It was something the books and movies never talked about, or at least never did justice.
The tumble onto the bed, all sprawled limbs and exhaustion after a long day of meetings or paperwork, or long ago fighting in bloody battles, but that was a time long gone by. These days, Elizabeta would show up on Gilbert's doorstep casually, a bag of groceries in her arms knowing he'd have nothing, and crash for a week, sometimes months when she could get the chance, and those times were the best. They cook together (although Elizabeta would end up smacking him at least once with some form of kitchen implement when he'd inevitably do something wrong) and they'd eat on the couch casually with a beer each, probably not the only one for the evening. A couple movies or a chat later her head would droop onto his shoulder and they'd end up shuffling upstairs, sometimes she'd push him onto the bed in a spurt of energy, and oh Gilbert loved that the best. She'd climb on top of him, long chestnut waves pouring over her shoulder and tickling his pale skin as she'd look down at him with those eyes that sparkled with mischief, a spark that had never quite died over years of friendship and love, and how he loved that. She was the only one for him, the only one who had the ability to keep up with him, that had the fire and passion and the smile that could take his breath away.
Elizabeta knew that part of him, the part that melted at her touch, at the slightest smirk on those rosy lips, the way she'd run her long fingers down his chest. Those fingers once held weapons, broad swords that even most men couldn't wield, her trusted pan, guns-but now they tickled down gently, caressing every slight curve of his body, worshipping it. How they'd fought, once upon a time, and still did, but it was easy to forget that when his lips trailed down her neck, occasionally leaving marks on the soft skin but she wouldn't care until the next morning when she had to try and hide them. He would kiss to her collarbone, undoing the buttons of her shirt, which he found both hot and rather frustrating as his fingers fumbled with the buttons. But it was worth it, to feel her fingers grip a bit at his shirt in anticipation, the little shudder of her breath in her chest as he slid the fabric down her shoulders and bared her chest. He would pay attention to it, of course, it was his favorite spot to leave little love bites (he'd always been a breast kind of guy, she'd always joke, but she would never claim to not enjoy it), unhooking her bra with one hand. Sometimes he'd leave it hanging a bit off her shoulder, and she wouldn't tell him to move it because at that point she'd be more occupied with stripping him of his own t-shirt, kissing his lips tenderly, but it would build up quickly and soon he would be fondling with her breasts until she was panting and making soft little noises into his mouth, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she pressed her body against his. It was enough to have him straining against his jeans, even after all this time somehow she managed to make him feel like he was young again, like they were a regular young couple still learning each other's bodies and addicted to the feeling of being with each other. Sometimes, if she was in that kind of mood, she would tease him by kissing down his chest and unzipping his pants with her teeth (the button sometimes too, although she complained that took too much effort). Elizabeta had never been entirely submissive, she enjoyed toying with him far too much, but sometimes he could pin her underneath him and lavish her until she was a quivering, mewling mess.
Elizabeta could do the same to him, though, rather embarrassingly easily, with her nimble fingers and mouth that she used on those rare occasions (she wasn't too fond of it, which he was alright with, because heck anything she did was good enough for him). Some nights they would stop at that, too, she would flop onto his chest and curl up there, nuzzling against his neck, until he felt her relax and her warm breath against his neck as she fell into slumber. He didn't mind that either, not really, because there would be plenty of chances to have sex, but watching her sleep was enchanting in it's own way.
When they did, though, he would normally roll her over onto her back gently, or perhaps a bit rougher, depending on how they worked themselves up, and he would slide down her pants or skirt slowly, taking care to caress her body sweetly, until she shivered beneath him. Gilbert was always good to her, he would take his time to make sure she was ready, use his fingers (which weren't quite as long as her own, she'd tease, but he'd argue that they did the job), and then he would slide into her. People would expect it to be rough, quick, but Gilbert didn't really fancy that, at least not with Elizabeta. They would almost always start of slow at first, kissing as he pushed in until he was completely sheathed inside her, and then he would start rolling his hips to a tune that only they knew, faster and slower at times, her fingers curled into his shirts, gripping his shoulders, sliding down his back and sometimes leaving little scratches along the way as she gasped and mewled with pleasure. He found the noises adorable, although he knew better than to say that out loud, and she would think the same of the little grunts and moans that spilled from his own lips, sometimes followed by a panted "fuck" or "Liz" or occasionally "oh, god" and she loved it. There would be kisses, too, breathless short pecks or lingering passion, little nips that left lips swollen and red but neither cared, there wasn't a care in the world in that moment as they melted together, becoming one in a way that no one in the entire universe could really explain.
And then there was that moment where it felt like they were weightless, breathless, wrapped around each other, toes curled and fingers scrambling for purchase as the fire burst through their bodies. It would last only moments but it would feel like forever, until he gazed down at her, both covered in sweat and what have you, and their eyes would meet until they fell into another sweet, tender kiss before collapsing onto the bed once more, wrapped limb in limb and fingers in hair. Eyes would flutter shut and perhaps there would be an exchange of "I love you", "I love you too", and some light chatter about the state of the sheets or a joke of a shower, but of course they would both fall asleep within minutes. Gilbert would snore, and Elizabeta sometimes too, and in the morning he'd try to be cool and make her breakfast which would burn, but she'd take it all in stride with perhaps a quip or two, but she'd eat it anyway, with a bright laugh, and both of them would think that there was nothing better in the world than what they'd managed to build together.