Sharon opens her eyes to a morning filtered through heavily curtained windows. After a languid stretch, she rolls onto her side and smiles at the sight of Andy lying on his back, his arms raised and bent at the elbows, his head resting in his hands. His silver hair is messy for all the night's tossing and turning, and his face is dusted over with bristly salt-and-pepper whiskers which have sprouted overnight. She quickly decides that she quite likes his slightly disheveled appearance. His features are relaxed and his jaw slack with the absence of tension, and he's softly snoring. She watches for a moment his bare chest slowly rising and falling with the deep and even breath of contented sleep. Her gaze sweeps downward, past the slight bulge at his middle, and comes to rest just south of the hem of the sheet he's drawn to his waist. Her heart trips and her belly flutters on spying the outline of his morning erection.

Having arrived at his place after a long and late day at work, they'd stripped and fallen into bed the previous night with barely the energy for a goodnight kiss. She had been asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow. Now, though, Sharon is rested and feeling amorous.

She moves to lie along side him, rests her head on his shoulder and draws her flat hand over the coarse hair covering his belly. Andy stirs and drops an arm to her back, pulls her tightly to him in his sleep when she slips her hand beneath the sheet and palms his semi-rigid erection. She strokes him, tips her head back and nuzzles his ear, hoping to rouse in him a reaction. She huffs in frustration when he snorts and turns his head away from her, oblivious of her attempt at seduction. It's obvious to her that she'll need to be more aggressive in her efforts to wake him.

Because their sleeping together is new, and the sex newer still, this morning is the first time Sharon is initiating intimacy, and that fact gives her pause. It has been a long while since she's felt close enough to a man to even contemplate blowing him, let alone actually perform the act. She is eager to make this particular connection with Andy, but hesitates, crippled by a rare crisis of confidence. She takes a moment to screw up her courage, then carefully peels back the sheet. Banishing from her mind all doubt in her recall of the mechanics, she sits up, leans over him, and takes him into her mouth.

She knows the instant Andy wakes: he groans and fully hardens, stabs his fingers into her hair and lazily rolls his hips. She is emboldened by the power she feels in affecting his response and takes her time in pleasuring him with the twist of her wrist, the flick of her tongue. When, at length, he gathers her hair in one hand and tugs, she looks up to find his hooded eyes fixed on her. "C'mere." His voice is hoarse, from disuse or desire or both, and he clears his throat as he curls up to pull her atop him with hands hooked under her arms. She throws a leg over his hip and lays astride him, her breasts pressing against his chest, and her face inches from his.

"Good morning," Sharon is wearing a smirk and greets him playfully.

Andy chuckles and smooths the hair back from her face, holds her head in his hands. "Yeah, it is." He kisses her slowly and soundly, eventually rolling to position her underneath him. He pushes up onto his arms, holding himself above her, and smiles appreciatively. "You're, uh, really good at that." His eyes fixate on her mouth.

"Kissing?" She is purposely obtuse, and there is a challenge in the narrowing of her eyes.

"That, too," he shrugs, then lowers his body to hers, presses his cheek to hers and whispers hotly in her ear, "but I meant suckin' dick."

Andy has learned that Sharon enjoys a fair bit of coarse language, and he is happy to oblige her now. He draws back to gauge her reaction. An abbreviated groan accompanies her sinful smile, and he knows his words have hit their mark. He nips at the underside of her jaw, scrapes his teeth along the graceful curve of her neck when she arches her back and lifts her chin.

"Just one ... of my many hidden talents." Her skin pebbles with goose flesh and she shudders. He plucks the stiff peak of one breast and takes the other into his mouth as she parts her legs and circles her pelvis in invitation. He pulls back from the cradle of her hips, effectively thwarting her attempt to maneuver him into her body.

"Andy, please." The 'fuck me,' Sharon thinks, is understood.

"'Please' what?" Andy teases her, shifting his weight to his knees and inching down until his shoulders are between her legs, pressing them further apart.

She lifts her head and is immediately distracted from what her initial request was going to be when she realizes what he's positioning himself to do. She watches him settle on his stomach, flushing pink when he looks up at her over the swell of her belly. "'Please' what, Sharon?" His voice is low and deep, his eyes intense.

Though the question Andy has put to her is not of the yes or no variety, Sharon dumbly nods her head, quickly losing focus to anticipation. Aloud, she manages only a "Yes," and the manner in which it's drawn out, the breathlessness with which it's uttered, suggest it's all she's capable of in the heat of her desire. Her inability to articulate serves to fuel his arousal, and he growls before putting his mouth to her. She draws a shaky breath at the contact, and her eyes fall shut as she lowers her head to the pillow. She instinctively raises her hands to grip the headboard, drops open her knees, and circles her hips in counterpoint to the stroke of his tongue.

His exploration of her is a slow thing; purposeful and thorough. Though Sharon is not overly vocal in their lovemaking, neither is she silent: he takes his cues from the sighs and soft cries, the resonant hums, she's unable to contain. Andy is attentive, quickly learning her preferences, and skillfully driving her toward climax. He doesn't deviate when her hands strike the mattress at her sides and she fists the sheet in her fingers. He varies neither his pace nor his pressure when she arches her back and her body snaps taut. Her forlorn "Oh, my God," reaches his ears seconds before her thighs clamp around his head. He follows with his mouth the slow swing of her hips as she chases the ebbing wave of her pleasure, only releasing her flesh from his lips when he feels her relax and drop a hand onto the back of his head.

He wipes a quick hand over his face and crawls up her body, enters her unceremoniously as he situates himself above her. Supporting his weight with his forearms on either side of her head, Andy rests his forehead against hers. His open mouth hovers over hers, and he is still as her muscles alternately contract and relax around him: that he doesn't come immediately is a testament to his age and experience. Sharon clings to him with arms flung 'round his neck, her chest heaving with ragged breaths in the wake of her orgasm.

"Your talent in that department," she says when she is able, "isn't lacking, either." He laughs at the seriousness of her tone, but is inordinately proud that he has pleased her so.

Andy has yet to move inside her when Sharon's lips touch his, and he is secretly thrilled when she draws him into a long kiss, passionately tasting herself on his tongue. His dick twitches, reminding him to twist his hips and push further into the wet warmth of her body. He tucks his head into the crook of her neck and snakes his hands underneath her, wraps his arms around her narrow back and holds her tightly. When he is snugly seated inside her, he begins rocking into her at an angle; taking short, slow strokes, limited by their closeness and designed to keep his shaft in constant contact with her clit.

Sated as she is, Sharon yields control of their coupling to Andy without thought, and slips easily into sync with his slow and gentle movement. He tips back his head and whispers to her his unfiltered thoughts: God, what you do to me. You're so beautiful. You feel so good. She feels the prettiness of the words in the warm rush of his breath against her ear, and his name escapes her lips on a sigh. He lifts his head to kiss her. "I love the way you say my name." She says it again, and though he believes she's indulging him, it's more that she can't stop it rolling off her tongue. She is caressing his back, moving her hands in circles, when she becomes hyper aware of the solid weight of him atop her, the rhythmic slide of him within her.

'He's making love to me,' she thinks of his tenderness, his endearing commentary. "We're making love.' She's taken aback by a wellspring of emotion, and sudden tears fill her eyes.

They have known each other for years, have dated for months, and have been sleeping together for weeks. They've had sex four times before this morning. The first couple times had been hard and fast and hurried; the explosive result of intense physical attraction and unresolved sexual tension. The next two encounters had been progressively more ... personal; more a means of connecting than simply scratching an itch. And this is ... more.

They'd fallen into dating without having realized it: had they fallen in love without realizing it?

She hasn't given it conscious thought before now and is unprepared for the fear it evokes in her. Sharon's last love, like splintered glass that finally shattered, left painfully embedded in her the shards of its demise. Though the wounds Jack inflicted upon her have long since healed, the remaining scars having hardened her. Protecting her vulnerabilities has become second nature, and the thought of putting her heart into the care of another is terrifying.

And Andy, who has become so dear to her, is as guarded as she, and has as good a reason as she. He is no more capable than she of surviving unscathed the heartache of another unfulfilled promise, the disappointment of another failed commitment. Bearing the burden of his happiness seems a frightening responsibility.

Her thoughts have so consumed her that, aside from the thundering of her heart in her chest, she has frozen. Andy raises up to his elbows to look at her, his concern at her sudden stillness overriding his desire. "Hey - hey," he coos on seeing the tears now spilling from the corners of her eyes, and he shifts his weight to palm her cheek. "Sharon, Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

She opens her mouth, closes it again, and shakes her head. She wants to say I'm not ready for this. She surprises herself by instead saying, "I love you." She does. She's suddenly and overwhelmingly sure. The subdued and persistent joy she's felt these last months is because she loves him, and it swells to bursting now that she's acknowledged it. She is further buoyed by the light in his eyes and the smile that blooms on his face at her declaration.

"Good," he says, nodding, "That's good, because - " he strokes the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, " - Sharon, I love you, too." He's been waiting to say the words and so reciprocates easily. He has known for months that he is in love with her, but has resisted confessing his feelings. He's well aware of the destruction Jack has wrought in her life and hasn't wanted to pressure her on the heels of her divorce. He has happily and without expectation accepted from her her time and her kindness, her companionship and her body, telling himself that it was enough. But everything that's come before pales in comparison to the fullness he feels now at finally being free to love - and, incredibly, be loved by - her.

The kiss which follows is at first broken by one or the other of their smiles, until the fire of their earlier passion reignites. The sweetness of the moment turns to urgency - she rolling her hips, he grinding into her. Andy groans, pushes up onto his hands, locks his arms and lengthens his stroke in the greater distance between them. Sharon, spurred by a quickening in her stomach, braces her hands against his chest and draws up her legs to allow for deeper penetration. "Fuck me," she says throatily, knowing the indelicate command will drive him to a more forceful thrust. His head snaps up and he snarls, begins banging into her when he sees on her face the permission he's seeking.

Sharon moans, the tension of a quickly building second orgasm coiling in her gut. A bead of sweat breaks from Andy's hairline, runs down his face and disappears down his neck as he continues to pound her into the mattress. On recognizing his desperate look of failing concentration, she is already reaching between them to hasten her own climax when he asks haltingly "Can you come?"

She does - a warmth blossoming low in her belly, then overspreading her body in tendrils - as the dam breaks on his orgasm and, calling her name, he floods her in spurts. She writhes beneath him, the involuntary movement of his body above and within her serving to intensify her already heightened sensitivity.

The strength in his arms flags with his release, and rather than collapse atop her, Andy withdraws his softening erection from Sharon's body, and falls gracelessly beside her. He rolls onto his back and blindly reaches out to clasp her hand in his, and, fingers entwined, they lay there panting.

When her skin cools and she recovers her breath, Sharon throws an arm across her breasts, sits up, and reaches for the sheet which has been kicked to the foot of the bed. She pulls it up to cover herself, and Andy turns to look at her, raises a questioning brow at her actions and smiles. "Seriously?" She rolls her eyes and shrugs a shoulder, unable to account for her modesty after what he's just seen of her.

He chuckles and waves her closer as she lies back down, and she settles next to him with her head in the crook of his outstretched arm. "What time is it?" She yawns midway through the inquiry and raises her hand to cover her mouth.

He lifts his head, takes a quick look at the clock standing on the bedside table, and closes his eyes again as he drops back onto the pillow. "Quarter of eight."

"And we're meeting Nicole at ten?" Andy's grandsons are playing their T Ball opener this morning, and he and Sharon are joining his daughter and her her family at the ball field. It's why she'd packed a bag and come home with him the night before; the ball park is nearer to his house, and they'll save the time and trouble of crossing town from her place.

"Yeah."

She sighs and starts to roll away from him, but he curls his arm around her and holds her in place. "Where ya goin'?"

She pushes up onto one hand, holds the sheet to her breast with the other, and leans over him. "I need to get in the shower." She smiles nearly shyly.

"What's the rush?" He cups her face with his free hand, softly stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. Andy is suddenly worried that Sharon is uncomfortable in the light of day with the words they exchanged in the throes of passion, and his brow furrows as he searches her face. She recognizes the anxiety, both in his voice and on his face, and quickly acts to reassure him, kissing him firmly. She folds her arms across his chest, rests her chin atop them, bats her eyelashes and smiles crookedly.

"The rush," she says pointedly, "is that the come running from between my legs will shortly make a mess of your linens if I don't get up."

A slow grin, borne of his relief and the comical juxtaposition of her sweet affectation and crass words, parts his lips. "Fuck it." He shrugs off her concern, "The sheets can be changed."

Sharon squeals and wraps her arms around his neck as he flips her to her back. Andy hovers above her, lingers over the sight of her beneath him: her messy hair wreathed around her head, her eyes creased at their corners with the smile on her face. He wants to tell her again that he loves her, but hesitates, afraid yet that it is too much too soon, and kisses her instead. "Just fifteen more minutes, huh?" She is sobered by the intensity of his gaze, and nods in response to his appeal. He lowers himself to lie on his side, lays his head on her chest, and slides his hand under the sheet to rest possessively on her hip. She closes her eyes and combs her fingers absentmindedly through his hair, settles into the peace of the moment.

The next thing Sharon knows, Andy's shifting has startled her awake. "Easy there." He's chuckling and lifts a hand to smooth the hair back from her face. "You dozed off. It's time to get up and get a move on." He rolls away, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees him rise and cross to a chest of drawers. She sits up and is mid-stretch when she hears him say "Put this on -" She misses the rest of what he's saying because the folded T shirt he tosses over his shoulder hits her in the face, the air it displaces blowing her hair back behind her shoulders in a quick puff.

Andy is bent over pulling on a pair of boxers and looks back at Sharon in the bureau mirror - just as the shirt he's thrown falls from her face and lands in her lap. He quickly straightens and spins toward her, an apology for his poor aim on the tip of his tongue. His underwear, though, which are only up to his knees as he's turning, restrict his movement and he's unable to get his legs under him properly. She vaults from the bed, pulling the T shirt over her head as he flails, stumbles and falls cursing to the floor.

"Andy!" Sharon punches her arms through the short sleeves and is at his side in three quick strides. She drops to her knees beside him and helps him roll to his back. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She reaches for him, but sits back on her heels with a huff when he swats at her hands. "I said I'm fine." He growls through his clenched jaw, and she looks at him - lying naked on the carpet, tangled in his underwear, struggling to sit up - and bursts out laughing.

Andy's head snaps around. "It's not funny." He tries to pull up his boxers, but the more he tugs on them, the more they roll over on themselves and tighten across his legs. He throws up his hands in defeat and rolls his eyes to the ceiling, and Sharon laughs harder.

"Andy - " She shakes her head and holds her stomach. "- oh, my God - if you could see yourself!"

"Yeah. Hilarious." He sighs and leans back on his hands, waits out her laughter until she straightens her back and takes a deep breath. "You done?" She smiles, but bites her lip to keep from laughing again. She holds up her hands in surrender and nods solemnly. "Great." He sits up and gestures with both hands at his legs. "Can you do me a huge favor and help me with these goddamn shorts?"

"Of course." Sharon snaps into action, quickly divests him of the troublesome underwear and helps him from the floor. She stares at her feet, contrite, while Andy steps into and finally pulls up his boxers. She hears a dresser drawer slide open and shut and when she looks up, he's wearing a white undershirt, running his hands through his hair.

He scrubs a hand over his stubbly face, sighs and squares up to her. "Listen, here's the deal." She clears her throat, stands up straight, and gives him her full attention. "We never speak of this again." She lifts her hand to her mouth to cover the smile she can't keep from forming, and he cocks his head and raises his eyebrows. "Got it?"

She nods once. "Yes." He seems skeptical, narrowing his eyes at her. "Oh, for God's sake." She takes a step closer to him, takes his hands and tugs on them for emphasis. "Andy, it's not a big deal." He doesn't meet her gaze, and his expression is momentarily so pained that Sharon's heart clenches.

She is reminded that Andy, who is brash and brave and fearless, is not nearly as tough as the image he projects. Sharon knows him to also be shy and uncertain and sensitive. "Hey. " She closes the distance between them, and his arms encircle her waist when she releases his hands to cradle his face.

He shrugs his shoulders. "It's, ya know, embarrassing to make a fool of yourself in front of the woman you've just - " he gestures vaguely with his hand in the direction of his bed, "well, you know."

Sharon scoffs. "That you fell over doesn't change the fact that you -" she hesitates, less comfortable explicitly expressing herself outside the heat of the moment, " - fucked me silly."

He snorts and shakes his head at her turn of phrase, and smiles down into her upturned face. "You're something else, ya know that?" She smiles crookedly and clasps her hands behind his neck.

"I am pretty great, aren't I?" She is being flippant, but Andy nods seriously in agreement.

"You are. And I - " Again, he bites back the words and swallows the emotion. This time, Sharon fully understands that he is selflessly concealing his feelings to accommodate hers. And she loves him all the more for it.

She presses her forehead to his chin and closes her eyes. "Say it, Andy. I'm ready to hear it."

He closes his arms around her and tucks her head into his neck with a hand at the back of hers. He drops a kiss in her hair. "I love you." He is matter-of-fact in his delivery, and she finds his sure, plain statement more romantic, more meaningful than any verse of poetry.

He is aware of the risks and is charging forward in spite of them. His courage, his willingness to chance it all for her, further endears him to her.

She raises up on her toes and squeezes him tightly for just a moment before extracting herself from his embrace enough so that she can engage his eyes. "I love you." Her voice is clear and strong and she's beaming like a schoolgirl with a crush. "I do. I love you."

Andy grins widely and laughs at her enthusiasm. "Alright, jeez - I believe you." Sharon smacks at his chest, but laughs at his teasing. He takes her chin in his hand and his eyes roam the planes of her face before settling again on hers. "It's good, right?"

She lifts her hand to cover his. "It is." He leans in and kisses her sweetly and she hums her pleasure before they separate.

"Okay, then," he claps his hands together, points at her with their steepled tips. "You go get in the shower," she nods and turns away in search of the overnight bag which contains her necessities. "And I ..." he trails off and watches the hem of her borrowed T shirt ride up when she bends to retrieve her case from the floor beside the bed. He walks past her on his way out the door, and smacks her bare ass. "- will go put some coffee on."

Sharon straightens with a yelp and turns to glimpse Andy's smug grin just before he disappears down the hallway. "Ass," she mutters.

He pokes his head back through the door and points at her with both index fingers. "Ah, but you love me!" He winks and quickly retreats again. She just sighs and shakes her head when she hears him whistling merrily on his way to the kitchen.