Comfort, for onceaheroine

[beyour_guide]

Nick was back.  Nick was dead.  Nick was a vampire.  Nick the vampire wanted to have sex with his Slayer, and his Slayer was equal parts disgusted and desirous of the idea.  He didn't blame her; after five years of uncertainty she saw a man who not only looked like her husband, but had his memories as well.  Too bad he was a soulless bloodsucking

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[onceaheroine]

"I can hear your brain turning over and over all the way down the hall," Belle murmurs from the doorway. Stripped down from the protective layer of clothing she'd been in earlier, she's now wearing just a tank top and shorts with one of Nick's old shirts over it all.

She pads into the room and slips under the covers beside him. "Shhh. Turning all of this over and over in your head is going to solve nothing. C'mere."

[beyour_guide]

"Brains do not make noise unless something is really wrong." Somehow he wasn't surprised when she showed up in his room. He moved over from the middle of the bed so she had enough room and touched her with no more than a hand curled against her shoulder.

[onceaheroine]

"Hey, what am I? Contagious?" Belle reached for him, strong hands sliding up over his shoulders to draw him close.

"We're going to figure this out. One way or another, we always do." She pressed her lips to his forehead. "You failing to sleep isn't going to do a damn thing towards that, though."

[beyour_guide]

He was always careful, except during training, about how much he touched her. In the beginning she'd been skittish about touch. His. From the few pictures he'd seen and the rare mention in Nick's Diaries they had been in each other's personal spaces almost from the start. And then it had become habit, and a way to protect himself. He cared about her, in ways a friend shouldn't, and worried that too casual of a touch might give him away.

He always let her make the first move, when it came to touch. Now he pulled her closer, and prayed that his body would behave; it had been some time since he'd had a woman in his bed. Or a man. The sweatpants that he wore wouldn't hide anything.

"I'm not a good sleeper in the best of times. It just takes me awhile."