If you weren’t so wise beyond your years I would have been able to control myself | Matt/Kaz
“I seduced you!” he crows, watching the footage of her wandering hands play again on the monitors. She’s flushing bright red at this point, hiding behind that stupid green pillow, and he can’t stop grinning.
“You didn’t sedu- ugggh!” she groans, and even with the director sitting right there next to him he can’t help but stare at his insanely gorgeous co-star and think, giddily, We’re on DOCTOR WHO!.
And then he goes right back to mocking her stupid hands. Because really, who talks with them like that?
The second one he ignores.
They’re just messing around on the set of the giant tongue of a space whale (and who would’ve thought he’d ever get to say that, eh?), squishing through the gloop and nasty and occasionally throwing bits of slimy produce at each other. It’s all good fun, right up until she sneaks up behind him and thrusts an entire handful of soggy cabbage leaves down the back of his jacket.
He leaps about, trying to shake the stuff loose, and ends up flat on his back in a puddle of it, ooze slowly trickling down his hairline and into his ear. And she’s laughing at him.
Oh, this will not do. This will not do at all.
He snatches up a particularly foul-looking half-squashed tomato and struggles to his feet, advancing on her in what he hopes is a menacing way. He’s rather aware, though, that he probably looks more like a half-drowned rat than anything else, but it’s the thought that counts. Or something
She starts backing away, waving her hands in front of her and shouting something about not getting it in her hair – oh, he’s not aiming for her hair, and she definitely didn’t say anything about the face…
Unfortunately, before his plan can come to fruition (and yes, he does congratulate himself on that pun later), he manages to slip again and now he’s careening straight for her, arms outstretched. She tries to move out of the way but it’s too late, and they both come crashing down to the tarp.
“Ha! Serves you-” he begins to shout, perfectly fine with claiming this as an intentional victory, when he suddenly realizes where he’s landed.
She is under him, which isn’t so odd considering he basically just rugby-tackled her to the floor. What is not so understandable is this:
Her hands are on his arse.
His hands are on her… *ahem* chest.
Scrambling upright, he scrapes his hands down his slimy trousers as if to rub the sensation right off, and finally offers a hand to help her up when he notices her glare, though he still can’t meet her eyes.
By the time they leave the set for the day, they’re completely disgusting; Matt’s hair is glued to his forehead by slime, and he doesn’t think the prop department is ever going to get Kaz’s dressing gown to be the right color ever again. But they’re smiling, and he gives her one more good-natured shove just to see her stick her tongue out at him before he goes to have the longest shower of his life.
And if he feels tingly, well, it’s probably just one of those additives they’ve put in the slime, right?
The third is entirely Arthur’s fault
He’s dragged them to yet another one of his friends’ parties, claiming that you’ll love this one, just wait till you see who the DJ is.
And yeah, fair enough, it is pretty fun even for just the food; the pillar of Gouda carved to look like the Venus de Milo is pretty fascinating in and of itself, and Kaz had long ago become entranced by the organic chocolate fountain set up in the corner.
But now he’s got a headache from a combination of whatever locally-brewed beer Arthur had told him was best and the pounding of the African drumming quartet that had taken up shop upstairs. He’s pretty sure he can also hear accordions somewhere, which doesn’t help, especially since he can’t figure out where they could possibly be hiding.
Arthur notices his distress before he does something rash, like make a break for it through the cloud of smokers clustered around the back door. “No, no, it’s fun, I just have to get to the thing on the, um, do you know what I’m saying, and yeah it turns out I’m allergic to this drumming or something because I feel itchy. Do you feel itch-”
Arthur cuts him off, for which he is eternally grateful. “It’s fine, Matt. Just go home- I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”
Matt waves his thanks and escapes, buttoning up his coat against the cold. At least it’s not too far to his apartment.
Suddenly, a shoulder bumps his, and the wind blows ginger hair in his face. He paws it out of the way, laughing when Karen looks flustered. “Where’re you going?” she asks, keeping pace with him.
“It got too… loud in there,” he says, shrugging. “Besides, it looked like you were having a pretty good time with that fountain. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He laughs when she blushes, and she gives him a shove.
“Oh, shut up,” she says. They walk in silence for a while, icy breaths condensing in front of them, shoulders touching.
By the time they reach his street, Matt’s headache is completely gone, and he smiles at her. “See you on Monday, then, right? Or will you have eloped with the fountain by then?” he says.
She rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, by tomorrow evening I will be Mrs. Chocolate Fountain, and you will never hear from me again. I hope you’re devastated.”
They separate outside his apartment building, Karen throwing a shouted “I’m expecting a wedding gift from you, mister!” over her shoulder as she walks off.
It’s not until he’s inside that he realizes he’d been holding her hand the entire walk back.
The fourth he laughs off.
It’s pretty easy to do. They’re filming the BBC Christmas trailer and, at her insistence, he and Karen have taken to playing Twister to pass the time between takes.
And so far, it’s been pretty amusing. They’d even gotten the guy in the Cyberman suit to run the spinner, and the crew keeps walking by their area to laugh at them.
So yeah, he can laugh this off. There’s no reason to be so flustered just because he’s twisted up like a pretzel around Karen. Not even if their feet are occupying the same circle, or if she’s stretching around him in such a way that makes him blush to the roots of his hair. Which he isn’t. He doesn’t blush.
“Right hand green.”
Surveying his options, he blanches. He might have to revise his stance on blushing.
The fifth happens in his apartment.
They’re on his couch, marathoning Arrested Development (he’d insisted – she obviously knows nothing about comedy if she’s never watched the Bluths. She disagrees, because watching him fall down on a daily basis is more than enough comedy for her. He hits her with a pillow).
Karen is stretched out beside him, her toes crammed up under his leg for warmth, and he’s draped across the opposite arm of the sofa, holding one arm against his stomach to contain his laughter. He giggles as Buster flails about wildly onscreen.
Karen nudges him with her toes. “Hey, turn it up,” she says.
“You turn it up,” he replies, knowing full well that the remote is on the table behind his head.
She glares at him. “Fine! Maybe I will!” And suddenly she’s launching herself across the sofa at him, and his hands go up to protect his face, and when the dust settles he’s got an armful of angry Scotswoman.
Momentarily stunned, one of his hands goes up to cradle her face, and his fingers slip into her hair before he freezes. She stares down at him, and on the TV he hears GOB say I’ve just made a huge mistake.
The sixth time is also the first.
Before GOB can even start formulating an insane plan to set things right, she’s smiling down at him, and his stomach doesn’t know whether to leap into his throat or sink to his toes. He smiles apprehensively back at her, drawing his hand back, ready to play this off as another accident.
But instead she says, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I’ve been wondering when you’d finally notice that I’ve been flirting with you.”
He gapes up her. “Flirting? Since when have you been flir-mmmph” and she’s kissing him (SHE’S KISSING HIM) and it’s glorious and oh god she’s totally been flirting with him for years hasn’t she and this would totally be embarrassing if he had any brain power to devote to thinking about it at all.
And for the rest of the evening, the antics of the Bluth family are forgotten in favor of something much, much more interesting.