This begins a tiny bit smutty, so be warned – if that is not your thing.
oOo
Harry woke with a start, sensing some kind of change in the bed. He was lying on his side, facing Ruth's back. He tried moving the hand he had draped around her, only to find that it was under her pyjama top, and that he was touching her bare skin. A warm flush suffused his whole body from his genitals outwards as he imagined what was hidden under her pyjama top. He thought about withdrawing his hand, but didn't want to risk waking her, and nor did he want to …... he didn't want to stop. Experiencing a moment of daring, and given the room was dark, he slid his fingers further along her bare skin, only to meet the full curve of her bare breast. He held his breath, stopped in silence as he felt his body respond. What now? To withdraw his hand from there would be – well – awkward, so he very slowly inched his hand further until the tips of his fingers met her nipple. He felt the nipple harden under his fingers, and Ruth uttered a low moan.
"Don't you dare stop, Harry," she said quietly, leaning back slightly so that her back met his chest.
He nestled his face into her neck, and allowed the tension in his body to leave as he relaxed against her, and circled her nipple with his fingertip. Ruth's moan became slightly louder, as she pushed her buttocks back against him. "Mmm," she said, "there you are again." Still circling her nipple with his fingertip, he kissed her neck, opening his mouth so that his tongue drew circles on her skin. Her reply was to grind her buttocks into him. God, Ruth! He pushed back, thrusting against her rounded bottom, two layers of material separating their bodies.
Harry reached out to her and pulled her around to face him. Their mouths, hungry now, found one another, tongues and lips exploring the mouth of the other, fully occupied, no space for words. Ruth reached out her hand and lightly touched his erection through his track pants, running a finger along its length and back again. Harry moaned his enjoyment, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of her pyjama top.
"Here, let me," she said. In a matter of seconds she'd opened the front of her pyjama top and slipped it off her shoulders.
He quickly removed his t shirt and threw it on the floor beside the bed. "Remember what we decided," he said before he kissed her.
"What part?"
"The part about no full sex, just fifteen-year-old groping."
"I never did any of this as a fifteen-year-old," she mumbled into his mouth.
"Me neither."
Ruth pulled back from him and looked at him, her eyes now almost fully adjusted to the minimal light. "You didn't? What we you doing instead?"
"Playing rugby and cricket, going hiking, staring at girls from a distance, wondering what I had to do to get them to notice me. Wondering what I'd do if I ever got a girl alone. You?"
"I was too busy reading to notice boys even existed."
"We're such a pair, aren't we?" Harry said, leaning across to kiss her again. "Neither of us knows how to snog like a fifteen-year-old."
Ruth laughed into his mouth. "I guess we'll have to use our imaginations, then."
So they did. Hands ran over bare skin, lips and tongues explored crevices, nipples, belly buttons, lower abdomens, and even lower. He adored her with his eyes, his hands, his lips, and she quivered under his adoring gaze. She climaxed quickly, his fingers having displayed an expertise any fifteen-year-old could only dream of, he holding back to watch her face as the waves of ecstasy washed over her and through her. He held her close and whispered words of love, as lovers do. He'd dreamed of this moment for over six years, fantasised about bringing Ruth to orgasm, but the reality had outstripped his fantasy by the power of infinity.
"Now it's your turn," she said into his shoulder, pushing her body into him gently, him pushing back.
"It's not going to take much," he breathed, trying hard to hold himself back, enjoying the playfulness of their explorations too much to ever want it to end. "It'll be over in seconds," he added.
He felt her fingers play across his chest, then over the curve of his stomach, then she slipped them under the waistband of his track pants until she touched him, hard and hot and ready-for-anything, barely holding himself in check. She stroked him slowly, which drove him to plead, "Go faster, harder – we're fifteen, remember."
So she did, and it wasn't long before he reached his completion, groaning his release, his fingers wound in her hair.
"I've fantasised for so long about doing that," she whispered, but he was too spent, too depleted to answer. He just smiled, and closed his eyes, an exhausted `thank you' spilling from his lips.
She lay against him until he slept, then she slid out of bed to wash her hands. She slipped back into bed beside him with a handful of tissues, cleaning him up as he slept. Then she snuggled against him, wishing she'd not been so shy with him in the past, regretting all those times she'd held back, or denied him, or simply run from him. Him no longer being her boss had removed one large hurdle of resistance for her, but it was more than that. Her experiences during the past three months had allowed something to emerge from within her, and she could only describe this `something' as a desperation, an urge to live the life she'd wanted for herself, but had not been able to give herself in her past. Harry was part of this, and if he wanted her – truly wanted her – then she was his. Of course, being here in this hotel room was hardly real life. They would have to leave here soon, as soon as it was safe for her to again move freely in the world. Wherever they ended up after this – Harry's house, another house somewhere in the country – they would no doubt find that all those limitations and misunderstandings and blocks which had emerged between them in the past would still be there in some form. There was something about she and Harry being together – alone – which created a unit which was greater than the sum of its parts. Except that many of those parts were created within the imaginations of each of them. She wanted them to work well together, and Harry obviously did also, but sheer will and desire may not be enough. Ruth knew that she must stop running, but she also needed Harry to open up more, and in so doing, they needed to trust the other with that which they could barely trust themselves. Sex was the easy part. They'd desired one another for so long. It was the spook part of each of them – the part which harboured secrets and silences – which needed to be unlocked, so that the dark shadows trapped within could leave.
.
Harry was woken by her lips on his. "It's ten o'clock, sleepyhead," she said, her mouth smiling against his. "Towers is due at eleven. We need to be showered and dressed and in the dining room by then."
He reached up to her and pulled her down on top of him. He pushed his hand under her jumper until he reached the resistance of her bra. "Whoever invented these things needs to be taken out into the woods and shot."
"I think you'll find a lot of the women the world over will have something to say about that."
.
Harry spent a long time under the shower. As well as soaping himself all over and shampooing what little hair he had, he was thinking through the implications of what he and Ruth had done in the early hours. He had had sex with a lot of women, and most of those women he had desired, but not loved. He had desired Juliet Shaw, but he'd never loved her. Having sex with women he didn't love was easy. Having sex with a woman he loved required so much more of him. He had always hoped that were he and Ruth ever to enter into a sexual relationship, all that which lay unspoken between them would dissolve under the power of their sexual attraction. He also feared that what had always lay unspoken between them may rear up to prevent them fulfilling their desires with one another. Whilst what had happened through the night was not a normal and everyday sex act, it was close, and remarkably none of his fears had been realised. What they had done together seemed to him to have strengthened their growing trust in one another, as well as dissolving a lot of the awkwardness they each felt in the company of the other. He could not have wished for more.
.
Harry could feel the tension in Ruth's body as she sat beside him at a table in the dining room of the hotel. Geoff had just told them that the Home Secretary and his PA had arrived. Harry wasn't especially nervous, as he enjoyed the verbal sparring and piss-taking which his encounters with Towers frequently descended into. Had their roles been different, or had they met under different circumstances, he and Towers may even have become friends. Harry understood how Ruth must be feeling, although he was concerned that she hadn't shared with him any fears she had about being reunited with her former boss.
Then Towers was there, his short and rotund shape hovering in the doorway. He nodded at Harry, and then his gaze took in Ruth. Harry and Ruth both stood. The Home Secretary walked straight to Harry and shook his hand, then he took Ruth's hand in both his and looked into her eyes. "Ruth," he said, "this is a great day for me. A great day." Turning to Harry again, "You're a lucky sod, Harry. I don't know why all the best women fall at your feet, but they do, and I envy you. What is it about you, I wonder?"
"Home Secretary," Harry acknowledged the comment without making a direct reply.
"I hope you'll forgive me bringing Toby into this meeting," Towers said, referring to the mid-30's man in a grey pin-striped suit and pink tie, hovering behind Towers, his laptop at the ready. "Toby, sit yourself at the end of the table, and I'll sit opposite these two."
At Toby Baldwin's insistence, Towers had read Felicity Sharma's report the previous evening, right after his meeting with the Prime Minister. "I haven't informed him – the PM, that is – about the details of this debacle, because I wanted to see you two first. I've read your medical report, Ruth, and that looks quite fine, all things considered. It could easily have been a lot worse." He hesitated, looking at his hands clenched on the table in front of him. "Toby, could you show Ruth that list of names and photographs we came up with? Ruth I need you to let me know if any of these characters were involved in your kidnapping and resultant incarceration."
"I was hardly incarcerated, Home Secretary."
"What would you call it, then? You were kept from your life, those you love and who love you, you were fed a pack of lies, and told how lucky you were to be alive. Given what we now know about how soon your heart was restarted after it had stopped, I suspect that the normal retrieval team – the one who was supposed to have arrived that day at the Thames estuary – would have brought you back without the help from any Genesis drug. They did you no favours, Ruth. They used you, they played on your love for this man -" with his hand he indicated Harry, "and they kept you from the life you had been living. All for what? Some bloody wonder drug which cannot, and will not ever be marketed openly. You had almost four months of your life stolen from you, and I'm so sorry that this happened to you. If I had a magic wand I could wave to take us back three and a half months, then I would. This has been an absolute travesty. The word `incarcerated' doesn't even begin to describe what happened to you."
Harry reached across and took Ruth's hand in his own, bringing both their hands to rest on his thigh. She looked through the photographs Toby Baldwin had pushed across the table in front of her.
"I know a few of these people," she said quietly, "but this is the only one I ever saw at the medical facility. I don't know his name. He was in the corridor, talking to one of the doctors." She picked up a photograph of a mid-40's white male, handsome, brown-haired, brown-eyed, square face.
"That's Hugh O'Donnell," Towers said. "He's been with the security service for around five years. Competent, highly ambitious, but not brilliant." Turning to Toby, he asked, "Do we know where he is, or who he is associated with?"
"Whereabouts unknown for the past four weeks, but he's believed to be in Paris, because he was thick with Paul Middlemass, and that's where Middlemass now lives."
"Get on to Irvine at Six," he continued, addressing Toby directly, "and tell him to find both Middlemass and O'Donnell, and bring them in. Now, Toby. This is of extreme importance. We have no idea what else these two have up their sleeves. I suspect that their experiments with Genesis are just the tip of a very large iceberg. Christ almighty, for all we mere mortals know they could be planning to create a super-race, and then where would we all be?"
Toby left the room just as a waitress entered the room with a tray of coffee and pastries. She placed it on the table in front of them before pouring coffees for everyone.
"I could do with something stronger to go with this," Towers said, looking at the waitress.
"What can I get you, sir?" said the waitress.
"Scotch whiskey – preferably Ardberg or Glenlivet - no ice, a small jug of water. Room temperature for the water. Harry, what about you? Will you join me in a drink?"
"Nothing for me, Home Secretary. Just coffee is fine."
"Gone all puritan on me, have you, Harry? Ruth, something stronger for you?"
"No, thank you. Coffee's fine for me, too."
Towers nodded at the waitress, who promptly left the room.
"I hope my driver is being as well looked after as we are," mused Towers.
"I can assure you he will be," replied Harry. "There's just one thing, Home Secretary," Harry continued, "you may have noticed your own signature on some of the requisition forms from both medical facilities."
"Yes, I did. A couple of them were genuine, too, but most were forged. I changed my signature around three years ago, adding the small `m' after the `W'. Just one of those things. I felt I needed a change of image, or some such nonsense. The genuine signatures were from over three years ago, which gives some idea of how long this lot have been planning this research. I had Hugh O'Donnell working in my office around that time. He was part of my specialist security team, but I seem to remember him as being rather unremarkable – competent, but dull. He never put a foot wrong, nor did he ever stand out in the crowd. He's just the sort of person to have pulled off this little adventure without being noticed."
They sipped their coffees and talked about the state of things in Britain. Harry then spoke up. "Home Secretary," he said, "there's the question of compensation for Ruth, and the other seven people who were experimented on. Whilst the security services were not directly responsible for what happened, it seems to me -"
"Yes, I get your drift, Harry, and I agree with what you're suggesting. All the people who fell victim to these …... these vultures worked in security, and so were put in a position of vulnerability – totally against their will - by the very nature of their jobs. Only one worked in the field, while the rest of them worked at a desk, a job which should not present dangers such as this. I spoke about this briefly with the PM last night. Whilst he doesn't know the exact nature of what happened to any of you, he and I agree that you should all be granted a pension for life. That is, if you are prepared to accept it, and provided you have no wish to return to work."
"I have no desire to return to working for you, Home Secretary, as much as I enjoyed it at the time. I've had a taste of the quiet life, and I've enjoyed that far more."
"There's one other thing," Towers added. "Harry told me not long after you – er – died that you both had been looking to retire from the service together and move to a small cottage in – er – Suffolk, was it?"
Harry and Ruth both nodded.
"Well, I just may have something which suits you. Around ten weeks ago, the Home Office purchased a rather run-down cottage near the coast in Kent. It's not Suffolk, but it's closer to London than anywhere in Suffolk. It's being renovated as we speak. Its purpose was originally for it to be a safe house, but I think you might like it. Shall we say, you can have it for the price we paid for it, and the renovations come gratis. There are other cottages all over the UK that we can look at to replace that one."
"I don't know what to say, Home Secretary," Ruth said.
"Say yes," the Home Secretary replied. "I feel bad about what happened to you, and I want to make amends."
Harry and Ruth looked at one another. Their hands were still linked, and still rested on Harry's thigh. Neither knew quite what to say.
Harry spoke first. "We'll have to take a look at it, Home Secretary. When it's safe for Ruth to leave here, then we'll be going back to London, but we'll need to inspect this cottage together before we give you an answer."
"Yes, yes, of course," Towers replied. "Ah, my drink. Thank you, my dear. Just the thing for a parched traveller."
Harry and Ruth looked at one another, smiling at Towers' exaggerated need for a drink. It was not so very long ago that Harry would have needed no excuse to join him. Toby returned to the dining room and whispered in Towers' ear.
"Good, good," Towers said to him. Turning to Ruth and Harry, he said, "Retrieval of those two lowlifes from Paris is under way as we speak. Hopefully, they'll be under lock and key in London by nightfall. Now, there was one other thing. I believe your analyst, Harry – the new one – wants to see you both. Just between you and me, I think she'd like a little jaunt outside the big smoke for the day. When would suit you?"
"How about tomorrow?" Harry suggested.
"Toby, did you get that? Give Felicity Sharma a ring."
"No, it's fine, Home Secretary," Harry replied. "I'll ring her when we're through here."
"Excellent," Towers replied, "excellent. Now, Harry, am I right in thinking that you'll want to be retiring so that you and Ruth can swan off together into the sunset?"
"We haven't discussed that yet, but it's quite on the cards."
"I'll be sorry to lose you, Harry. I'll miss our talks. I'll miss both of you. There's nothing quite so endearing as a quaint old-fashioned spy."
Harry and Ruth exchanged a glance as they sipped their coffee. Quaint or not, since Ruth had `died' there had been increasing and not-so-subtle pressure on Harry to retire, so he preferred to jump before he was pushed. Besides, he was tired from Fighting The Good Fight. The time was right. No, the time was near perfect.