They collapsed, panting and sweaty, side by side on the spacious mattress. It took a few moments for her to reconfigure her thoughts, her mind overwhelmed in afterglow as she sunk into the long arms that curled around her. The woman had to admit it—that had been a very successful venture. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. He did too.

Her eyes flew open and she jerked out of his embrace.

There was a loud yelp and a thud as he was flung to the floor; she winced, but only because his shout had been far too loud to be anything but annoying to her. "Don't bother getting back in bed," she said, not making an effort to look back at him and make sure he was all right. "You're going home." It had become a custom of theirs—he'd visit for a few hours until she was satisfied, and then he'd drive to his apartment as if nothing had happened. She needed her space, after all, and a bumbling, over-talkative idiot was hardly good at providing that.

"Home. Right. S-sorry." She considered pulling her pillow over her head to block the garish accent from her ears, but decided that wouldn't be very dignified. "Do not know what I was thinking there, with the not-immediately-getting-out thing. I just get very tired after we—you know—" She could practically hear him blushing, his embarrassed chatter punctuated by the rustling of him putting on his clothing. "Well, after we do that, so I didn't, er, move. I'll just be going on out then. Right."

He hopped around the bed, still pulling on a sock, and leaned to kiss her cheek—but she turned her head away. "Not now," she said into her mattress. "I was just enjoying myself—don't go ruining that." She probably should have been kinder, but she didn't care. He was still in her space, and it was time to sleep, and not even the crestfallen expression on his face could battle her impatience. He swallowed and nodded, opening the bedroom door.

"Right. Sorry, luv. I'll—I'll see you tomorrow. Or something. Sweet dreams—the kind with pastries. And cake! You love cake. Have very cake-filled dreams." She merely groaned in response, pointedly turning in the other direction as a means of dismissal. A small smile played upon her lips, however … he could be quite sweet. Still, it was late. She wanted him gone.

With annoyance, she realized she needed to get up in order to lock the door behind him. After a moment she heaved herself out of bed, expecting him to have already left—and her mood was not improved as she came across him standing still at the front entrance. "Shouldn't you be off to your little shack or wherever it is you live? Or anywhere but here?"

He glanced back, looking abashed. "I thought so too, love, but …" He gestured to the nearby window and she peered through it. Thick, blinding snow dropped and swirled in the air, completely shrouding the image of the spindly tree in the front yard. The driveway, she realized, was likely coated in ice—and the roads probably were as well.

"There's a blizzard. How unfortunate." A pause. "Well, I hope you enjoy your drive home. Try not to slide too hard and go careening into any of my property."

As she said it, though, she accidentally ended up imagining it. Vividly. He was a terrible driver in the best of conditions; she could easily see him losing control of the wheel, his car never even making it past the driveway, crashing hard into the tree he didn't have any hope of seeing—her stomach clenched, and she didn't want to consider why. Instead, she grabbed his arm, dragging him away from the doorway. "No. I've changed my mind. You'll probably kill at least ten thousand people in one go—you'd be great at that." It looked like she'd have to deal with having him spend the night. Wonderful.

She paid no attention to his continuous protests ("You're hurting my arm, love!") as she pulled him to her living room, sighing internally at the thought of how he'd manage to make a mess of the place. "You're sleeping here tonight. On the love seat." She pointed to the pristine sofa, which shone with white leather. She couldn't have him sleeping in her bed, after all, no matter how talented a lover he'd proven himself to be.

He regarded the tiny couch dubiously; she knew there was no chance of his gangly limbs fitting comfortably on the furniture. That, however, was his problem. She merely needed to get back into her cozy, solitary bed. "Don't touch anything. Don't even think about touching anything. And if you wake me up, I'll be sure to put you to sleep. Forever." He gulped and nodded, and she sighed. "Good. I'm going to bed."

"Good night, luv," he said for the second time. She didn't answer, returning to her bedroom with a slam of the door. Thankfully, he stopped shifting around after a few minutes, which allowed her to finally fall asleep.

Briefly.

She woke, disoriented, to a loud thud. Something about it sounded suspiciously familiar, but she couldn't place it, forgetting that he was in her home. Irritated and slightly apprehensive, she slid once again out of bed and padded across the household—to discover him sprawled in a heap on the floor in front of the love seat. Damn. He'd rolled right off of the couch in his sleep. Amazingly, the fall hadn't even woken him.

She considered leaving him there; his loud snores were already making her hand twitch. But … she couldn't. He was a moron and a nuisance and intrusive, but she couldn't let him sleep like this. With a heavy heart, she realized what she needed to do. The idea almost made her skin crawl, and she kicked him hard in the side to make up for it. When he screamed himself awake, though, she regretted it.

"What d'you think you're—wait, why am I—that bloody hurt, luv, I—" She mentally shut out his babbling, yanking his arm hard so he was pulled haphazardly to his feet. He continued talking as she hauled him back into her bedroom, apparently failing to notice her lack of response. Finally, she turned to face him, looking livid. That shocked him into a rare silence.

"Get in," she said coldly, mentally screaming at the thought of having another person so close while she slept. "Don't talk. Don't touch me. Don't move from the left side of the bed. And for the love of God, try not to snore." She gave him a scalding glare before turning away and getting into the opposite side of the bed. After a moment, he joined her, lying as close to the mattress's edge as was physically possible. She hoped he wouldn't fall; that would negate the purpose, and if he ended up on the floor again, she was not waking him up.

She lay awake for ages, hyper-aware of his breathing beside her. He was too close, too dangerous, and this was her sanctuary. It only became worse as his breaths relaxed, turning eventually to the dreaded snores. God, she hated him. God, she hated herself for letting him sleep in her bed. Her thoughts kept her up for nearly an hour before exhaustion finally took over and dragged her to sleep.

She woke to a soft light from her window, the sunshine of morning warming her face. She felt … wonderful. Despite everything, she'd slept well, her dreams light and peaceful. She couldn't remember exactly what it was that she'd dreamt, but she had a vague idea that they'd had something to do with cake, of all things. Not wanting to move from her bed just yet, she snuggled closer into the arms that were wrapped around her. Then she realized what she was doing, realized who was holding her, realized the rule that had been broken.

She flinched.

He snored in response.

Yet … as she looked at his sleeping face, calm and gentle in the morning's light, it was hard to pull away. He was … beautiful. He was awkward and graceless and loud and beautiful. For once in her life, she let herself relax, allowed the beautiful man to hold her. For once in her life, she didn't want to be alone.

She fell asleep again, lulled by the steadiness of his snores.