A/N: Blimey! 5000 words. I didn't expect that. Still, as the penultimate chapter, I hope you will forgive the indulgence. Also, smut ahoy! This one is M rated. Thanks again for all your encouraging reviews. I love to hear what you think and like about each chapter. Enjoy. S.C.
Thursday, 24th December 2009
After dinner, they head back to their B&B, the night too cold to brave, even for them. She's feeling wonderfully relaxed and mellow. The initial intensity of their emotions and the attraction arching between them had waned as they'd filled their bellies with food and wine, and their hearts with warm conversation. She's never enjoyed herself more than she has on this night, has never felt more content, more happy.
"Good night, Ruth," he murmurs as they stop in front of her door, reaching down to softly kiss her cheek. He shows no sign of wanting to push his luck and take this to the next level, which is rather disappointing if she's honest, though not entirely unexpected. She imagines that he's enjoyed today just as much as she has, perhaps more so after so many years of dreaming and longing, and he's probably loath to risk spoiling it now. Poor Harry. She has made him so very insecure around her.
She hesitates, her mind spinning as she does a quick calculation before she nods and says, "Good night, Harry. I've had a wonderful time today. Thank you."
He smiles. "Me too, Ruth."
They stand for long moments, staring at each other until she makes the decision to move them along. She has plans for tonight and standing in her doorway all evening isn't helping them happen.
Quickly, she reaches up, palms pressing against his chest as she lifts herself onto her toes and kisses his soft, plump lips. "See you in the morning," she says and turns, opening her door and stepping into her room, the disappointment in his eyes boosting her confidence as she smiles at him and closes the door behind her. On some level, he does want more tonight.
Once inside, she quickly discards her bag, hat, coat and scarf, grabs her toiletry bag and ventures back into the hall and the toilet on the other side of Harry's room, using the loo and brushing her teeth before she makes her way back to her room, softly knocking on Harry's door as she passes and saying, "Loo's free, Harry."
"Thanks," she hears him reply and returns quickly to her room, ready to set the rest of her plan in motion.
She grabs her hairbrush and fixes her hair, removes her boots and stockings, and reapplies a little make up, all the while listening out for Harry. She hears the toilet flush and moves to the connecting door between their rooms, opening it and pressing her ear to his door, awaiting his return.
She doesn't have to wait long. The moment she hears the other door close, she takes a deep breath and knocks, impatient for him to answer.
"Who is it?" he says in a teasing voice.
"The tooth-fairy," she replies sarcastically. "Who d'you think?!"
"Well, I had to check," he counters as he swings the door open, eyes twinkling with mischief and pleasure. "It could have been anyone come to take advantage and I didn't bring any of my handguns with me."
"Well, I'm not anyone, though I can't promise not to take advantage when you look so enticingly dishevelled. Did you undo an extra button?"
The expression on his face is priceless.
"Anyway, I'm here because I need to give you your Christmas present," she adds, holding the box out to him.
"It's not Christmas yet, Ruth."
"I know, but I need to give it to you tonight. Open it."
He hesitates, but takes it from her hand, murmuring, "I have yours in my bag."
"Later," she tells him. "You first. Open the box."
He lifts his eyes to hers, amused at her impatient tone. "Alright, Ruth," he says. "Keep your hair on."
"Sorry. I don't mean to be pushy." She blushes self-consciously as he turns his attention to the ribbon.
"It's not very heavy," he comments, pulling the ribbon off and taking a step over to the bed to let it fall onto the covers. Then he lifts the lid and looks inside, frowning in confusion.
"It's just a box," he says, sounding puzzled. "I think you might have forgotten to put something in it, Ruth." And now he's teasing as he lifts his eyes to hers, gaze full of fond affection.
"It's not just any box, Harry," she counters. "It's a fancy gift box with a golden lid, and besides, that's only half the present. This is the other half," and she steps forward and hands him the bag of a hundred assorted buttons she's been hiding behind her back.
"Buttons?" He sounds really perplexed now and she can't help smiling. "I must admit to having a weakness for the chocolate variety, but these..." He tails off, her warm giggle making him lifts his eyes to look at her.
"I think I'd better explain."
"That would help."
"You remember in training when they explain about the boxes and how, before you go out in the field-"
"You put everything about yourself in a box," he finishes for her, though he still looks puzzled.
"Right." She hesitates, feeling a little nervous now it comes down to it. "It's a silly idea."
He smiles, gaze softening. He turns and sits on the bed, patting the spot beside him. "Tell me your idea, Ruth," he says gently. "I am sure it's very far from being silly."
She takes a deep breath and nods, taking a seat beside him, though not too close. Not yet. "Well, I thought, why not do it backwards? Why not, instead of putting the good things in a box, why not put the things that get in the way? Of us. All the things we do and think and feel that make it impossible for us to move forward. Then I thought we could use the buttons as symbols of the things we put in the box, see? Like this."
She takes the bag of buttons and opens it, spilling them onto the bed between them and choosing a bright pink one that catches her eye. "This is my guilt," she says, glancing up at him and then away again, feeling rather silly, "my guilt that I survived when the others didn't."
He smiles, placing the box upon the bed behind the buttons and watching as she drops the button in it. "This is a wonderful idea, Ruth," he says, voice warm and full of wonder.
"D'you think so?" She looks up at him, searching his gaze to see if he means it.
"I do." He smiles and turns to the buttons on the bed, choosing a midnight blue one. "My guilt that I couldn't... save them, save you, from Mace, from Mani, from any of it," he says softly, taking a moment to gather himself before dropping the button into the box with her own. "I already feel lighter," he comments, causing her to smile broadly and impulsively reach over to kiss his cheek.
Enthusiastically now, she chooses another button. "My fear that I'll lose you too," she says solemnly.
"My fear that you'll run from me."
The two buttons hit the bottom of the box in quick succession. It's a rather satisfying sound and a very satisfying feeling.
She spies a big, black button and picks it up. "Your self-denial," she says and holds it out to him on her open palm. When he looks at her, she adds, "It's not mine to put in the box, Harry."
He smiles and nods, picking it up and toying with it for a moment. "I need this for work," he comments.
"But not in intimate relationship. This box is only for the bits we don't need wedged between us. You can keep it for work."
He nods, but still he hesitates, searching her gaze. "Is this an intimate relationship, Ruth?" he asks, voice rather low.
She swallows. "I'd like it to be," she tells him, honestly. "Wouldn't you?"
In answer, he drops the button in the box. He picks up another one. "Your tendency to run," he says and holds it out to her.
She nods, takes it and resolutely places it in the box. It feels good to make a conscious decision not to run from him again.
"My fear that I'm not good enough, that you'll tire of me and move on." She gives him a self-deprecating smile. "Irrational, I know."
"Yes," he agrees, "but no more than my own, probably." He chooses another button and drops it in the box with hers.
"What was that?" she asks.
He hesitates, then confesses softly, "My fear that I'm not good enough for you, I'm too old, that you'll leave me again at the first opportunity."
She reaches for his hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Irrational," she agrees, smiling softly into his eyes.
He clears his throat and turns back to the buttons, using his finger to spread them out, searching, for what, she doesn't know, perhaps just needing a moment.
"My tendency to close my heart in self-defence instead of opening up to you," she says and chooses a bright red button.
"My hesitation and holding back where you are concerned."
"My anger with Mace, politics, fate, the universe – you name it – for my exile."
"Same," he says and adds another button to the box.
"My anger at myself for not taking a chance on us before." She places a button in his hand. "And your anger at me for the same reason."
He hesitates, but nods and lets the button fall into the box.
She thinks for a moment, then chooses a dark brown button. "My guilt that I moved on when you remained so faithful," she whispers, feeling it surge through her as she admits it out loud and tears spring to her eyes.
"Oh Ruth," he murmurs, noticing the sheen of tears. "You really mustn't feel guilty about that. I told you, you did the right thing. You needed to move on."
"So did you," she counters, eyes swimming with tears, "but you didn't."
"No," he admits, "but that was different. Our circumstances were different. Everything about my life stayed the same except for the gaping, big hole, slap-bang in the middle of it. Work was the same, home, Scarlet, everything. It was just one piece that went missing. And like a jigsaw, only the missing piece would fit to complete the puzzle." He pauses to smile at her, reaching his hand up to gently wipe away her tears. "You had just the one piece of the entire puzzle, Ruth. Everything about your life was different. To wait a lifetime to find the missing piece is doable. To wait a lifetime to find a million missing pieces is not. You needed to build a new life, a new jigsaw. It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do, Ruth."
"Oh Harry," she sighs, overcome by emotion. "I don't deserve you."
"That one's going in the box, Ruth," he says, picking up a button and placing it in her palm. "We can't have you believing a thing like that."
She laughs a watery laugh and drops both buttons in the box. She wipes her cheeks and takes a few deep breaths to get her emotions under control again.
"Enough buttons for now?" he asks.
She nods. "I have to give you your second present."
"Two presents? Now, Ruth, that's-"
"You'll like this one, Harry."
"I have no doubt, but it's not fair if-"
"The box was really a present for both of us. It doesn't count." And with that, she begins gathering the buttons back in their bag while he watches, then carefully replaces the lid on the box and carries it over to the chest of drawers along with the bag of buttons that he takes from her hand.
"I just need to nip to the loo," she informs him, slipping quickly back through to her room and the bathroom down the hall, needing to wash her face and do something about her make up.
She eyes her reflection critically. "You can do this," she tells herself and promptly leaves the bathroom behind. She walks down the hall to her room, slips inside and sets aside her purse, smoothing down her dress nervously before crossing to the connecting door and peering into Harry's room.
He's facing her, what looks like a small box clutched in his hand, gaze warm and hopeful. "Alright?" he asks, taking a step towards her.
"Fine." She smiles and moves closer. "Better than fine," she adds, losing herself in his eyes again.
"Happy Christmas, Ruth," he murmurs, holding out the long, thin box-shaped gift for her to take.
She smiles shyly, taking it carefully from his hand, her fingers gliding over the red ribbon. "Thank you," she murmurs.
"You haven't opened it yet. You might hate it."
"Just the fact that it's a gift from you makes me love it already." She blushes at such a revelation, but she has spoken the truth, and when she glances up to see his reaction, she has to fight a powerful urge to fling herself at him, kiss him, hold him, never let him go. Instead, she forces herself to slip the ribbon from the present and remove the gold wrapping.
"Here," he says, stretching out his hand to take them from her.
It's a box from a jeweller's – one too large for a ring, thankfully – but all the same, she can't help the way her heart starts pounding. Gingerly, she lifts the lid, her eyes falling on a simple, silver chain and pendant. No, not a pendant. It looks like a locket, perfectly round and beautifully decorated with a Victorian filigree pattern.
"Oh," she breathes, overcome by emotion.
"Open it," he prompts, taking the box from her hands this time as she lifts the chain out of it.
For a moment, she's scared he's put a picture in it, unsure how she feels about that. But before she can get too worked up about it, she opens it and her heart almost stops at the utter perfection of it.
It's not a picture, but a quote, "Some journeys take us far from home. Some adventures lead us to our destiny."
"Narnia," she murmurs, fingers tracing over the writing. Of all the quotes he could have chosen there is none more perfect than this for this time, this moment in her life, in theirs.
"I wasn't sure you'd recognise it," he murmurs, smiling happily down at her. "Do you like it?"
In answer, she lets her heart speak, lifting her face to his and stepping into him, her left hand fisting around the chain against his chest, her right grasping the back of his neck as she reaches up to kiss him. This is no gentle kiss good night. This is no mere snog either. This is everything. Everything in her heart, everything in her mind and soul and her body. It's love and desire and passion all rolled into one. It's transcendent and resplendent, joy and bliss and everything in between.
His arms have slipped around her, crushing her against him, his lips as eager as hers, the growl escaping his throat melting all her insides. All thought has left her head, all her carefully constructed plans laid to waste below the onslaught of their passion. He doesn't hesitate any more. He doesn't deny them either. Those qualities of his are safely tucked away in the box. There is nothing but love and desire between them.
His hands glide down her back to her buttocks, squeezing them, pressing his growing arousal against her and making her moan with longing. His lips leave hers, journeying round her jaw to her ear, taking the lobe in his teeth, sucking it into his mouth, making her whimper.
"Tell me to stop," he pants, tongue tracing her ear.
"You dare stop, Harry Pearce," she warns, tightening her grip on him, "and I'll break your neck."
He chuckles, murmuring, "I didn't know you knew how."
"I'm sure there's a book somewhere," she replies, making him chuckle more and taking advantage of his momentary distraction to turn her head and begin kissing his jaw and down his throat, tasting the soft skin she'd dreamt of earlier as he hums with satisfaction.
"This is my favourite spot," she confesses softly, tracing the hollow of his throat with her tongue and making him groan with pleasure. "In fact, I'm laying claim to it. It's mine now."
He makes a strangled kind of sound in his throat and, when he speaks, his voice is raw with emotion. "It's yours, Ruth. All of it. All of me if you'll have me."
"Oh, I will, Harry. I'll have you. In bed. Now." And with that, she pulls out of his arms, pulling him by the hand as she crosses to the foot of the bed, where she releases him, lifting up her dress a little so she can crawl along it, not bothering to look if he's following. Before she's got very far, however, strong hands wrap around her ankles and yank her knees from under her, making her shriek in surprise as she falls flat onto the covers.
"Harry!" she protests, but the rest of her words of indignation die on her lips as his hands move firmly up her calves to the back of her thighs and her buttocks.
"This dress," he growls, gliding his hands down her thighs and up again, bunching up the material, easing it slowly up her body. "I have wanted to do this all night." She whimpers as the bed dips under his weight when he plants his knees firmly on either side of her, his hands pushing her dress higher to expose her bum. "Gorgeous," he breathes and next thing she knows, his lips have joined his hands on her buttocks, kissing, teeth scraping, sucking her skin hard enough to leave a mark and making her squirm under him.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asks in a gravelly voice against her skin, then promptly runs his tongue along it, rendering her response an inarticulate mewl. "White lace," he murmurs, fingers reaching between her legs to feather along her underwear. "My favourite colour."
She wants to tease him about that, how that can be true for a seasoned spy like him – surely black would be more appropriate – but all thoughts and words leave her head when he presses his face into her arse and she feels his tongue slide along between her legs, teasing her and driving her mad with excitement.
"Harry," she complains, his efforts not nearly enough to quench her need yet.
"Roll over," he directs, lifting his head and her right leg over the top of him, gazing down at her with a smile of true joy. "You're exquisite," he murmurs as he leans down once more, planing a soft kiss against her pubic bone before slipping his fingers under the waistband of her knickers. "Scoot up," he says, easing the material down as she complies, and settling himself between her legs, blowing cold air over her and making her gasp, only to cover her folds with his mouth and make her whimper.
Her hands fist in the covers as her eyes close in bliss, a slow mantra of "Harry" falling from her lips. He's so good at this, so skilled at finding what brings her pleasure that, when he slips two, thick fingers inside her, she comes undone then and there, crying out in abandon as the waves of her pleasure crash over her, her mind blissfully blank for the first time in years.
When she floats back down to earth, she finds him sitting on the bed, leaning on his left arm, his right hand on her knee, his thumb lazily drawing patterns against her skin, his lips smiling with a smug kind of satisfaction.
"Alright?" he asks, smiling more broadly as, in answer, she stretches, arms above her head, arching her back as she turns towards him, a big yawn escaping her, followed by a sigh of deep contentment.
"Never better," she replies, sitting up and moving towards him.
He watches her, eyes hungry again, his chest beginning to rise and fall more quickly.
"In fact," she murmurs, straddling his thighs, sitting in his lap, and stretching her arms over his shoulders, "I rather think, I've hit the jackpot. You, Harry Pearce, are the best lover I've ever had, and we haven't even got started."
He grins, his hands rubbing up and down her sides as he tries to look modest and fails quite spectacularly. "Well," he says eventually, "I try."
"That's good," she replies, threading her fingers through his hair and pressing a quick kiss against his gorgeous lips. "Because now, I want you inside me."
His response is instantaneous as his hands push her dress up and over her head, discard her bra, and he flips her onto her back beside him, the urgency of his movements, making her revel in his passion for her. Why in heaven's name had he held back all this time?! If only he'd treated her like this, she would never have been able to resist him.
"Ruth," he murmurs between kisses hard enough to bruise, his hands exploring every inch of her, but he's still wearing all his clothes and she cannot reach any part of him, save his lower back which she's taken no time at all in exposing.
"Get undressed, Harry," she directs him breathlessly, watching with delight as he complies, releasing her and sitting up to remove his shirt over his head in his impatience, revealing his deliciously broad chest and soft belly, his strong arms, and soon his solid thighs, when he stands and kicks off his trousers.
"Better?" he asks as he slips back into bed beside her.
"Much. You're a gorgeous man and I like to look at you."
He laughs, but looks pleased none the less as he reaches for her, drawing her closer again. "You are so beautiful, Ruth," he says softly, the fingertips of his right hand, tracing her collar bone down to her breast. "I cannot believe my luck that you should want-"
She silences him with a firm kiss. "I want you. I love you, Harry." And it is suddenly the easiest thing to say in the world. He looks stunned, overcome by emotion, but the last thing they need now is for him to burst into tears, so she takes matters into her own hands, quite literally.
"You forgot to take your trunks off," she points out, tugging on the material. "I want to see what you're hiding in there." And with that, she cups him, running her hand up and down his length and eliciting a groan from him.
"Ruth," he breathes, falling away from her onto his back, and she takes this as permission to have her way with him.
She turns on her side and sits up, tugging hard on his underwear until he lifts his hips and she can pull them down to his knees, allowing him to kick them off himself as her eyes are drawn to his cock, standing proud and rigid with his want of her. He's quite beautiful and he's rather large, and she can't help wanting to taste him. She leans down and runs her tongue up his length, breathing in the musky scent of his arousal, her mouth opening and taking the tip of him inside as her right hand wraps around his length, lifting him away from his belly, moving with her mouth to give him pleasure, which, by the sounds emanating from his throat, he's experiencing in buckets.
"Ruth," he says in a strangled voice, his hands trying to pull her head away from him. "I'm so close. Please."
She understands. He wants to be inside her. She'd rather like him to be inside her too, so she pulls back, smiling at him before tracing kisses all along his tummy and chest until she reaches his lips where he welcomes her with a thorough snog that makes her toes curl and her insides melt for him.
He rolls them over, pushing himself between her legs, lifting his head to look at her.
"Yes," she says, reading the question in his eyes. "Now, Harry."
They both groan as he slips into her, his head dropping to her left shoulder as her inner walls ripple around him, adjusting to the feel of him nestled inside her, thrilled to have him there at long last, tears of joy sliding down the sides of her face as she hugs him to her.
"Harry," she breathes, all her love and satisfaction infusing her voice.
"You have no idea," he begins, lifting his head to look at her, tears shining in his eyes.
"Yes, I do. It's always been you, I've wanted here." She lifts her hand to cup his cheek, delighting in the way he tilts his head towards her touch.
"Then why-" he tries again, but she doesn't let him finish.
"They're in the box – our regrets. We're here now. That's what matters."
He nods and turns his head, kissing the palm of her hand. "Yes. We're here now." And with that, he begins to move above her.
Afterwards, they lie in each others arms, sweaty and replete, their hands softly stroking each other.
"Harry?" she murmurs softly, her voice sounding blissful even to her ears.
"Yes?" His voice is low and relaxed as is his whole body.
"Do I still have a ribbon in my hair?"
"A ribbon?" He frowns, turning in her arms and reaching behind her head as she tilts her head forward. "Hmmm," he hums. "So you do." She feels his hands struggle with it for a moment. "Hang on. It's a bit tangled." He fiddles some more. "No, wait. I've got it." And with that, he brings the shiny, gold ribbon round to show it to her. "Here," he says.
"Thank you, but you can keep it. It was your other Christmas present."
"The ribbon?"
"No. Me. You need a ribbon on a Christmas present."
He smiles and pulls her against him, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. "Thank you," he murmurs with affection. "It was a wonderful Christmas present."
She hums. "A present that keeps on giving," she says, delighting in his warm chuckle.
"I'm glad to hear that."
"Where's my present?" she asks suddenly, some moments later.
"I don't know. Did you put it down somewhere?"
"I don't remember. I think perhaps I dropped it in all the excitement of having you go down on me like that."
He chuckles again and, ever the gentleman, gets up to look for it, despite her inarticulate protests when he withdraws his warm, naked body from her side.
"Here it is," he says after a moment, and when she opens her eyes to look, he's leaning over the bed, the locket dangling from his hand.
"I want to put it on," she replies, stretching luxuriously before she sits up and turns her back to him. She feels the mattress dip as he kneels on the bed behind her, then the locket appears in front of her as he lowers it over her chest and closes the clasp, planting a soft kiss against the chain as it rests on her neck.
She turns to look at him. "What do you think?"
"Perfect," he replies.
"The locket or me?" she teases, watching the warm smile spread across his lips.
"Both. It looks perfect on you."
"It was a beautiful gift," she tells him, scooting closer to him and softly kissing his lips. "I love it."
"So I gathered," he jokes, mischief in his eyes. It's so nice to see this side of him. He's always far too serious at work and it's wonderful to see him relaxed and happy.
"How long did it take you to find it?" she asks.
"Weeks," he replies. "I didn't know what to get you for the longest time. I wanted something personal but not too..."
"Intimate?" she suggests.
He smiles. "Yes. Intimate. When I started looking, this here," his hand moves between them, "seemed a fool's fantasy. But last week, after you said you wanted to spend Christmas with me, I gave myself licence to hope and I ended up in a jewellery shop, searching for something. In fact, I went to several, and then I saw a locket similar to this that I thought you'd like, but the quote was all wrong."
"What did it say?"
"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."
She smiles. "Wuthering Heights. A lovely sentiment, but..."
"Totally wrong for us, at this moment in time."
She nods her agreement. "This one's so perfect."
He smiles and leans over to press a soft kiss against her lips. "You look gorgeous sitting like that, wearing nothing but a necklace. If I were a younger man, I would not hesitate to-"
"Wear me out," she suggests, eyes twinkling at him. "Good job, you're a mature man then, as I need my beauty sleep if I'm going to be up for sex again, first thing in the morning."
He chuckles and kisses her again, before they slip under the covers.
"Why are you pulling your trunks on?" she asks, as she snuggles under the duvet waiting for him.
"Well, I thought it might be more..." he tails off, apparently not finding the right word.
"I like to feel your naked body against mine. It's comforting and safe."
"Safe?" he queries, abandoning his trunks and slipping under the covers beside her.
"Yes. Except when it's arousing."
He chuckles again and pulls her into his arms, switching off the light and plunging them into darkness, save for the star light filtering through the skylight in the ceiling.
"Just so you know," she murmurs sleepily after a moment, "I'm not a morning person, but I don't object to being woken to soft kisses and gentle touches, particularly when they're followed by an orgasm."
He chuckles again and draws her closer still. "I love you, Ruth Evershed," he says, pressing a gentle kiss against her cheek.
"And I love you, Harry Pearce."