A/N: I'm likely crazy to be writing for this fandom, but Harrica won't leave me alone! Once upon a time there was a behemoth known as That May Be All I Need. It was published and then I looked back at it and found it a poor representation of the type and quality of writing I'd like to be known for. It was not all bad. This fic was born out of that universe, so there were redeeming qualities. Just not enough to save.
Disclaimer: I haven't disclaimed in my other Harrica fics. Oops. Goes without saying that I don't own them. Nancy Meyers, Diane Keaton, and Jack Nicholson do. I did take the liberty of naming Marin's baby daughter in That May Be All I Need and that carries through here.
Lastly, reviews are lovely. Please come by and say hello!
Erica was out of sorts. She had turned over in her sleep and reached for Harry, but instead of his solid warmth her hands encountered his pillow. It was empty. And cold. She frowned, squinting at the clock on his nightstand. There was no hope of reading the numbers clearly without her glasses, which could be anywhere but were not immediately accessible. Still, she thought that the first number was a three.
She rose from the bed, mind clouded with sleep and padded into the hallway, listening for some indication of his whereabouts. Hearing nothing, she went to the nursery. The vision he cast stopped her in the doorway, and she grasped the door casing in order to remain upright.
Harry was asleep on the chaise lounge, halfway reclined and clad in his pajama bottoms ...the ones that matched the shirt of his that she was wearing. She felt her face flush as she recalled the series of events by which she came to wear it.
Curled against his chest was Talia, thumb in her mouth, her long eyelashes fanned out across her cheeks. Harry's arms were wrapped snugly around the baby, a nearly-empty bottle next to him, and the moonlight reflected off the water through the window cast shadows on his face that took Erica's breath away.
She debated leaving them be, peaceful as they were, but knew that while Harry would never say anything, his neck and shoulders would trouble him if he remained in that position. Making her way to them quietly, Erica attempted to extricate Talia from her grandfather's arms. When in sleep he registered movement from the baby his arms tightened around her. His protective instinct brought tears to Erica's eyes; that this man had such a natural inclination toward fatherhood, that he should love her daughter's child as if she was his flesh and blood.
She tried another tactic. Kneeling by his head, she brushed the back of her fingers across his forehead, following her touch with her lips. He sighed but otherwise didn't stir. "Harry," she whispered against his ear. He turned his head toward the source of the sound and she kissed his lips softly. His eyes opened and he blinked several times as he tried to recall where he was. He opened his mouth to speak but Erica pressed her finger to his lips, bringing hers near his ear once again.
"Tell me in the morning. Let's put her down and go back to our room," she whispered, gesturing toward Talia in his arms. He nodded, transferring the little girl into her arms before rising slowly from the chaise. He rolled his shoulders and they popped. They exchanged a look and Erica squeezed his hand before making her way to the crib and laying Talia inside. Erica had learned in the earliest days of Marin's infancy that you cannot abruptly put down a baby who has been asleep in your arms and expect that little one to remain asleep. As she lay Talia down, Erica tucked the blanket snug around her and settled her warm hand on the tiny girl's belly. When after a minute or two Talia was still, Erica moved her hand to the baby's forehead, then away when she didn't stir.
"Kiss her good night?" Harry whispered. Erica looked to him and nodded, her heart threatening to burst as she watched him press a kiss to his granddaughter's soft cheek. He took Erica by the hand and they walked back to the master bedroom.
Harry lay down first, Erica coming up beside him. She tucked herself against his side as his arms came around her and she sighed happily. She levered herself up on an elbow to look at him and ghosted her fingertips over the contours of his face. He closed his eyes and hummed contentedly at her touch and she kissed each eyelid and then his lips. "Sleep," she whispered.
"No." His voice was husky and this was the first syllable spoken above a whisper by either of them. He turned toward her, cupping her face in his hand, and brushed his lips ever so softly against hers. It was like nothing Erica had ever felt. Half-asleep as they were, their minds were unoccupied by the usual litany of thoughts, their senses subdued except for a sudden, acute awareness of touch. Erica was completely present in the moment, her sole focus on the feel of Harry's lips on hers.
They kissed again, both fighting fatigue and almost losing the battle. Erica pressed her palm against Harry's chest, able to feel his heartbeat beneath her fingers like she never had before. They couldn't get enough of this between them, pure unadulterated sensation, but both were too tired to reach for it. They let it roll over them like the incoming tide, Harry's hand leaving Erica's waist to trace the curve of her bottom. He moaned when he realized she was bare beneath his pajama top and he reached up sleepily to undo the buttons. He parted the fabric by gliding a hand up her abdomen and over her ribs. He grunted when he found her breast, filling his hand with it. She gasped. She'd had his hands on her countless times now, but his touch had never felt quite so erotic. She could do nothing but kiss him again, tongue sweeping over his lower lip as her hand found his bottom and pressed his groin into her. Her head buzzed, her body tingled and every nerve ending was keenly aware of him. Words drifted through her mind; things she would tell him if she were just a little more awake. I love you. It's never felt like this before. I never want it to end.
They lay together, kissing and touching and drunk on sensation. When they fell asleep his hand was still cupping her breast, her mouth pressed against his collarbone and her leg slung over his hip.
When they woke next it was morning, early and quiet. Erica remembered their middle-of-the-night encounter and touched her fingertips to her lips. Did that happen? She wondered. It had to have been a dream, but no dream had ever felt so real.
Harry watched Erica come awake, smiling when he saw her recall what had passed between them hours ago. He caught her fingers in his and brought them to his lips. "Hi," he said just above a whisper.
"Harry," she replied softly, her voice full of emotion. Unsure how to begin, she eyed him cautiously, giving a self-deprecating half-laugh.
"Erica," he rescued her. "Yes, we did." He grinned at the relief he saw in her eyes.
She touched her lips again and then his. "Harry, that was amazing. I've never felt anything like it."
"Me neither," he agreed, his arms drawing her closer. He pressed the length of her body against him and she inhaled sharply when her bare breasts encountered his chest.
"So that was real, too," she breathed, feeling the blush rise in her cheeks.
"Beautifully so," he replied. She buried her face in his neck and allowed herself to come fully awake and to recall the feel of him when feeling was all she could do. She then remembered the reason she'd gone to him in the first place.
"Talia was okay." This was a statement, not a question. Erica had no doubt that whatever their granddaughter needed, Harry could figure it out.
She felt him nod against her. "Wet and hungry and in need of a cuddle. We sorted it out." He felt her smile against his neck. She supposed she'd spare him her sappy recollection of how beautiful he was with the baby. That picture was one for her to treasure in her nurturer's heart.
"And are you sore this morning?" She asked, glancing up at him.
"Nothing the skilled hands of my wife can't remedy," he said with a smirk, for he could already hear what her reply would be.
"Uh-huh." She did not disappoint. "Is that you asking nicely, now?" She sat up, crossing her arms over her chest, which may have been more convincing had her shirt - his shirt - not been unbuttoned. As it was it bared her to him even more and he reached out, touching her beneath the fabric.
His eyes went dark. "Please, Erica Jane," he said, the air between them growing charged.
She cleared her throat, attempting to sound serious. "Of course, darling. You're going to have to let go, though. And turn around." She gave him a sassy look and he swung his legs over the bed, sitting up and turning to give her access to his neck and shoulders. But not before giving her breast a squeeze.
"You play dirty, Sanborn. It's a good thing your wife likes it." Erica felt the knots in Harry's shoulders and pressed against them with her thumbs before kneading the muscles with her hands. He hissed and she apologized, pressing her lips to the offending spot. "Sorry, baby, you're really tight but if you can tolerate it you'll feel better."
He waved a hand at her as if to say, 'don't worry.' "I know something else my wife likes," he said. She could hear the smile in his voice.
"Mmmm, I know you do," came her response. She felt the tension go out of his muscles and was gratified, but she kept rubbing just to be certain. Many a night as a nursing mother - and now as a grandmother - she had fallen asleep upright while holding a baby, so she knew well the "broken neck" feeling that resulted.
"You want more of what we did a few hours ago, don't you?" He asked pointedly. She stilled behind him, her chest pressing against his back as she rested her chin on his shoulder and spoke right into his ear.
"Yesss," she said softly. "Now that I've had that I don't think I can go without it as a regular feature. You okay with that?" She knew his answer, but she couldn't resist teasing him a little.
"Woman," he said, shaking his head, "as if I'd ever refuse you anything. I loved it too. And thank you for the massage. It did the trick." He winked at her, rolling his shoulders experimentally and finding no impediment to his movement. "Now, why don't you lie back down and I'll bring us some coffee before the princess requires our services."
She laughed at him, drawing him down for one more kiss before letting him go. He turned back to look at her just before he left the room. She was a vision, lying against a stack of pillows among the fluffy white bedding in his pajama shirt, blue like her eyes. It was still unbuttoned and he saw her move to button it.
"Don't," he requested gently from the doorway. "I want to remember the way you look right now." She dropped her hands into her lap and her eyes met his and held. Then he smiled at her and went to the kitchen, knowing exactly what would occupy her thoughts in his absence, for he was thinking the same.