A/N: The beginning of this chapter is rated M.
They were tangled together in his bed, Ruth straddling his lap, naked and glorious in her abandon. She rose up on her knees, and then slowly slid her quivering heat down the length of his shaft, drawing a long, desperate moan from both their mouths. Harry dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips, his eyes never once leaving her face as she moved, and his whole body strained with the effort of holding off his release. In moments like this, he could almost forget everything that had come between them in the past, forget his confusion and his doubts and her stubborn resistance to his love for her. In moments like this, when she opened herself up to him, when they moved together, when he could run his hands over her skin and see her flush with pleasure, he could almost believe they stood a chance.
Ruth was trembling under his hands; she'd told him earlier tonight as he drove her to his home that everything made her tired these days, that she felt exhausted and drained after completing the simplest of tasks, and he wondered if this was too much for her. Should he suggest they move, or would he completely ruin the moment, and lose the chance to spend the night with her in his bed?
Thankfully, Ruth was the first to suggest a change in position. Her knees gave out and she sank down on him much harder than she had intended, whimpering at the force of his cock sliding deep inside her. She slumped forward against his chest, breathing heavily, but after a moment she sighed and said, "Harry?"
He hid his smile from her questioning gaze, and eased her off of him and onto her back. He ran his hands along the smooth skin of her thighs, staring down at her in wonder, thinking only how lovely she was, and how happy she made him. He leaned forward, his stomach pressing against hers, and kissed her, slowly building the passion that had flared between them only a few moments before. She planted her feet on the mattress and bent her knees, cradling him between her legs, and he smiled against the softness of her lips.
Carefully he eased himself inside her, taking pains to keep his weight off of her, and away from the precious burden sheltered within the swell of her stomach. He moved slowly at first, knowing that in this, as was the case with almost everything that involved Ruth, patience and a tender touch were required. There had been times, in the past, when Ruth had wanted him to be more forceful, to take her quickly, to push her over the edge with reckless haste, but most often what Ruth needed was for him to take things slow and steady, and he was more than happy to oblige her.
"Fuck," she swore as he continued to push into her long and slow, feeling her inner muscles contract all around his length. With nearly superhuman restraint he resisted her obvious demand for more, wanting instead to hear her begging for him. An uninhibited Ruth was such a rare sight, and one that never ceased to arouse him beyond all reason.
She turned her head to the side, gasping with each thrust of his hips, her fingers fisting in his sheets and her hips rising up to meet him, encouraging him to move along. Still he kept up his pace, waiting for that moment when she would lose herself completely.
"Please, Harry," she moaned, "please."
He ducked his head and caught the tight furled bud of her nipple between his teeth, holding it there as he sped up, pounding into her harder and harder until she let go, and very nearly screamed as the force of her orgasm threw her back thrashing against the pillows. Her legs clamped tight around his hips, her trembling heat clenched and unclenched around him, he could feel the rush of her blood beneath his lips, and with a low, rough groan he felt his own release wash over him, felt himself pulsing deep inside her.
For a long moment he held himself suspended above her, wanting nothing so much as to collapse against her softness and bury his face in the sweat-drenched sweetness of her neck. He didn't want to crush her (or the peanut) in the process, so he waited until the pounding of his heart receded, and then regretfully pulled away from her, drawing one last, quiet moan from her as they parted and he laid himself out on his stomach beside her, one arm thrown across her chest, pulling her close so he could drop gentle kisses against her shoulder.
In that instant, with Ruth trembling and gasping beneath him, he very much wanted to tell her that he loved her. He was hers, without reservation, without remorse, without any recourse, and he knew that if they were ever going to work, in the long term, she would need to hear him say it. Was now the time, though? What would she think, if he told her in a post-coital haze, the wetness of their joining pooling between her thighs and his heart still pounding from his exertions? It would not do, to say the words only to have her think him disingenuous and lust-addled. So he only kissed her, and kept the truth of his heart locked away for another day.
When Ruth woke, it was to find Harry still slumbering peacefully beside her, his left hand resting tenderly against her distended belly. When she'd spent the night with him on Saturday, they'd woken the next morning in this exact some position, and she smiled to think of it. To see Harry, even in sleep, reaching out to hold her close, to protect their little girl. She felt warm and safe and happy, and she had no desire to move, though she knew she must, and soon. They would have to go to work today, would have to face the world again, and as much as she would prefer to simply lay in his bed all day, she knew that this was part of the reason she had insisted on coming over the night before. They needed to find a way to move forward in their lives, needed to establish a rhythm, and waking up together and then going into work was part of that.
Still, she could lay here a while longer, feeling Harry's hand warm and gentle against her skin. Her whole body felt loose and sated, this morning, and her heart felt lighter than it had in months. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad, this sharing her life with Harry. Perhaps they'd find their way through.
You really need a name, little one, she thought, bringing her hand up to rest against Harry's, sliding her fingers between his.
Your daddy quite likes Sophia, but I'm not so sure. You're not a Sophia, are you, love? Maybe…Olivia? Isabella? Poppy? Emilia? None of them seemed quite right, and if the peanut had an opinion, she was keeping her thoughts to herself for now.
"Maybe Joanna," Ruth mused, not realizing she'd spoken aloud until she felt Harry begin to stir beside her. He made a soft noise low in his throat, a sort of questioning hum, and she blushed just a little, embarrassed that she'd forgotten herself and spoken to the peanut aloud. It had become a habit, since she'd done it that first day in the bath; when she was alone, she would often speak aloud to the peanut, wanting her daughter to learn to recognize her voice.
When Ruth didn't answer, Harry turned over, his head resting against her shoulder and his fingertips brushing against the curve of her belly gently as he stared at her, bleary-eyed and happy.
"What did you say?"
"It was nothing," she assured him, but he was awake now, and he would not be deterred.
"Ruth," he said in a low, stern voice.
"I was talking to the peanut," Ruth mumbled.
"You were talking to her," he repeated, the corners of his mouth ticking up in an irritatingly amused sort of way. She leaned across him, and kissed that smug look right off his face.
"If you must know," she said breathlessly as she pulled away from him, "there is some evidence to suggest that babies can hear, in the womb."
"And you wanted her to get used to the sound of your voice," he finished the thought for her.
Ruth nodded.
This time it was Harry who leaned over to kiss her. When they parted, he moved down the bed, and brushed his lips against her bump.
"Good morning, peanut," he said softly. Ruth wound her fingers through his hair, smiling at him fondly as he spoke to their daughter. "Don't worry, little one, it's just me. I'm your dad." She was sharply reminded of the morning of Ros's funeral, when he had laid beside her with his head in her lap just as it was now, her fingers massaging his scalp, just as they were now. She had felt trepidation then, though she had not yet known how bad things would get. Now she felt only wonder, and hope, and what a strange thing it was, to think how much her life had changed in the intervening months.
Ruth felt the prickle of tears rising in her eyes unbidden, but she did nothing to try to stop them. For so long she had been lost, wondering how she would ever manage to raise this child on her own, but over the last few weeks, she had come to realize just how mistaken she had been. She wouldn't be alone; Harry wouldn't leave her. He was here, beside her, and whatever else might come between them, they both loved their little peanut fiercely.
Harry glanced up at her, concern in his eyes when he saw her tears. She smiled at him, a little tremulously, and he sat up beside her, pulling her into his arms, the brush of his skin against hers warming her through.
"Thank you," she murmured against his neck, "for being so lovely."
He smiled, and kissed her temple, and said not a word. For a long time after, they simply held one another, smiling in the peaceful quiet of his bedroom.
"Shall we go, then?" Harry asked, standing by the doorway, his tie still undone and dangling around his neck. He had driven them over to hers so she could change her clothes, and mercifully she had unlocked her flat to discover that Beth had already left for the day. It had taken her ages to find something to wear, stumbling around her bedroom while Harry watched her with a fond little smile on his face.
"I just need…" she had started to say I just need to find my boot, but her voice trailed off as she spotted the offending article sticking out from beneath the corner of her bed. She retrieved it with a triumphant little cry, tugged it on, and turned to face him.
"How you ever find anything in here is a mystery to me," he said, his tone light and affectionate. She stomped across the room in mock indignation; when she reached him, she wound her hands around his neck, and raised herself up on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly.
"That was not very kind, Sir Harry," she murmured against his lips. Harry's hands had found their way to her hips, slipping beneath her blouse to brush against her skin in a way that set her heart to fluttering madly in her chest.
"I think you'll find, Miss Evershed," he replied, dipping his head to suckle her pulse point lightly, "I'm not a very kind man."
She groaned; every part of her wanted to give into him, now, and let the Grid be damned, but they both had a job to do. She pulled away from him regretfully, smiling just a little to let him know that she hated putting a stop to their little tryst as much as he did. She reached up and began to tie his tie, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she concentrated.
The morning had gone so well that she wasn't even worried about their arriving on the Grid together. Why should she be worried, when everyone already knew she was pregnant with his child, when she'd spent a blissful night wrapped up in his arms, when he'd made her breakfast and she'd tied his tie, and no harm had befallen either of them in the process? In that moment, she didn't care about gossip or professional fallout; all she cared about was Harry, and their daughter, and the joy and the love that bound them all together.
I love you, she thought, wondering if now was the time to say it. They were both fully clothed and wide awake, and happier than they'd been for a long, long time. Do it, do it now, before-
"Time and tide, I'm afraid," he said softly.
Ruth just nodded in reply. They needed to get to work, and any desperate declarations of love would have to wait, for at least a few more hours.
