"Open and/or Sunday", Anya/Xander, PG-13, during "Storyteller"
"Last Time"
They're apprehensive initially, fingers trembling as they're reacquainted with once-forbidden flesh. Then everything fades; they open themselves to one another, and they're Xander-and-Anya again: simply, completely. Hands and lips trust memory to find sensitive spots as their bodies fall into that same, familiar rhythm that's seeped into their bones, become part of them.
This is how it was meant to be. This is how it can never be again. Too much has changed.
This is the last time.
Still, they can't let go. They curl up together, lost in their own private sanctuary, hidden from the Sunday afternoon unfolding upstairs.
They're apprehensive initially, fingers trembling as they're reacquainted with once-forbidden flesh. Then everything fades; they open themselves to one another, and they're Xander-and-Anya again: simply, completely. Hands and lips trust memory to find sensitive spots as their bodies fall into that same, familiar rhythm that's seeped into their bones, become part of them.
This is how it was meant to be. This is how it can never be again. Too much has changed.
This is the last time.
Still, they can't let go. They curl up together, lost in their own private sanctuary, hidden from the Sunday afternoon unfolding upstairs.