iHear the Melody

AN: Hope you like it!

Spencer stepped into the lobby, juggling his keys and bags of groceries. Today was the perfect day to grocery shop—double couple day! Of course, it lacked it's usual excitement for him. In the three weeks since he had met—that girl—he just hadn't felt like anything fulfilled him, unless he was working.

He sighed as he saw the Out of Order sign on the elevator and turned to use the stairs. These would not be fun to carry all the way upstairs. A movement caught his eye and he spun.

"It's--you." he almost dropped his bag of oranges.

"I suppose." she smiled. God, her lips looked just as kissable. She looked twice as lovely as he remembered, and three times as beautiful as he had dreamed.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you." he licked his lips. What a strange thing to say to a woman, a strange woman, whose name he didn't even know. But everything like protocol fell away from him when he was near her.

"Well, that's rather silly of you, isn't it?" she leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. "That was a waste of time."

"Why?"

"Because you were aching. I don't believe in hurting for another person. I don't believe you should ever give that sort of power to another person."

"Whether or not you believe in it--it happens. It's like electricity. You don't have to believe in using it, but that doesn't mean other people don't." he put the bags down. He could always just go shopping again. "Come upstairs with me."

"Why should I?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Because I have something to show you." Spencer extended his hand.

The girl slipped her palm into his as they headed up the stairs. Thank God the elevator was broken, Spencer thought. Or they'd never get this far.

He unlocked the door, and to his surprise, his hands did not shake. He swung the door open.
"Close your eyes," he prompted.

The girl gave him a playful smile and covered her eyes with her fingers. Spencer wheeled over a small cart from the corner.

"Open then." he demanded. She pulled her hands away and looked at him, questioning. "Pull the sheet away."

"Are you sure?" it wasn't only a question about the sheet. It was question about are you sure you want to try this. Are you ready to feel heart break potentially?

"Positive," Spencer smiled. She stepped forward and yanked the sheet, away, letting it fall into a pile on the floor.

"Oh," she gasped. There, in rough clay, was the perfect image of her. Or rather, it was perfect in the way an old mirror is perfect. Everything feels just so slightly strange, like something is missing.

"I know it's not--." He began.

"It's wonderful." she walked around it. "You got my eyes perfect."

"I wanted to do it in marble. But I don't have everything about you just perfect. So could I--sculpt you?"

She stood for a minute, head tilted to the side before she nodded once.

"Where do you want me?"

"I want you." he stopped to clear his throat. "I want you in my room."

Surprise lit her face, and he found himself breathless at the sight of that emotion. She nodded as he grabbed the cart and led her to his room.

His bed was laid with plain white sheets, and piles of laundry surrounded them. But she didn't seem to notice.

"The statue. What did you call it?" she let her coat fall to the floor.

"I call it Unnamed Melody."

"Oh my God," she murmured."

"What?"

"Nothing." she shook her head. "How do I pose?"

"You pose--," he stopped. This could all blow up. "You pose naked. Under me."

"I can do that." she reached behind her to find the zipper to the blue dress she was wearing, and he listened to it come undone, watched it slide like a whisper off her body.

She climbed onto his bed, clad only in a white bra and panties. Spencer, fully dressed, came to lay next to her.

He reached for the clasp and was reminded of the candy he and Carly would get from their father every Saturday morning.

Carly, always impatient to get at the treat, would rip off the paper, leaving it in a shredded heap at his feet.

Spencer would find the ends and peel it away from the chocolate, lapping and sucking at it until he became bare.

Like the candy, he undid the clasp of her bra and pulled one arm through a strap, then the other, leaving the cups over her breasts.

"Can I?" he asked softly. She nodded once, her eyes smoldering with something that he could only call lust.

Spencer lifted off the bra by the lacy edges, exposing the warm globes. Her nipples were dusky pink, and his mouth began to water.

Without another word, he bent his head and caught one between his lips, sucking on it until it peaked in his mouth. When he pulled away, he blew a puff of hair across it, watching the goosebumps form across her flesh.

He cupped her other breast, weighing it in his palm. The statue had these proportions off. He'd need to fix it.

He glanced at the statue on the cart in the corner. A woman standing tall and proud, her eyes staring right through you and right past you. This was the woman he had met in the elevator. Enticing and forbidding all at the same time.

Turning his attention from the clay woman to the living breathing one in his bed, Spencer pressed his face into the crook of her neck to capture the thin, pale flesh there. He lapped at it, nipped, watching it turn pink, then red.

Her hand came up to cup the back of his head. Her fingers tangled in his hair and tugged just enough to make him anxious.

The artist sat up to peel his t-shirt off. He was dying to feel bare skin on bare skin. And when he laid back over top of her, he was not disappointed.

Little pin pricks of electricity sparked across their skin and made his nerves sing, made him feel alive.

He reached then for her panties, hooking his fingers in the waist band. He hesitated for just a moment, looking into her face. He caught that look of lust and knew then that there was no permission. All doubts had been checked at the door.

He pulled the panties down past her thighs, her knees, his body following their path. He licked the inside of her thighs and watched her arch up in a pose of violent beauty. At her knees, he heard her soft sigh as he kissed just behind them.

He ran his fingers down her calves to watch her stretch her legs out. Her tiny giggle when he kissed her instep was like music such that he had never heard.

Spencer undid his own jeans, kicked off his Converse and toed off his mismatched socks.

His jeans and polka dotted boxers joined the pile of her clothes, and then he laid on top of her again, full body against full body.

"I think that I need you."

"I know you do." she reached up again, her hands linked behind his neck. "Don't deny me." she whispered as she leaned up to kiss him.

That kiss almost undid him, almost made his push her legs apart so he could draw her to him, push his penis inside of her.

But somehow he managed to hold on for a moment more. Somehow, he managed to reach down and gently part her thighs.

One finger ran up and down her slit, feeling her shudder. That one digit slipped inside of her, felt the velvety wetness.

It was all he could not to moan. She was so ready. Had probably been ready since the moment she saw him down in the lobby.

Spencer kissed her hungrily, his tongue tasting her as he rolled his hips and entered her. She sighed against his mouth, her legs parting even wider for him.

She was hot, wet silk. He pulled out to push back into her, to feel it over and over again

They set a slow, steady pace. Her hands ran up and down his back on either side of his spine as she met him, thrust for thrust.

The scent of carnality filled the room, sweat, and heat, and his pheromones and hers. It was an intoxicating perfume that drove him even closer to the edge.

He glanced down at her, writing against his pillows, her hair spread out around her head like a halo.

"I need to--," she whimpered.

"So do it," he prompted. "Come for me."

And she did, tightening around him as her back arched on the bed, her mouth open in a perfect, soundless scream.

Spencer was right behind her, spilling into her, his heat mixing with her heat. He slumped against her, breathless and sated.

Her hand reached up to stroke his hair in lazy motions. Endless centuries stretched out in comfortable soundlessness. But after all, what could their voices say that their bodies already had not?

He listened to her breath slowing down and knew she was not long for wakefulness. Her head turn to one side on the pillow.

"Tell me something?" he whispered, wide awake.

"What?" she stretched her legs, little toes pointed.

"Tell me what your name is?"

"You already know, don't you?" she blinked. "You named the statue."

"What?"

"Melody."

"Melody," he repeated. She was asleep in seconds, and he stepped out of his bed, naked, to the still mobile lump of clay. In moments, he had begun to reform it.

After all, she was not the proud, stand offish woman who could terrify you as she brought you to your knees. Or at least, that was not the only side of her.

Rather, there was this side of her. This lady laying on his bed, breasts exposed, sheet just barely covering her hips, one hipbone exposed. Her face was turned towards him, her lips parted.

This... This was his unnamed Melody.