Post 2x13. Based on a tumblr prompt from seacoloredeyes: Oliver and Sara after sex.
Oliver hasn't felt this exhausted in a while - the bone deep, satisfying exhaustion of a really good, long fuck. The kind that goes on for hours, where two people are so caught up in each other's bodies that the rest of the world stops turning, where orgasms are sharp slices of ecstasy, ripping through an ongoing canvas of pleasure.
But when it's finally over, when they've both stripped each other's gratification to ribbons of nerve endings, and found the satisfaction and luxury of bliss to the point where neither of them can take it anymore, they lie on the exercise mats, dripping, panting, and drained of the uncertainties that drove them into each other's skins to begin with.
They talk in quiet, muffled voices, heads tilted towards each other, sharing soft smiles, and reminiscing about the few (so very few) times they recall fondly. Because when you've lived through purgatory together, the small moments of heaven stand out in your memory, and bridge the gap between souls. And it doesn't matter that hell was real - the smatterings of joy in between were made all the more real for its existence.
Like finding fresh berries, ripe and red, and not deadly. Or knowing that they could have a fire one night, without the danger of being discovered, and the warmth that settled in their bones. Clear spring water, a hairbrush left behind by one of Fryer's men, to Sara's delight, finding five minutes to bathe and drying in the sunlight on the rocks.
Little drops of stillness amidst perpetual motion.
When they finally sit up, they're surprised by the destruction they left in the wake of their coming together.
Oliver wonders when they knocked the power sharpener from the table. It looks broken. He'll probably have to buy a new one. And Sara isn't sure how the spare display case in the corner got shattered, but her shoulder stings, and she has a feeling she was responsible. She'll have to check it later. And then they look at each other, and nothing has changed. They're both still just two souls living from one heavenly moment to the next. Neither of them knows what's coming or what to expect, but they're both here, and they have each other, and they haven't died yet, and that's okay.
Oliver starts laughing first, a deep rumble that Sara hasn't heard in years, and she can't help but join in as she searches for her bra. It got tossed somewhere after the first time Oliver went down on her. Oliver discovers his pants behind some shelves, and they're both grinning like idiots by the time they pull out brooms and begin putting things to right.
Outside, the world keeps turning. But inside, for a few hours at least, they're home.