TITLE: Home Comforts
AUTHOR: Head Rush
PAIRING: G/Anya
RATING: NC-17
EMAIL: head_rush100@yahoo.co.uk
SUMMARY: A wintry evening at home with Giles, Anya, and a delivery from L.L.Bean
SPOILERS: None - this is set in a vague, AU season 7
NOTE TO THE UNINITIATED: For those unfortunates who have not run across L.L.Bean, it’s an upmarket American casual clothing/houseware/outdoor activities company.
FEEDBACK: Always welcome, but please be gentle.
ARCHIVES: Sure, but please email me so I know where it’s going.
DISCLAIMER: All belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, etc. This was written for fun, not profit, so please don’t sue. That goes for you, too, L.L.Bean. I’m doing you a favour here.
“Oh God, Anya, that’s good.”
“It’s not too much?”
“Almost, but not quite.”
“Should I stop?”
“No, don’t you dare.”
Anya finished tucking in their new L.L.Bean, five-ounce, two-hundred-thread-count flannel base sheet into the mattress of their brand new bed in Giles’ flat, and straightened up. “You know, it’s hard to make a bed when there’s a person lying on it.”
“Mmm.”
Clearly, Giles was going to be no help at all.
He turned over so that he was lying on his front, pressing a slightly stubbly cheek into the sheet, presenting a pyjama-clad ass that begged to be erotically pummelled. “What colour did you say these were?”
She sighed. Men never knew what colour things were. “The base and top sheets are ‘Claret’. The pillowcases are ‘French Navy’.”
He brushed a hand across the sheet he lay on. “I’m glad you realised what a good idea it was of mine to get these sheets.”
“As I recall, you said, ‘No way are you going to transform our new bed into a middle class yuppie inferno, and are you aware of the extent to which the customs rates on international shipping are going to gouge our life savings?’”
“Darling. I said ‘darling’ at the end of it.”
Anya tore into the plastic bag containing the top sheet, shook it out, and let it billow out over him. She tucked it in, and waited.
A moment later he flopped over onto his back, frowning, as she’d known he would. Having been brought up in an old English house free of the miracle of double glazing, where gales screamed in through the window casements, Giles had developed the constitution of a polar bear, and was unable to sleep comfortably in a room unless there was a risk of frostbite in the air.
“Now I’m hot.”
She grinned. “Yes you are, honey. Hotter than any man has a right to be. Hotter than the suns of Y’Gilla…”
“Yes, thank you, darling, I’m *really* hot now.”
Suddenly she was having an interesting idea. “Let’s see if there’s something we can do about that.” Anya crawled, lioness-like, over his flannel-covered form – oh, these sheets *were* nice – and leaned down to offer him the best possible view of her nightwear-framed cleavage just before she kissed him, deep and sensuous.
“If you’re trying to cool me down, it isn’t working,” he grinned.
She sat up, moved back a little… yes, he *was* enjoying this… and reached down to lift up his t-shirt. He arched and wriggled so that she could pull it over his head and off. She was starting to feel a bit warm, too.
Anya jammed the pillows into their French Navy cases, and leaned over him to put them in place. Giles held onto her, freed a breast, and fixed his mouth over it. She moaned. Oh, that was very, very nice. But she pulled back. The bed wasn’t made yet. She added L.L.Bean’s Snowfield Fleece Blanket (French Navy), and Giles began to pink up.
Anya dove under the covers and swatted him. He lifted his hips, and she tugged his pyjama bottoms off. Though not in a position to enjoy it thoroughly, she heard him giggle happily, and felt warm inside as well as outside.
She retreated into the air again. “I didn’t realise this was going to be a reciprocal thing. Put the clothes on the bed, take the clothes off of you. It’s hard work. I’m getting kinda hot myself.”
He looked intensely pleased. “Strip bed-making. You are a wonder, my love.” His eyes twinkled. “I think even you might be warm under this lot.”
If he thought she was going to get naked in this arctic air, he had another think coming. Her concession to hotness was to remove her wrap, so that he could appreciate her dark blue slip and goosebump-pebbled form.
Finally, she wrestled the L.L.Bean Ultrasoft Microloft Comforter (Claret) from its packaging and draped it over the bed. Giles looked as though he was going to explode.
“Comfy?”
“Boiling. Inside and out.”
“Well, we could try the time-honoured British method of cooling you down.” Anya flung back the covers, threw open the window, snapped off the light, and swept out of the room with a peal of laughter.
She went down the hall, and counted back from ten… nine… eight… sev-
“Darling? Please come back.”
That was his fake-calm voice. She grinned, and complied.
“Yes, darling? Is there something you want?”
“I’m cold now.”
Mission accomplished. She went back into the bedroom and turned on the small light in the corner. It cast a soft, comforting glow. “My poor honey. Do you see why we needed to get flannel sheets?”
“Yes, love. You were absolutely right.”
“Do you think I deserve a reward for bringing such luxury into your deprived existence?”
He grinned wickedly. “You certainly do.” He extended a hand. “Come here.”
She took his hand and let out a squeak which turned into a giggle as he hauled her in and under the covers. It *was* very warm under all that brushed cotton, but there was no way she’d admit it.
Oh. It was even warmer under Giles under all that brushed cotton. He must have seen that, or else had reasons of his own to sit back and gently work her slip up and over her head. He moved back and down. She rested her legs over his shoulders and got a wonderful view of his tousled hair as he exposed her and ran his warm, soft tongue over all the right places, getting her ready. His noises indicated he was enjoying it as much as she was. She bucked into his mouth, straining to be penetrated, and he complied.
She arched into his fingers; one at first, then two, then one was removed, only to reappear further back. She gave a little cry as he sucked and probed without mercy, and came hard into his mouth.
He moved up a bit to rest his head on her tummy so that she could run her hands through his hair while he gentled her with strokes that feathered up and down her sides.
God, that exquisitely soft base sheet felt fabulous against her bare back. Almost, but not quite, as good as his strong thighs fitting between hers as he lifted her hips to just the right angle for him to slip forward and in and in, long and hard, answering her need with his own, and opening her completely.
She had been having sex for a thousand years, but *this* was new again; this opening, this near-willingness to be vulnerable. This trust. He reached her limit and pushed beyond it.
His kiss swallowed her cry.
He raised his head to look down into her blurry eyes. “Love you,” he murmured.
“Love you too.”
“That’s all right, then.” He smiled, and gave a gentle thrust, letting her feel just how deep he was.
She couldn’t remember… “Honey, did you…” she managed.
He nudged a stray lock of hair from her face and thrust again, hard enough to make her moan as he nuzzled into her neck. “I did. Wouldn’t dare mess up your sheets.”
He was so thoughtful. She relaxed, the better to enjoy every moment, every breath, every large or small movement that he made; a constant process to discover what pleased her most. Her hands ranged from his hair to the taut muscles of his chest, along his sides, under his surprisingly strong arms, up and over his powerful shoulder blades. For all his lovely masculine muscles, she had one that was more effective in this situation, and she flexed it as hard as she could. He gasped, laughed, and increased the pace insistently until she was lost and trusted him to hold her, keep her safe. Which he did throughout that extraordinarily sustained pleasure moment, and the next one as well.
For a while afterwards, she floated in a delightful haze of Giles-weight, warmth, softness, and utter contentment. She closed her eyes and listened to the soft sounds of Giles’ breathing, and the unseasonable thunderstorm grumbling outside. This feeling, this happiness, was what she’d been waiting for, though till now she hadn’t known it.
“So happy,” she whispered to herself. Giles stirred enough to move his head, brushing his soft hair across her stomach, and smiled up at her. He took her hand and gently swept his thumb back and forth over her knuckles.
“Me too, love.”
End.
24/10/04