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They are her anchor.
It’s a realization that has been slowly blooming for some time. It hits her full force as they hug at the end of everything. Both of them holding her close, her breathing them in. From the beginning they’ve weaved around each other; constantly in orbit around one another.
At first it was fast and heated. Limbs and mouths and words all tumbled around until they lay in a tangled pile on whoever’s bed was closest. Now she’s grown accustomed to it. Having them in her, on her, above her, below her; and best of all, surrounding her.
Later, when they’ve mourned the dead and toasted the victory, she’ll contemplate the future. She never wants to be without them. It doesn’t matter how it will happen. There are words she could say, but she won’t. Not when a touch, a look, says so much more. That’s all that she’ll ever need.