.
“Let's go home.” She whispers, fingers lightly toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Mm. Yes boss-lady.”
Home stopped being his or her flat about three weeks ago. Home was one location. A flat with a blue door, a messy collection of still un-opened boxes, and a mattress on the floor of the master bedroom. It was a process to get moved-in. An adventure. Another big-thing that they were doing, together, and it only drew them closer.
Karen kisses him lightly, chastely, before using his upper body like a leverage so she can pull herself to her feet.
Matt turns his head to the side, his eyes met with a fiery red curtain of hair and the pale shoulder of his – ah well girlfriend never fit for her. Kaz was too mad, too wonderful to be narrowed down to just being his 'girlfriend'. She was his best friend. His lover. His Stupid Face Karen.
The sheets twisted with his movements as he leans over and places a tiny kiss to her shoulder.
She turns almost instantly, her eyes bright and blinking at him. A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. “Did I wake you?”
“Your obnoxious snoring did.” She takes in a deep breath and imitates what sounds like a dying motor boat with ten elephants on board.
He hits her with his pillow.