A/N: A (very mushy and slightly grammatically incorrect) one shot of their love scene in turning point.

Enjoy:

She has never been naked in front of anyone before.

When she had sex for the very first time, the sky had started to pour and her and Matt had found themselves accidentally wrapped around one another beneath the dock of her parent's holiday home. She had felt him harden and wondered why the sensation didn't scare her, knowing what was to come next.

She was ready. They were ready.

They kept all of their clothes on and he shucked his jeans down and sat her against his lap. She was wearing a thin dress with cotton tights that he pulled at just enough so that she wouldn't get cold. For days afterwards, it hadn't been the sex she had thought about as being particularly romantic but the sentiment of him protecting her from something so basic as the weather.

He had practically stuttered out his I love you as they tried to move in ways they thought you had to move when having sex. Her head hit up against the top of the dock as he shifted her against him all while keeping her tights open and her body warm.

It had been an uncomfortable sex. A covered sex.

But she stood in front of the mirror, hours later, and noticed the way her body looked different. How his hand print was on her thigh, how her neck was blotched red by his tongue. She had been clothed but her naked body before her was marked as if she hadn't been. For some reason, it made the act feel far less real.

Almost as if it hadn't happened at all.

A month later and her parents were dead. She broke Matt's heart, not loving him in the way she knew he did her. Not wanting him in the ways he wanted her.

She forgot all about love and sex and being naked, the grief from her parent's deaths forcing her into a shell of winter while the world outside was welcoming and reacquainting themselves with the summer.

The second she saw him, it was practically a shedding. A shedding of skin she had not even realized she had wrapped and wrapped around herself. Heat rose and she sank into it. Sank into his eyes and that smile. Sank into a love she never expected but a love she knew, even on that Monday morning standing outside a bathroom, would never leave her.

She has never been naked in front of anyone before.

He stands on the last step of the staircase and she on the landing; their stomach's rest together as their fingers and hands and mouths endlessly discover and memorize.

All she knows is that her body felt naked before it had even been bare.

All she knows is that she's in love with him and that this sex wasn't to be covered.

They were to be covered by each other.

The trail to his bedroom is a blind walk and all she hears and sees are sighs and moans and his skin.

The removal of their clothing is quick; he helps her and she helps him until she's just wearing her bra and her underwear and him his jeans and she kisses his shoulder and breathes, and she wonders how it were possible to feel so stuffed to the brim of intoxication but yet completely extended in air and life and breath.

He lifts her up and takes her around his hips and walks them back to his bed, kissing as he does so, her chin and down her neck. He reaches her breasts just as he reaches the bed and she doesn't want him to drop her or let go. She doesn't want anything but for him to kiss her skin. She wants his tongue to draw her, to make a map and her breath hitches as he gently slips off one strap of her bra and then the other.

He lowers them down and she's exposed.

She's quiet and watching him. He takes off his jeans, eyeing her in a way that makes her feel, and will forever make her feel as if the world didn't matter. As if life without her wouldn't matter. As if he loved her but wouldn't say, because he loved her in the way it was easy to see the moon but not easy to reach.

It extended and extended and extended.

He takes off his jeans and he's suddenly exposed, she can see him and he can see her. She's never felt so covered in all her life, with those eyes on her body.

He starts at her feet and it's excruciating, waiting, having him suck at her toes and bask at her ankles. Having him find his way up her legs and beneath her knees. He doesn't come between her like she wants and hopes and needs. Has never had but can feel the desire and the urgent need pressing and pressing, but kisses her hip. And then the other.

He rests at her belly button like he's a man who's walked for miles and wants only to rest at a place where he's fine with surrendering himself to for forever.

She reaches down because she can't bear not being in contact any longer and finds his hair, pulling at it gently, scratching her way through the strands and in this play, he looks up at her, keeping his lips to her stomach.

They were once strangers and were now becoming lovers; something makes her shiver, maybe his lips or his eyes or the mere reality of this togetherness but her goose bumps meet his tongue and he kisses them as if to say he knew what was coming and what had been and that her goose bumps on his lips were his comfort, to calm her comfort.

"Kiss me." She suddenly whispers and he moves lower, takes one arm around her thigh and then the other. She can feel the warmth of his breath and it's enough to get her eyes to clench shut and her body to tense, patience wearing thin.

He takes her full and her moan is guttural, animalistic as he sucks and licks. She cries out and she can just barely hear his moan, still deep against her and there's a beauty in the idea of him getting turned on merely by her pleasure that she can't quite define as anything but exquisite.

When he's finished and making his way up, her legs are lazy and her body is warm, catching around him. He gently drops his head against her neck and spends his time there, hidden and immersed. Kissing her skin and burying his lips against her body.

When he comes up for air, the next part happens with their eyes locked and their hands wound in a tight grip above their heads. He rubs himself against her in a backward and forward motion that is insane with its fleetingness but heavy in thick want and anticipation. Their eyes hold one another's and she is covered and he is covered; he stops his movement and without another breath, pushes against her with an upward momentum and they move. They move slowly and softly, as if any quicker or greater, it would force them apart. It's lazy as they fuck and make love with their thighs laden and open and their tongues in one another's mouth. He could feel her breasts against his neck, feel her naval, her thighs, every stretch of skin and every part he could enfold, he enfolded.

He reaches a hand down to find her and stroke her, over and over as their rocks groan the bed and their groans echo around the room and she's already thinking about doing this all again. He presses down and pushes deeper and finds her and meets her and sucks at her neck and she's drunk with her exhales and her cries and the way she comes, kissing at his neck, rolling her hips, bringing him with her.

"Fuck." He exasperates and the sheets are damp beneath them. His head is against her stomach; even if he weren't a vampire, he would be able to hear her heart, so loud was the pounding. She can feel him trembling and brings her fingers to his lips; he tastes the tips of them, one by one and his trembles ease.

"I can't move."

She speaks quietly and he turns his head at the noise. She's looking up at the ceiling and not him but feels as his weight gets lifted off her stomach and his body soon sinks beside her but it's only the briefest of moments before she's shifting herself and laying down against him, "I can't move without you."

He reaches for her face and kisses her, raising his body so that she was sitting flush against him. Thinking himself, that the thought of moving without her ever again was unfathomable.

Leaving her face, he brings his arms instead now around her bare back, holding her as she held him.

They were covered and bare and sheltered.

She has been naked only in front of one.