He can't stop watching her face.

He can hardly breathe at the sight of it, the sweet, carefree abandon on her features as he settles above her, her eyes closed and and just the slightest hint of a smile on her lips as he teases at her mouth and presses his hips into hers. Her giggle only wrecks him more, the unbridled happiness on her face and knowing that he is the cause of it, that she's just as desperate for him, that all the things he thought he'd never have (and certainly didn't deserve) are laid out in front of him, a wide-open road upon which he can shape his future.

They're frenzied and giddy and half-clothed when it all comes down to it, she still wearing her sweater and jacket with only one leg out of her jeans and he entirely covered save for his belt and zipper. But that same look crosses her face when he presses inside her, and while they decidedly do not take their time once they begin moving it's making love all the same, fast and frantic with an underlying sweetness as their fingers tangle together and their foreheads touch.

"Say it again," he whispers against her mouth as he moves.

Her hand tightens against the small of his back before sliding further down, pulling him tighter against her. "I love you. God, I love you so much."

He can hardly last like this but neither can she and he gets to see that face one more time as she falls, her muscles tightening deliciously around him as he continues to move, slowing his hips to drag it out for her but never stopping, savoring the little hitches in her breath when he pushes the slightest bit harder.

He only picks up the pace when she relaxes fully. She's so delightfully open beneath him, her knees falling wide as she breathes deep and watches his own face, lifts her hips up to meet his and pushing, her fingers combing through his hair as he flies apart in her arms. Her smile then is a thing of beauty, soft and adoring and pleased as they both come down and hold on to one another, lips meeting skin with murmured adorations as their heartbeats settle into one.

Clothes, it seems, are not needed in their bedroom.

He'd expected Emma to get dressed once they'd left the shower but she merely dries off and settles into the mattress, not even bothering to cover herself as she stretches, long and languid across the quilt. He knows an invitation when he sees one and loves her all the more for it, the sight of her laid out and wanting, for him.

He tosses his towel aside with a grin and joins her on the bed, climbing above and resting in the cradle of her thighs. "Wanting more, are you?" he breathes against her mouth, and she doesn't answer with words, doesn't need to, simply slides her palms over his back as he settles his weight into her, her lips soft and warm against his. Her fingers trace slowly over his skin, passing over the scars of his childhood with no judgment or pity, love sparking over his flesh with every touch.

"I just wanna lock the door and not come out for a week." Her words come out on a contented sigh as his mouth drifts over the curve of her shoulder. "Can we do that?"

His heart cracks at her words and his lips still against her skin. An innocent, nigh-impossible wish given the state of the town, how they can't go more than a few hours without some crisis or another. He'd barely been alive again - bloody fuck, he's raised from the dead and he's hardly had a moment to think about it - for twenty minutes before the Dark One was up to his old tricks and he'd ended up in another realm.

But he's alive and the most beautiful woman he's ever known is wrapped around him, and he can give her this. "Aye," he says, nosing against her ear. "We can."

She makes a small noise of protest when he rolls off her and props on his elbow to look down at her. "What are you - "

"Give a man a moment, love," he chuckles, wondering if his years are finally catching up to him. She's ready and willing but he's not quite there yet, but she looks more amused than disappointed.

"Feeling your age, old man?" she teases, and he can barely contain his laugh. She may be an open book but he's no less hopeless when it comes to her being able to see right through him.

His hand drifts across her skin, sliding between her breasts and veering lower, the lightest caress he can muster. Her eyes drift closed and he smiles. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Mmm, don't stop."

He doesn't stop. His fingers find her slick and wanting; she's delightfully warm as his hand slowly slides over her, steady but teasing as he works over the spot that makes her hips twitch up involuntarily. "Just like this?" His voice is barely a whisper.

Her head falls back into the pillows. "Just like that."

He's back to studying her features once more, mesmerized by the absolute rapture on her face as he works at her. He's in no rush, content to drag it out as long a possible, enjoying the little changes in her expression when he moves his fingers just so.

"What are you - mmm - what are you doing?" she asks, twitching under his touch but never opening her eyes.

"I like watching you." His confession is quiet, painfully intimate. "Let me - ?"

"Yeah." It's hardly a word, more of an exhale, but her lids tighten on a particularly rough swipe of his thumb. "Yeah, just - " and then it's another noise that's not quite a word, high-pitched and vulnerable. "Just keep doing - yeah."

"As you wish." He can feel his own body start to stir but it's not even a concern, not when he can watch as her face changes with every little twitch of his fingers. Part of him wants to slide between her legs, draw her thighs over his shoulders and lick and kiss and suck until she's a writhing mess in his arms, but he can't bear to lose his current view, craves to watch as he plays her like an instrument.

And oh, how he craves it, that gorgeous, tangible proof that she wants him this badly, wants everything he can give her, wants him to make her happy and wanted and loved. It's in every little hitch of her breath, every jolt of her muscles, every arch in her back as he presses into her and doesn't let up. Craves every sign that she wants him, that he's good for her, that he is good and wanted and everything she needs, and he can scarcely believe it but it's what she gives to him when she's like this, pliant and needy and beautifully responsive to his touch.

She's quiet and muted as she comes but electric under his hand, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as she tenses and lets go. It's yet another face he can't get enough of, strained and tight but free at the same time. His touch softens as he brings her down and her deep-seated sigh and relaxed brow is everything he needs, everything he wants to see for the rest of his blessed days on this earth.

Her eyes finally drift open as her nails scratch at her neck, glancing down at him with a sated expression and - gods, he can hardly believe he's so lucky - hunger in her eyes. "You ready?"

He's beyond ready but prepared to put her off; she's done more than enough for him, but her hand is sliding down and closing over him and he's lost to it. "Aye." It's hardly a word when he gets it out but she smiles and shifts underneath him, drawing him to her in an easy, graceful motion.

He realizes he's the one being watched as they come together, that simple, knowing smile on her face as he leans in with his whole body, her warmth sweet and inviting and home, finally. He lets her see, holds nothing back when they move together and for a moment he thinks he might make her fall again.

"Can you - " he starts, his hips stuttering with his words.

"No, I'm good," she murmurs against his ear. "I love you." The words are a caress against his skin, and how did she know, how did she bloody know how badly he needs to hear - "Don't stop."

He doesn't stop. It ends as perfectly as it started, a tangle of limbs and sweat words they both need to hear out loud when he finally breaks, stars bursting behind the lids when he shuts his eyes and lets himself go, her fingers at his back holding him together as his nerves do their best to make him fly apart.

The cleanup is haphazard at best, another towel strewn onto the floor as they settle in close, the sun streaming through the curtains. There's something strangely real about making love in the bright light of day, no shroud of darkness to hide beneath even as they crawl under the covers. They're quiet for a time, her head on his chest and it almost hurts, the beautiful simplicity of it.

"I can hear you thinking." Her words are muffled against his skin.

"That so?"

"Yeah. Anything you want to share with the class?" He can feel her smile against his chest and while her turn of phrase is unfamiliar, as usual he understands her perfectly.

"Just…." he places a kiss to the top of her head - "getting older. I hadn't had much chance to entertain the thought before."

Her hand stills against his chest. "Does it scare you? Aging?"

"Not in the slightest." He holds back a bit, doesn't bring up the idea of growing old with her, but the thought hangs in the air regardless.

Her lips move once again and he can feel her smile against his flesh. "Say that again when I'm all wrinkly and gray."

His exhale is bigger, deeper than he wanted but if she's willing to go there he's more than happy to join her. "You'll still be every bit as stunning as you are now."

She laughs, and given everything it's the most incredible sound he's ever heard. "Whatever." She lifts her head, props her chin in her hands. "You'd look pretty great with salt-and-pepper hair, though."

It's another unfamiliar phrase but understandable enough, and he allows himself to consider the thought. "I would still be devilishly handsome in my old age, wouldn't I?"

Her smack against his chest is playful and light, and he can't stop himself from laughing.