Sorry for the delay - I thought I had finished, but the marvelous and expectant reviews got the better of me and I found myself writing more. Just a quick one to get back into it - I would appreciate suggestions for further chapters :)
The bottom of the door made a muffled scraping sound as it pressed across the carpet of the Turners' bedroom. The noise stopped as the motion was immediately halted, the anxious silence that followed broken only by the soft ticking of the bedside clock and the adults' contented breathing. They were still asleep. Timothy sighed with relief and slipped through the opening, tiptoeing round the foot of the bed to the window, dragging a crammed stocking along behind him. With a flourish and a shout of "Merry Christmas!" he flung the curtains open and the room was flooded with the silvery early-morning light, bringing everything sharply into focus and making the adults blink and groan in protestation. "And it's still snowing!" Timothy was peering eagerly out of the window, his back to the bed, where Shelagh and Patrick were gradually gaining consciousness. Patrick shivered. He suddenly realised the covers were pushed right back and the two of them were quite exposed. He had woken bare-chested lying on his front with his arm across Shelagh's body, her flimsy night-dress ruched up, his hand resting comfortably at the top of her thigh. One of her straps had worked its way down her arm, showing rather more décolletage than she would have ever thought proper in her former life. He flushed and whipped his hand away as Shelagh quickly adjusted her dress, just in time, as Timothy now spun around to check they were as ecstatic about Christmas Day as he was.
He wasn't entirely satisfied with the result. "Ten past six," frowned Patrick as Shelagh drowsily fumbled for her glasses. Anxious his wife would catch a chill, Patrick drew her gently to him and reached to pull the covers over them both. Shelagh settled gratefully into her husband's arms, her breath catching in her throat at the wonder of waking up in her doctor's embrace hit her once again. She felt the light brush of his lips on the top of her head, and her skin tingled everywhere it made contact with his, just as it had always done during the fleeting moments of contact when the nun and the doctor had gone about their work, only now with the raw intensity of being flesh against flesh. She blushed as she realised she was having these thoughts with Timothy standing at the end of their bed.
"It's later than last year," the boy protested, "Shelagh said no earlier than six to me last night, and I kept my word."
"Oh she did, did she?" Patrick looked down at the dozing form in his arms, her honey-toned hair rumpled and splayed feather-like across his chest, her eyelids fluttering sleepily across those china blue eyes. "We're not all early birds like you, my love," he laughed. With his thumb he slowly stroked her bottom lip and heard a small sigh escape her. She looked so exquisite in the glow of dawn; he wanted nothing more than to gather her up and kiss her, and he found himself resenting the presence of his oblivious son. To make matters worse, Timothy now crawled right onto the bed, pushing between the couple and snuggling beneath the covers, his stocking hauled onto his lap. Patrick sighed audibly at this further invasion of their privacy, but the light in Shelagh's eyes as she watched the excitement of her step-son was more than enough to soothe his frustration. The doctor subtly reached behind his son to run his fingers through his wife's hair, desperate to keep contact, no matter how small.
"Surely you're too old to get into bed with us," he smirked at Timothy, who had wasted no time getting going on his stash of gifts and was ruthlessly tearing off tissue paper left right and centre.
"I'm just so excited," grinned the little boy, "it feels like ages since we've had a proper Christmas - now we've got a family again, it's going to be so much fun."
Patrick caught Shelagh's gaze, and she beamed back at him, her eyes glassy with pride and gratitude. Unable to restrain herself any longer she captured his hand and trailed delicate but passionate kisses on his careworn fingers, delighting in feeling them curl and quiver under her lips. Timothy was too busy to notice - all the time Shelagh clung on to her husband's hand, her tremulous caresses silently conveying the words that he was saying over to himself in his mind - I want you, I need you, I love you...
Please review if you have the time :)