AN: Shameless fluff written for the prompt "Stairway to Heaven." Set in a post NFA future.
There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings./ And a new day will dawn for those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter.
After the latest battle is won and another war is over, she drags him off to bed with the intention of staying there for days. It's probably irresponsible and definitely impulsive, and they have way too many things to talk about. But they've been apart long enough and she's spent days telling herself to wait, they have to wait until the world is safe again. Now that it is, there are better ways to communicate than tears and accusations.
He was expecting her to yell. Once the evil was abolished and they no longer had to work together he was expecting her to yell. Maybe some punching. What he was not expecting was for her to find him in the hallway and pull him to her bedroom. By the time he convinced himself he was, in fact, awake, her tongue was in his mouth and her hand was on his zipper.
She'd missed this. Even when she still saw him every day she'd missed this.His body looming over hers, his mouth on her neck, and his fingers dipping under the elastic of her cotton underwear, when for so long it was her fingers and her imagination. And it's easy. He still remembers all the buttons to push to make her sigh and scream. As her toes slide up his bare legs and his voice catches on her name, she has the crazy thought that maybe loving him doesn't have to end in pain. Maybe it could be as simple as this, two people remembering each other and tangling themselves together.
When she gets up citing a need for the bathroom, he watches as she retrieves his t-shirt from the lampshade and pulls it over her head. While he thinks about how there's never been anything as sexy as her in his clothing, his toes are busy seeking out the warmth she left behind. It's nice, stretching into her heat, and it's something he could get used to if she'll let him. It strikes him then, that they could have time. He's here and so is she and there are weeks and maybe even months and years ahead of them and nothing in the way. They could actually have the time to talk and learn and fight and kiss and just generally get their shit together while she's not depressed and he's not crazy and imminent doom isn't lurking on the horizon. They could have more than the stolen moments they got in Sunnydale when they spoke circles around each other and said far more with actions. With enough time, maybe they'd get to a place where being with her could be as effortless as loving her.
When she comes back in the room she's juggling a bottle of water in one hand and a box of pop tarts in the other. She grins at the sight of him sprawled on her flowery sheets and fights back the urge to tell him she loves him. She's certain she does but they're stuck in limbo between 'too soon' and 'not soon enough,' and a complicated history is seeping into the open spaces. So instead she says, "Sorry there isn't any blood. I'll run swing by the butcher later and get some." She hopes he understands.
She stands in the doorway, smiling and apologizing for not having blood, and when she climbs back in bed her weight tips him closer to her. He wants to tell her that he loves her and he's never stopped, not once. But she looks happier than he's seen her in a long time, and for now that's enough. He kisses her and says, "pop tarts will do me fine." He hopes she understands.