A/N: I'd planned this story to be strictly T-rating, but H & R didn't like that at all! This is a story with absolutely no point other than entertainment of the voyeuristic kind.

[Also, this fic has been written for a couple of weeks, and bears no relation to either theoofoof's or Sigma Creation's stories re alcohol-induced shenanigans between our favourite couple.]

Harry lay awake with his eyes still closed. He can't remember when last he'd slept so well, and so deeply. Something feels different. He runs one hand down his body to discover he is naked, and that is when he opens his eyes. It is barely light, and it's clear the sun has not yet risen.

It's years since he's slept naked, and that can only mean …...

The room around him is unfamiliar. This is a feminine room – perfumes and lotions on the dresser, a purple bathrobe hung over the open door of the closet. On the floor next to his side of the bed are his clothes from the day before; his suit jacket and pants, his shirt, trunks, and tie are lying haphazardly where they were dropped. He looks around him, but he can't see his coat anywhere, although he is sure he was wearing it last night. The bed beside him is empty, but the indent on the pillow tells of a head having lain there, next to his own.

The dream had been so vivid he'd almost believed it to be real. Her lips on his, her hands caressing his body, her fingers sliding beneath the waistband of his trunks, her hand on him, gentle, but insistent, her legs parting as he'd stroked her inside thigh. It had felt so real …... and yet …...

He stretches his body beneath the duvet. He feels warm, rested, and his body is loose, sated ….. He lifts his head, and rolls to the other side of the bed. He turns and buries his face in the pillow. It smells of her. He breathes in her sweet scent as though without it he may die. He leans over the side of the bed, and there are her clothes in a messy pile – her dark blue skirt, mauve blouse, her navy blue jacket, and tangled on top of it all, discarded in random abandon, her underwear. He remembers her underwear …... hugging her curves, hiding her …... Dear God!

Harry rolls back to his side of the bed, and covers his face with his arm. He closes his eyes as he remembers how he got here. Remarkably for him, alcohol had played no part.

He'd been alone on the roof terrace of Thames House. It had been dark, and he'd just closed his phone after the call with the Home Secretary. `The buzzards are circling', Towers had said. An inquiry seemed inevitable, and the outcome would not be good, not if they were planning to dredge up his past. They'd been looking for an excuse for a while now, and maybe this was the opportunity they'd been waiting for, their chance to kick him out into the cold. He'd miss this place. He'd miss the adrenalin. He'd miss his team, but most of all, he'd miss her. He'd only just thought of her, imagined her face, when there she was beside him. He'd felt her presence before she spoke.

"It's cold out here, Harry. You'll freeze to death."

"It doesn't much matter now," he'd said, not looking at her.

He'd felt her hand on his elbow, and could sense her eyes on him.

"What do you want, Ruth?" he'd asked, his voice harsher than he'd meant.

She'd pulled her hand away then, and he'd immediately regretted his gruffness. "I'm sorry," he'd said, turning to face her, and seeing her blue eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Don't shut me out, Harry. I may soon be the only friend you have."

"I thought you were angry with me."

"Angry?"

"You told me it was wrong of me to love you."

"Oh, that. Perhaps the drug was still in my system. It's been two days, and my head's clearer."

"Good." he turned from her to look out at the city, twinkling like an enormous Christmas tree, stretching to the horizon.

"I take it back."

"What …... do you take back?"

"What I said about it being unfair of you to love me. I said that in the heat of the moment."

"I know."

"That's good, because it wasn't unfair of you to love me. Besides ….. I know about Albany."

He glanced at her sharply, but she was looking out at the lights of the city. How could she possibly know? Come on …... this is Ruth.

They stood in silence for some time, both no longer aware of the cold, but aware of each other.

"I thought Lucas had killed you," she said after some time. "I thought you were dead. I was …..."

And that is when he heard her sobbing beside his right elbow. He turned away from the balustrade, and for the first time that night he faced her. Her eyes were tear-filled, and her face was about to crumple. His hand reached towards her, but did not touch her. It was as she lifted her hands to cover her face that he acted from his heart and not his head. He stepped closer to her, and without over-thinking it, he put his hands on her shoulders, and pulled her to him. His and Ruth's relationship, since she had returned from Cyprus twenty months earlier, had never fully recovered its previous closeness. They had a working intimacy (which Ruth had indicated was enough, although it would never be enough for him), but their personal relationship had been a task too hard for them both. He'd expected her to pull away from him, to escape through the roof doors back into the building, but she hadn't. He felt her let go of her resistance to being that close to him, and she sank against his body and cried, while he pulled her as close as he could, one arm curved around her waist, while the other hand rubbed wide circles over her back and shoulders. As her sobbing eased, and she settled against him, he leant down and kissed her hair. They stood like that for a long time, neither concerned about the night air, or the passage of time.

After some time, he became aware that he had set up a gentle rocking motion, like he'd done when he'd comforted his children whenever they'd hurt themselves. He also noticed that Ruth's hands had undone the buttons on his coat, and were wrapped around him inside his coat. It had felt perfectly natural to stand there like that, their arms around one another, without being interrupted or disturbed.

When he felt her stir in his arms, Harry pulled away slightly, and took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

"You must think I'm soft," she'd said, after she'd wiped her eyes and blown her nose.

"Not at all, Ruth. I think you're wonderful."

"Well you shouldn't. I'll take this home and launder it," she said, tucking his handkerchief into the pocket of her coat.

"As you wish." He'd waited for a few moments before he asked the next question. He knew how much hung on her answer. "Will you allow me to drive you home?"

She'd looked up at him then, her eyes still haunted by whatever it was had brought her to tears. The last two days had been so tense for them all. "You know," she said quietly, "I should say no, but I think just this once I'd quite like that."

They'd barely spoken on the way home. The air between them was so heavily charged – with words neither dared speak, feelings unacknowledged, passion which had never been given expression for fear it would swallow them up. As he pulled up outside her house, Harry wondered how he'd managed to drive all the way to Ruth's place without breathing. He took a deep breath, and then let it out.

"Would you like to come in for a while, Harry?" she'd asked quietly. "Just for a drink. I'm not propositioning you."

They'd laughed awkwardly, because they both knew that in all probability she was propositioning him. "I'd like that, Ruth."

They'd sat at her kitchen table over mugs of coffee. Their conversation was stilted, because the communication taking place between their bodies was deafening. When he'd caught her staring at him with hunger in her eyes, Harry thought it best he leave.

Too late. Ruth saw his hesitation, his decision to leave, and she quickly moved to sit in the chair next to him, turning to face him.

"Look at me, Harry," she'd said. "I don't want you to go home. Stay with me tonight. I know …..."

He'd meant to be a gentleman and leave, but he'd been drawn in by the longing in her eyes. He'd turned to face her, moving his chair closer and parting his legs so that his knees were either side of her own .

She'd reached out and placed her hand on his knee. He'd stared at her hand, willing her to move it up his thigh. Very slowly, she inched her hand up his trousered leg. He couldn't watch, in case she stopped, or pulled her hand away, so he watched her watching him, her blue eyes large and dark with want. He'd had to concentrate hard to keep his breathing steady, while his chest heaved with the effort.

He couldn't help it. He had to feel her skin beneath his fingers. He'd reached out and touched her cheek, and felt her turn her head a fraction towards his hand. So soft had been her skin, so inviting, that with his thumb he'd brushed her cheekbone. Her eyes never left his as she opened her hand and boldly slid it up his leg, her thumb caressing his inner thigh. As he gently slid his thumb towards her lips, Ruth's hand moved even higher, until she touched him there, and she caressed him ever-so-gently with the pad of her thumb... back and forth, and then back again.

He felt his breathing deepen as he hardened under her touch, and she'd smiled, and he'd swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing like an adolescent's. Their eyes never left the other. He slid his hand from her cheek down to her throat, his thumb following the arc of her collarbone. Harry's eyes were drawn to the V of bare skin at the top of her blouse, and as she continued to slowly caress him through his trousers, he ached to know how her skin tasted.

"I don't want to go home," he said huskily, barely able to articulate his thoughts.

"Good. Then we can …..."

"Yes …... " He breathed in deeply, and then breathed out a shuddering breath as Ruth moved her hand to grasp him, and then squeeze him. Dear God. He'd never been this hard.

Harry leaned across to her, and gently placed his lips on hers. Ruth removed her hand from his trousers, and slipping it inside his suit jacket, she began to unfasten his shirt buttons, then touched the skin of his chest with her fingers. He took his mouth from hers, and planted soft kisses all the way down her throat to her collar bone, pulling aside her blouse collar to gain easier access.

"Do you have somewhere more comfortable than the floor or the table?" he asked breathlessly.

"Do you want to …...?"

"Yes," he said, before she'd finished asking the question. He'd never wanted anything more.

Reluctantly they pulled apart, and Ruth had taken his hand and led him upstairs to her bedroom. She opened the door, and turned on a small lamp which stood on a low table beside an armchair under the window. He noticed around a dozen books piled haphazardly on the floor beside the chair. She then pulled the curtains closed with a flourish, and turned to face Harry.

She'd stepped close to him then, her lips capturing his, her hand on the front of his trousers, grasping him, and then letting him go, and grasping him again, stroking him ever so lightly, and then letting him go again. He'd groaned, using the greatest of self control to step away from her, and remove her hand from his trousers.

"If you want this to last, Ruth, you'd better stop doing that."

He'd looked into her eyes, and she'd been smiling – a cat-that-ate-the-cream smile. He again stepped closer to her, and kissing her, he busied himself with removing her blouse and bra, while Ruth slid his jacket from his shoulders, removed his tie, and unfastened the remainder of his shirt buttons. As each button was undone, she slipped his fingers inside to caress his skin, and as she freed the last button, she pushed back his shirt to expose his chest and stomach. She pulled her lips from his, and looked at his expanse of naked skin, running her fingers over every part of him, taking her time over his scars, until she reached the waistband of his trousers.

"These have to come off," she said, catching his shocked expression. "Harry, tell me you don't make love with your trousers on."

He shook his head slowly. This was not his shy and retiring Ruth. This was not a sexually repressed woman who was damaged by all she'd lived through, all she'd seen. This was the Ruth of his dreams, the one who inhabited his sleeping hours, the one who loved his body, regardless of all its flaws and signs of ageing. Where had His Ruth been hiding This Ruth?

"I've wanted this …..." she'd mumbled, pushing his trousers off his hips.

"Me too," he'd said, kissing her soundly.

Once they were left wearing one undergarment each, they fell on the bed, Ruth tumbling on top of him, his hands grasping her breasts. He couldn't get enough of her breasts. His fingers, his mouth, his tongue, all explored her ripe melon breasts and her hardened nipples. He rolled her on to her back, and put his mouth over one breast, nipped the nipple with his teeth, and then licked it with his tongue. She was writhing beneath him, her arousal evident as her hands sought out the waistband of his trunks, and dipped beneath to where his erection strained.

"God, you're magnificent," she said, as she held him in her hand, caressing his length with her thumb, while her other hand pushed his trunks from his body.

He'd laughed, a little embarrassed. He knew he was well endowed, having had it pointed out to him by many of his previous lovers. He seemed to remember that Jane had never commented upon his penis in any way at all, but back then he'd not been as skilled in its use. Back then, he'd used it as a weapon more than an instrument of pleasure. To ensure Ruth couldn't bring him too close too soon, he quickly moved down the bed so that he could concentrate on her. He touched her over her knickers, feeling her wetness through the material. As she began to writhe, he ran his fingers up her inside thighs until they were at the edge of her knickers. He waited for a moment, felt Ruth lift herself to him, and then pulled off her knickers with one hand, and quickly plunged in his fingers. Deep inside her he stroked, played, pushed, and tickled until her body arched. He loved the feeling of her powerful pelvic muscles contracting around his fingers. He loved her voice as she cried out his name. He loved everything about her. He loved her.

"I love you," he said, after her orgasm had passed, and he'd moved up the bed to lie next to her.

"I know you do," she'd said.

He reached over and captured her mouth in his. It was a gentle kiss, and he had to coax her mouth open so that he could explore inside it, his tongue searching for and then finding hers. His fingers traced the line from her jaw, down her neck, and then back up to her ear. Without realising he was doing it, he began thrusting slowly and gently against her thigh. Knowing that he wanted her, she grasped his hips and pulled him over until he was lying above her. Still kissing her, slowly and deeply, his hand moved to her inner thigh and stroked her skin until he reached her wetness. His finger again slid in and out of her, preparing her. Her legs parted for him, and with her hands still on his hips, she pulled him into her.

He stilled inside her, relishing the sensation of being inside the woman he had loved for so long. He had given up believing this would ever happen between them, after all, she'd always run from him any time things had begun to get heated between them.

"Harry," Ruth said, her voice thick with arousal, "are you alright?"

"Yeah," he said, "I'm just …... appreciating the moment."

She had laughed lightly, her muscles grasping him as she did. He took another moment to calm down. The last thing they needed was for him to come too quickly. Gradually he began moving inside her. He moved gently, reaching deeper inside her with each thrust. As together they developed a rhythm, he looked at her, and found her smiling at him. She mouthed the words, `I love you', and he mouthed, `me too', as they upped the speed together. This was them working together – well, not exactly working, but loving – and they did it as well as any operation they'd worked on together on the Grid.

By her rapid breathing, he knew she was about to climax once more, so he let go, allowing himself to indulge in moving faster, his hips and buttocks driving him deeper inside her. It was only once he felt her muscles spasm around him that he sank himself fully inside her, spilling his seed, his breath coming in gasps.

They rolled on to their sides, still joined, and held one another close.

"I do love you, you know, Harry," she'd said after a long time, after their breathing had settled, once they were on the cusp of sleep.

"I know you do," he'd said, wondering how he was ever going to work with her without needing to touch her, and obsessing about finding a dark room in which they could make frenzied and passionate love.

It had been so good, their loving, but he feels sad when he thinks of all the years they'd spent denying themselves such pleasures. It is when he hears her turn off the shower that he realises it has been running ever since he'd woken. In only a few minutes she is back in the bedroom, wearing only a towel. Her skin glows, and her hair is still damp, and her eyes glow with love and passion. He again feels his body responding to her proximity. How can we possibly work together after this? I'll have to wear cast iron underpants to work.

Ruth moves around to her side of the bed, one hand holding the towel together just above her breasts.

"I don't suppose you feel like doing that again," she says, this remarkable woman who worships his battered body with her fingers, her lips, and her eyes.

Harry reaches out a hand and lifts the duvet to make room for her. She lets go of the towel, and it drops to the floor with a soft whoosh. He feels his heartbeat increase at the sight of her naked body.

"I'd be happy to oblige, but on one condition" he says, reaching out and drawing her close to him under the duvet.

"And what would that condition be?"

"That when we arrive late for work – which we inevitably will – we step on to the Grid together."

"You want us to arrive as a couple?" She is looking at him, and he can barely breathe …... waiting, always waiting.

"Yes," he says. "I do."

"Okay," Ruth says, nestling close to him, her skin against his skin, her lips on his neck.

Fin