A/N: M warning.

Harry slides towards her, and reaches out to her with both arms. Ruth leans into him, and rests her head on his shoulder, her chin on his chest. He very gently wraps his arms around her, remembering the last time he did this – in her cottage kitchen almost four weeks earlier. She'd needed comforting then, too, but this time it is different. Ruth is not crying for her losses, and he is not comforting her while she grieves. She is afraid of the thunderstorm, although Harry suspects she invented that fear in order to get a cuddle from him. He pulls them both back towards his own pillow, and holds her to him, his chin resting on her hair, a stray lock tickling him under his nose.

They stay like that for some time, until Ruth is the first one to break the comfortable silence between them. Another series of thunderclaps have her burrowing into his chest.

"I hope you don't mind me getting into your bed," she says quietly.

"If I minded, I'd need psychiatric intervention."

Ruth giggles quietly, before she presses against him as another thunderclap cracks above the house.

Harry is now officially in teeth-gritting territory.

Their bodies are lying together, their heads, chests, and knees touching. He knows that were she to push her hips any closer, she'd either shriek in horror, or moan in approval. Either way, he'd be sprung. Or, more correctly, his libido would be sprung.

"Why don't you want me, Harry?"

"What?"

"I was under the impression, back before I left London almost three years ago, that you wanted me …... desired me."

Harry doesn't know how to answer that. It is one of Ruth's classic curve balls, delivered to reduce a man to a blubbering, inarticulate mess.

"I've been waiting for you, Harry. I've been waiting for you to invite me into your bed." She waits for a few moments. "I've wanted you to invite me into your bed."

"Ruth …..." is all he can say, before he draws his head away from hers, and looks down into her beautiful eyes. "I thought you just wanted someone to replace George, and I'm -"

"I want you, Harry. It's always been you."

Harry can barely breathe. He knows he must breathe in before he passes out. His body requires oxygen, so he breathes out heavily before he breathes in. "What are you saying, Ruth?"

Ruth pulls away from him slightly, her brow furrowing, as she stares at him. "So much for your reputation, Harry. I was sure you'd get my message without me having to say a thing."

"My reputation, as you put it, belongs in the past. Apart from a few short-term flings while you were in exile, I haven't looked at another woman for at least five years. I haven't had what could be termed a relationship for well over a decade. That, Ruth, is my reputation."

"How short term?"

"What?"

"The flings. How long were your ... flings?"

"Not long. The word fling sounds better than one night stand ..."

"You've …... you've lost confidence."

"Yes …... I have."

"So …... do you still …... desire me?"

Harry again breathes in and then out before he replies, his voice barely more than a whisper. "More than you can possibly imagine."

They each watch the other. Now that their eyes have adjusted to the darkened room, they can see the other quite clearly, and the occasional flash of lightning serves to highlight the facial expression of the other. They are both breathing rather heavily.

Harry knows that the next move must be his. Ruth has done enough. She has risked enough. Now it is his turn to be taking risks.

He leans towards her, not even sure of what he has in mind, but as his face gets closer to hers, Ruth reaches up with her hand, and slides her fingers around his neck until they become entangled in his hair. Harry bends closer to her, and places his lips on hers. They have kissed before. They have kissed goodnight a few times, and each have been careful to not step over the line into intimacy. He feels Ruth's lips part beneath his, and so he allows himself to kiss her with passion and yet even more promise. The kiss is exciting, arousing, head-spinning. He feels Ruth's free hand slide under his t-shirt, and her fingertips glance over the skin of his chest, scraping his nipple in passing.

Harry gasps, and shudders with pleasure. He is already lost. He is unconditionally hers.

Ruth pulls out of the kiss – somewhat reluctantly – and sits up in the bed beside him while she opens the buttons on her pyjama top. The moment her breasts are revealled, Harry's eyes are on them, drinking them in. They are rounded, perfect, as he knew they would be. He leans across to slide her pyjama top from her shoulders, and she takes it from him, and throws it to the floor.

"Your turn," she says, reaching towards him to grasp the hem of his t-shirt. Harry watches her as she lifts the garment, and he lifts his arms to allow her to pull it from his body. She grasps it in one hand, and tosses it behind her to join her own garment.

The room is warm enough for them to sit – both topless – with the duvet level with their waists. Harry wants to touch Ruth's breasts with his fingers, his lips, his tongue, and he watches her for some kind of signal.

"What do you want, Harry?" she asks, almost as if she can read his private thoughts.

"I want everything, Ruth …... with you, but …..."

"But what?" Ruth's eyes show alarm.

"You said something when I visited you …... in your cottage. You said you had to work things out …... to get your head straight. I don't want us to be …... doing what we're about to do if …... if you're still unsure …... if you're wanting this out of some kind of displaced grief."

She sits on her side of the bed, watching him, her chest moving with each breath. Harry is still amazed and enthralled by her breasts. He struggles to lift his eyes to hers.

"I did a lot of thinking, and then one morning …... the morning before I turned up here …... The truth is that I didn't wish for George to die …... or for Jo... and that by keeping my distance from you, I'd be hurting both of us, and that won't make anything right. Will it?"

"No. It won't."

They watch one another for a few more moments, until Harry reaches across to again kiss her. This time he is not shy, he is not holding back. The kiss is passionate from the start, and he hears Ruth moan beneath his mouth. His hands are on her breasts, squeezing and exploring, and when he moves his lips to her neck, he feels one of her hands slide beneath the waistband of his track pants. Her fingers slowly surround his cock, and then she grasps him, and he falls back against his pillow with a deep sigh.

Is this happening too quickly? Probably.

Does he care? Not a bit.

Ruth rolls her body on top of his, and he frees his hands from her breasts to hook his thumbs over the waistband of her pyjama bottoms, slowly sliding them over her hips, and down her legs. He allows his fingers to touch the skin of her thighs as he pushes her pants off her, and then he glides his fingertips back up her thighs to her buttocks, where he slides a finger between her buttocks until Ruth gasps. Now it is his turn to remove his track pants. Ruth senses that he is having difficulty coordinating his hands, and she pushes his pants down to his hips, freeing his erection. Watching his face closely, Ruth then leans down and gently takes him in her mouth, her fingers sliding around the base of his shaft. He feels her tongue flick over the tip, and he closes his eyes, and tries to think of something else …... politicians – that should do it. The level of pleasure her mouth is bringing him is exquisite to the point of being torturous.

Harry's hands are on Ruth's shoulders. What she is doing with her mouth, her tongue, is rendering him unable to think, to concentrate, to love her as he'd planned.

"I need to touch you, Ruth," he says, his voice strangled by intense desire. His belly, his balls, his cock, are all consumed by a fire so intense, he is sure he will spontaneously combust.

In response, Ruth grasps his sides, and pulls him with her as she rolls on to the bed beside him. This frees his hands and her body. He slides his fingers down her abdomen, and then he edges them between her legs, gliding his fingers across her folds. Ruth has parted her legs, and there is a low moaning sound emanating from her throat. When he enters her with his fingers, she arches her back, pulling away from him. Harry leans into her, kissing and licking her exposed throat, all the while, feeling a mounting pressure from deep within his groin.

"Ruth," he says his mouth close to her ear, "if we continue in this way, I'm going to come …... and I'd rather be inside you when that happens."

Ruth's eyes open, and she looks right at him – right into him – and then he feels her hands on his sides, as she coaxes him to position himself over her. Harry moves her legs further apart to accommodate his body. Lying over her, taking his weight on his elbows, he takes each of her nipples in his mouth, and sucks on them, and then he kisses his way up her throat, her neck, her chin, and thence to her mouth. They kiss with passion and fervour, each moaning into the mouth of the other, while Harry very gradually pushes himself closer to her warm centre, and Ruth runs her hands over the skin of his back.

"Now", she says, lifting her pelvis to meet him.

His head thinks they are moving too quickly, but his body – and seemingly Ruth's body also – disagrees. They come together quickly, gasping loudly as their bodies join for the first time. He has often imagined this moment, and in his private thoughts, it had never been quite like this – deeply powerful and electric ... driven by the compulsion to join. Harry stills all movement, and breathes out slowly, all the while with his eyes on Ruth. They smile at each other, and then he begins to move slowly. They both know they won't last long, but they hadn't expected to.

They both close their eyes as they settle into the rhythm of love-making. Every so often there is a flash of lightning, or a rumble of thunder. Even nature is joining in, Harry thinks. He feels a tightening in his lower body, as tension builds in him. He leans down to take one of Ruth's nipples in his mouth, and he twirls it around with his tongue, and then nips it with his teeth. He empties himself deep inside her just as her muscles tighten around him. He manages a couple more strokes before he sighs and falls on to his elbows, his head resting on Ruth's shoulder.

Once he feels his heartbeat steadying, he rolls on to his side, his arms wrapped around her. They look into each other's eyes, and Ruth caresses his face with her fingers.

"I don't know what to say," she says, and he can hear a faltering in her voice, like she is near tears.

"Are you alright?" he asks, worried.

She nods. "More than. How was that for you?"

"Do you really need to ask?" With their faces so close together, his voice is a whisper.

She nods.

It is when he reads the uncertainty in Ruth's eyes and voice that Harry understands why Ruth had kept him at arm's length, pushing him away the moment they seemed to be getting closer. She has no idea of how alluring she is, how compelling has been his need to be with her, to be her lover. She simply hasn't a clue about the nights he'd spent fighting the drives of his body, trying to push thoughts of her from his mind. Ruth's eyes are shining brightly in the dark as she watches him closely. Harry senses this moment as being as important as what they have just done together, and is aware that anything he says must be completely honest. He continues to return her gaze, and then leans across to gently kiss her cheek. His body is sated, exhausted, and all he wants to do is sleep ... but it is in this highly charged moment, and on his own choice of words that their whole relationship depends.

"I have ... often wondered," he begins carefully, "what it would be like ... when we made love together. Have you?"

Ruth nods, and he smiles at her. So far, so good.

"That was ... well, it was a bit quicker than I'd hoped, but it was ... I have no words, Ruth. It was beautiful, unforgettable ... it was ..."

"It was us," she says quickly, and this time it is he who nods. He knows her eyes have adjusted to the dark, and that she can clearly see him. "I hadn't know it could be like that," she says at last, nestling against him, her head close to his.

"I had. I knew it could. We just had to ..."

"Get into bed together, and that was becoming less likely by the day."

Harry chuckles quietly, and closes his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. Harry had bedded many women in his fifty-five years, and he'd never known that sex could be like it had just been for them, even though he would have preferred had it lasted longer. The level of emotional connection they'd reached has him almost gasping with the enormity of what they have together.

It is in that moment that Harry vows to treasure this woman. He has been granted the privilege of being her partner, and with that comes responsibilities. For a start, what he had allowed to happen to her three years earlier must not be allowed to happen again.