A/N: By way of apology for the kerfuffle with chapter 41, I have once again started this chapter with a bit of smut. M rated shenanigans ahead!
In the dark and quiet of Harry's bedroom, they came together once again. For just a moment, he had been uncertain if he ought to comply with her request, given all that she'd told him that night, but as he looked into her eyes he knew that she was right. They had fought, they had aired their fears, they had trusted one another, and together they would be stronger for it. Ruth was right; they needed this. Needed to take their time with one another, needed to let their bodies give evidence of the truth of their words.
He stopped her just inside the doorway, caught her in his arms and kissed her deeply, rejoicing in the way she melted against him, her lips soft and gentle, her stomach brushing against his with every breath they took. This was Ruth he was holding; just the thought of it, the realization that after everything she was here with him, kissing him, touching him, loving him in her own way, set his heart to racing. For years he had wanted no one but her, had thought of no one but her, this woman with her ocean-dark eyes and her beautiful, tattered soul. This was Ruth, the only woman who had ever truly understood him, the only person who had every truly seen him, the quiet, tender half of his heart, the piece of himself he'd been missing for so long, the one who made him finally whole.
As they kissed she made quick work of his shirt buttons, her small, delicate hands igniting a fire in his blood that grew with each tentative brush of her body against his own. He wanted to reciprocate, to peel the clothes from her body and lavish her skin with kisses, but she was too quick for him, peeling his shirt away from his shoulders and launching her attack afresh once it was gone, never giving him the opportunity. With all the grace of a dancer she dropped to her knees, moving slowly in deference to the extra weight she carried, her warm lips dropping kisses around his navel while her hands unbuckled his belt. Too late he realized what she was doing, but when he tried to protest she sat back on her heels, one of her hands reaching through his now-unzipped fly to grasp his length, her eyes burning as she gazed up at him, and his voice died in his throat. She was a siren, a vixen, his wildest dreams made flesh, and she wanted him. He could no more deny her this than he could deny himself breath, and so he tangled one hand in her soft dark hair and smiled down at her.
With surprising speed she freed him from his trunks, and licked her lips once in what was, for her, a rather salacious move indeed before she leaned forward, and pressed a reverent kiss to the tip of his rigid cock. He groaned, at the first brush of her lips against him, and he could see that his response to her bolstered her confidence; she set to her task with characteristic determination, and he lost himself in her. Her lips, warm and soft, her tongue, insistent and all-consuming, the heat of her almost more than he could bear. After all this time she knew him so very well, knew what he liked and knew what he needed, and she took as much of him into her mouth as she could manage, as deep as she could, before sliding him back out again, the suction she created pushing his iron-clad restraint to its breaking point. She wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, and continued her assault, never stopping as he moaned and shuddered beneath the onslaught of her mouth and her hands. And all the while she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling and intent on his face, watching his pleasure; that look on her face was nearly enough to do him in.
When he felt himself teetering on the very brink he gently pulled her away, breathing deeply and trying to bring himself back under control. As easy as it would be to give into the gentle insistence of her mouth, there was another warm, wet place he wanted to lose himself inside, and he would not be deterred from his goal. He understood what appealed to her about this particular act, as he felt much the same way about burying his face between her thighs, and he understood too that this night was about so much more than physical release for them. It was about caring for one another, being kind to one another, rejoicing in one another, and if they were going to continue, he needed to stop her now, before it was too late. Ruefully he admitted to himself that he wasn't a young man, any more, but that fact had never seemed to bother her before, and he wasn't about to mention it to her now. Instead he helped her to her feet, and kissed her once again.
Harry was kissing her, his hands broad and strong where they gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him as they began the awkward, shuffling dance away from the doorway towards the bed. For a moment she had considered resisting his attempts to disentangle her from him, had considered staying right where she was and pulling him over the edge, had wanted to feel the rush of him coming because of her mouth, her hands. In the end, though, she had retreated, understanding what it was he wanted, and desiring nothing more than to give it to him.
When they reached the bed he stopped, and turned his attentions to her clothes, peeling them away layer by layer until she was bare before him. He stopped for a moment, watching her with hungry eyes, and she took the opportunity to slip away from him, stretching out on his bed and waiting for him to join her, every nerve in her body tingling and crying out for him. He looked a bit silly, standing there still in his trousers and socks, his cock still wet from her mouth and springing absurdly through his open fly, but before she could comment on it he had divested himself of the last of his clothes, and was sliding over her, dropping kisses on her body at random and drawing a heavy, blissful sigh from her lips.
This was Harry, lavishing attention on her naked breasts, kneading the tender flesh of her thighs with his hands. Harry whom she had loved for years beyond counting, the only man she'd ever truly trusted, the only person who could read her thoughts with a glance, the only one who had ever held her trembling heart steady in his hands. That they should find themselves here after everything, after the lies and the losses, after the years of self-denial and the untold betrayals, seemed to her to be a miracle in itself.
She made a soft sound of protest, when his mouth left the valley of her breasts, but that protest turned to whimpers of anticipation as she felt his kisses work their way down her body, over the rise of her belly, to the seam of her leg. For a time he teased her with feather-light kisses along her inner thighs; her muscles felt heavy and loose, as she waited for what she knew was coming next. At the first brush of his lips against her dripping sex she sighed, and ran her fingers over his head, through his hair, encouraging him with a gentle thrust of her hips. He got the message loud and clear, and set to with a will, his tongue vibrating against her clit as he drove his fingers deep inside her, setting up at relentless pace that had her mewling with want in seconds. Harry was not the first man to show her this sort of attention, but he was certainly the best; he knew her so well, anticipated her wants, followed her unspoken commands, and she was powerless to resist him. When he finally pushed her over the edge she cried out in ecstasy, her thighs locking tight around his head, holding him in place while she trembled and shook.
When she finally came back to herself she released her hold on him with a sheepish grin, but before she could apologize he stretched himself out over her, his tongue rushing into her mouth, his hands sliding up her body to knead the tender flesh of her breasts, setting her on fire for him anew. At seven months gone her stomach was big enough to make this position just a little uncomfortable, with his weight pressing down against her. Before she ever had a chance to tell him this, though, he was pulling back, smiling down at her breathlessly.
"Harry-" she said, and he only smiled.
"Come here," he said, his hands moving around her thighs to grasp her bottom, moving her with him until he was standing beside the bed and her hips were level with the edge. They helped one another, he directing her to bend her knees and brace her feet against the edge of the mattress. His bed was just tall enough to put her hips on the same level as his cock, and when he slid himself deep inside her she groaned in satisfaction, his thick fingers clutching her legs, holding her steady as he gently rocked into her, setting a slow and steady rhythm. They were in no hurry, tonight, choosing instead to enjoy one another, the sounds they made and the feeling of being together.
He always knew what she needed, what she wanted, and tonight was no different. With practiced ease he stoked the flames of her desire, built her up until her whole body cried out for him, and still he carried on, never increasing his pace until she was begging him to finish her off. In this position he could reach so much deeper, and she propped herself up on her elbows, spellbound by the sight of his cock, wet with her need for him, sliding in and out of her. It was enough to send her over the edge, and she came with a groan, clenching tight around him, but still he carried on. Harry's face seemed almost to come alight with the affection she knew he felt for her, and she saw in his eyes all the love he had never expressed to her with words. Faster now, no doubt feeling the urgent call of her still-spasming sex, he thrust into her harder and harder until she fell for a third time, moaning through her release and bringing him with her. With a long, low groan he spilled himself inside her, his hands dropping to the bed beside her, his strong, beautiful arms just barely holding him suspended above her. When she could move again she raised herself up enough to kiss him once, lightly, thinking only I love him, I love him, I love him.
That night they slept with their bodies wrapped around one another, their arms and legs all tangled together, the peanut sheltered between them. When Ruth woke, Harry's eyes were already open and he was smiling at her softly, his hand rubbing circles across her stomach.
"Good morning," she said softly.
He leaned over and kissed her. "Good morning." Then with a twinkle in his eye he shifted, and kissed her stomach. "And good morning to you, Sophia," he added in a playful voice.
"Harry," she sighed in mock indignation. Like a child with a favorite toy he had fixated on that name; she couldn't say why she didn't like it, exactly; she only knew it didn't feel quite right to her.
"What do you suggest we call her, then?" he asked. His tone was still light and good-humored; he was always in a fine mood, the morning after, and he took a childlike delight in teasing her about the peanut's name. She watched him, running her fingers through her messy hair, unable to keep the fond smile from her face. And he thought she was stubborn!
"I like Grace," she told him. "But I'm not sure if I'm ready to commit to a name. It's such a big decision, Harry, what if we pick the wrong one?"
"Not possible," he answered, shifting around so that he was lying beside her once again. Ruth wished she shared his confidence. Words mattered to her, and names were important. To her mind, names gave spirit to the objects they identified, a system of classification all their own. She thought about this as she nestled into Harry's arms. Harry, a diminutive of Henry, a derivative of Heinrich, from the German, meaning ruler of the household. Appropriate, that. And then there was Ruth, from the Hebrew, meaning friend. They couldn't pick a name for their daughter at random; it needed to mean something, and she was spoiled for choice, unable to pick just one.
"The furniture is coming in today," Harry mused, running the tips of his fingers up and down her arm and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Ruth shuddered just a little, her thoughts already drifting toward all the erotic things he could do, had done, to her with those hands. With a little shake of her head she forced herself to focus on the present.
"When are they coming? I need to go home, have a shower and change my clothes. And I really ought to talk to Beth. "
She didn't say what it was she needed to speak to Beth about; Harry already knew. Ruth had agreed to trust him, to let him take the lead on the Lucas situation, and she needed to call Beth off. How on earth she was going to explain this, when she didn't have any of the answers herself, she had no idea, but she had told Harry she would back off, and she meant to make good on her promise.
He stretched, kissed her temple, and slid out of bed. "They'll be here at ten. Why don't you come downstairs, have some breakfast and then go home? Take your time; we've got all day."
As he stood there, naked and tousled from sleep, she took in the sight of him, so sure of himself even now. There was such an intimacy about this sort of casual nudity, this standing bare before one another with no amorous intent, just talking about their day, planning the simple domesticity of furniture arrangements and shower schedules. Compared to their daily lives on the Grid this homey normalcy was as a rare as a lightning strike, and so very precious to her.
"Breakfast sounds wonderful," she told him.
Beth was sprawled out on the sofa, her favorite place to be on a Saturday morning, when Ruth came breezing in the front door. That her flatmate had once again spent the night away from home was not lost on Beth, and while she did not fancy Harry in the slightest, she did feel just a tiny rush of jealousy. Ruth had somewhere to go on Friday nights, someone to hold, someone to love, and Beth had only Ruth's nameless cat to greet her upon her return from work. It would be nice, she thought ruefully, to have that kind of affection in her life, but where was she supposed to find the time to meet people, between saving the world and trying to rectify her sleep deficit? Ruth had done the clever thing, and fallen for someone at work. She and Harry could talk to one another about their days, about all the dark deeds they'd done, without worrying about giving away state secrets. Who was Beth supposed to confide in? Certainly not Lucas, with his brooding stare and his lovely doctor friend. And not Dimitri either, all earnest smiles and easy flirtations and entirely too naïve for her tastes. Tariq was right out as well; besides being a complete and utter nerd, he was something of a brother to her, and she almost laughed aloud at the very thought of starting up any sort of romantic entanglement with him.
You're shit out of luck, Bailey, she told herself grimly.
"All right?" she asked Ruth.
"Fine," Ruth answered with an uncharacteristically bright, cheery smile. "I'm off again soon, I just wanted to change my clothes."
Beth nodded her understanding. It wouldn't be long before Ruth moved in with Harry for good and all, and then Beth would have the flat to herself. It wasn't a prospect she was looking forward to; once Ruth's things were gone, Beth wouldn't be able to convince herself that she wasn't alone, any more.
"Beth, there's something I need to tell you," Ruth added, as if the thought had almost slipped her mind. She leaned against the doorframe, grimacing slightly. It was her back that was bothering her, no doubt; Ruth often complained of back pain, these days.
Beth sat up a little straighter at her words, concerned about where this might be going.
"We need to back off Lucas. He's working on something, I don't know what, but Harry has asked me to trust him, and I have given him my word that we won't investigate any further."
What in God's name is that about? Beth wondered, grinding her teeth in frustration. It wasn't like Ruth, to give into Harry's demands like that, without question, and as much as Ruth might trust him, Beth did not share her unwavering faith in the man. Harry was only human after all, and humans make mistakes. That was just the nature of life, as far as she was concerned.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Beth said slowly.
"I'm not too keen on it myself," Ruth admitted. "But Harry is our Section Head, and these are his orders. We have to do as he says, Beth."
With that she straightened up and meandered down the hall towards the bathroom, leaving Beth alone and thinking hard.
Ruth had made her promises to Harry, and she had done her duty in telling Beth to stand down. Whatever action Beth took from here on out would be her own responsibility; Harry couldn't blame Ruth, if Beth had gone behind her back. Maybe Ruth was willing to give up their investigation, but Beth still keenly felt the weight of the others' mistrust in her, and she did not share their certainty as regarded Lucas's character. He was up to something, and until she knew what it was, she could not be sure that it was entirely on the level. Let Ruth give up then; Beth Bailey was no quitter.
