Tuesday, 26th August 2003 – Ruth's Place
"Bloody hell, Ruth," he breathes, his heart still pounding, the sheer electricity they've created sizzling through his body, muscles turned to liquid, his whole being sighing in bliss.
She hums and presses her lips against his neck, her warm, soft body still covering his, her breathing heavy from the exertion, skin damp with perspiration. For several minutes, they don't move, basking in the glory of the moment, the wondrous sensations, his hands softly stroking her back, moving up and down her sides as their breathing and heart-rates slow.
"Christ, that was good," he whispers eventually, overcome by relief and joy, squeezing her against him in gratitude and complete and utter satisfaction. Christ, he'd needed this.
She lifts her head and upper body, supporting her weight on her arms, her eyes sparkling down at him in the light coming from the lamp in the corner, the covers slipping from her shoulders down her back, the cool air infiltrating the space between them. It's good to see her this time, good that they're both alert and able to enjoy the moment.
"Isn't it always?" she teases, lifting her eyebrows at him, her cheeks creasing into dimples as she smiles.
Is she serious, he wonders. Is it always spectacular for her, no matter who she sleeps with?
She laughs, the quivering of her abs pushing his softening cock out of her, and he takes the opportunity to deflect her attention from him, muttering, "Hang on," as he reaches round her thigh to grasp the condom and make sure it stays on until she's slipped off him, rolling onto the bed beside him with a gentle sigh of satisfaction. Once he's removed it and tied the end into a knot, ready to dispose of later, he turns on his side to face her, finding her lying on her side, head on the pillow and hands tucked under it, her eyes on him, full of a playful sort of mischief.
He's not quite sure what to think, his ego still smarting, the knowing smile on her lips only adding to his growing irritation, primarily with himself for allowing her jibe to get below his defences.
"You have a gorgeous pout," she says, reaching her right hand up to his chin, running her thumb across his lower lip and humming appreciatively.
"I don't pout," he objects.
She grins at him. "Yes, you do."
"Three-year-olds pout, Ruth. I'm not three."
"No," she agrees, her face suddenly serious, fingers sliding up his jaw, palm cupping his cheek. "You're almost fifty."
He's rather pleased to hear she remembers that his birthday is coming up soon, but not quite sure what to make of her shifting mood. Is she thinking he's too old for her? Does it really matter if she does? It's just sex after all – he'd made that perfectly clear again when he'd approached her on the Grid earlier.
"I am. Is that a problem?" Perhaps she's lamenting the limitations she thinks his age places on their lovemaking. The thought annoys him and he's determined suddenly to prove to her that he's more than capable of satisfying her every desire, her every need in bed.
"No." She lifts her eyes to his and smiles. "I was just wondering where I'll be when I turn fifty."
The impulse to tell her she'll be right here, with him, is too great for comfort. Instead he says, "Maybe you'll be running Section D."
She laughs and shakes her head. "And where will you be, Harry?"
In your bed.
Jesus! He needs to snap out of it and fast. Pull yourself together, man!
"Well, assuming I survive that long, I'll be... somewhere. Wherever washed-up spooks go to live out their remaining days after retirement." Her eyes are watching him intently and it's a little disconcerting. His lovers are normally mellow, charming, and very grateful after sex. Not Ruth, it would seem. It shouldn't surprise him, but it does. "I could write my memoirs," he jokes.
Her eyes flash with amusement. "As Head of Section D, I'd have to take you in if you did that, Harry. Tie you up. Give you a good thrashing."
He grins. "As long as you did it personally," he whispers seductively, moving closer.
"You wouldn't mind?" she asks, teasingly.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On how thoroughly you do your job," he says, leaning in to brush his lips over her cheekbone, his hand gliding over her shoulder and down her back to her bum. "On how rough you are with my equipment." Here he reaches for her hand and brings it down between them, pressing his hardening length into her open palm, desire racing through him at the way her eyes widen and darken, her lips lift in a smirk, her hand closes around him.
"That was quick," she comments, sounding rather impressed and he can't help the way it buoys his spirits and makes his chest expand with pride. He's better at something after all and definitely not too old to satisfy her.
"What can I say?" he murmurs. "I've always been quick on the draw."
She giggles then tightens her grip, making him draw in a sharp breath.
"Careful," he whispers, shifting closer, the fingers of his left hand trailing down her spine as his lips feather kisses across her jaw to her ear.
She sighs, her hand relaxing its grip but not releasing him altogether, beginning to glide along his length instead, gently massaging, making him harden more and exhale in pleasure, his fingertips feathering across her skin, his lips pressing soft kisses against her shoulder as he closes his eyes and just enjoys her touch for a moment.
"Do you have more condoms?"
"Mmmm," he hums. "Three more, I think."
Her hand stops moving, so he lifts his head to look at her. "What?"
"Seriously?" she questions, a smile hovering around her lips, eyes sparkling at him. "You usually use that many?"
"Well, no," he confesses. "Mostly they're just in case one tears or gets too dry or something."
She giggles, then begins to laugh in earnest, lifting her hand to cover her mouth as he draws back, utterly confused by her outburst, his pride hurt at the thought of her laughing at him. "What's so funny?"
"I'm sorry," she gasps, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "It's not you, I just thought..." and she cracks up again, falling onto her back and tilting her head back, trying to get her laughter under control. "It's your condoms," she manages to explain eventually. "They're on operation. They have back up. Your wallet is the OBO van!" And she starts laughing again, gasping, "I should make them legends," and dissolving into giggles.
And now he's chuckling too, utterly charmed by her, feeling something shift deep inside him as he watches her, a tiny spark igniting where everything was cold and dark before, a heat beginning to spread through his chest, warming him from the inside.
Bugger! This is not good, Harry. This is not good at all.
"Can we do this again?" he murmurs into her hair, his arms still wrapped around her, holding her close.
She smiles, a part of her thrilled to hear him suggest that. "I think it might be a little late for that right now, Harry," she teases.
"I meant another time, next week, next month, whenever." His lips find the spot just below her ear that he'd discovered earlier, parting and allowing his tongue to brush against it, warm and wet.
She moans, trembling in his arms, utterly unable to control her reaction.
"Is that a yes?" he growls, sounding smug.
"Mmmm," she hums. "As what, Harry? Colleagues with benefits?"
He chuckles and pulls back to look at her. "Works for me."
She watches him, his warm, hazel eyes, soft lips curled in a smile, the pleasure and hope shimmering in his gaze. Would it be so bad to agree? They've had fun and the sex has been fantastic.
"I don't know, Harry," she replies, watching his eyes cloud over. "It's been good. Really very good. Both times. But... Let's see, shall we?"
He purses his lips and slips his hands into his pockets. "You're worried it won't be as good next time?"
"I'm worried this could get more complicated than either of us can afford, Harry."
He tilts his head to the side. "I'm not about to fall in love with you, Ruth," he murmurs, surprising her. Is that really the only complication he can foresee? And what kind of man tells that to a woman anyway? Is he trying to issue a challenge? Could she make him fall in love?
Don't go there, Ruth.
"I didn't think you would," she replies with a frown. "You're not looking for a relationship. I understand that. The thing is, Harry, I am." She sees him frown. "Not with you, obviously. But I haven't given up hope that I'll find someone I want to share my life with one day, and when I do, I can't very well tell him I'm having periodic sex with my boss, can I?"
A slow, sly smile spreads across his lips at that, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"No, don't answer that," she hastens to add. "Besides, that's not the only issue. It's easy for you. You're the boss. No one would dare say anything against you. But for me... What if people found out about it? I don't want them to think I'm sleeping my way to the top. I'm bloody good at my job and I don't want-"
"I wasn't suggesting we make it public knowledge, Ruth," he objects. "I know we must be careful, for both our sakes. But this is good. Sex like this... I don't know about you, but, in my experience, it's not so easy to find... I was just suggesting that, maybe, away from work, if we both feel like it, sometimes, provided we're both still single..." He tails off, looking at her earnestly.
"You're suggesting we ring each other when we need a really good shag," she clarifies boldly. "No strings attached. Just sex sometimes, when we both want it."
"Yes."
It's tempting. It's very tempting. He's not the man of her dreams, but he's not wrong about the sex either. It really is better than any she's had in a long time. Would it not be better to be shagging Harry, she asks herself, while she waits to meet her Mr Right, than to be sitting home alone, watching the Red Shoes for the millionth time with only Fidget for company? They seem to have managed alright, after last time, to keep this out of their work interactions. He's a good spy, good at hiding things, and she has no feelings for him – other than a grudging admiration and respect, lust, of course, and a strong desire to experience again and again the physical pleasure of their sexual encounters. He's really a very experienced and generous lover. She'd be mad to turn him down, wouldn't she? He's right, after all – he's not likely to fall for her and make this messy and complicated, and as for herself... she's pretty confident that she can handle it. She's got her eyes wide open. She knows what she's getting herself into and that this is the extent of it. She's not hoping for more, to get him to fall in love with her or anything – though she's rather tempted to try after his very confident declaration, just for the satisfaction of proving him wrong. The only part that worries her is that he still might use their liaison against her in the future. He is a spy after all and has proven he can be a rather manipulative bastard when he has to be.
"What if we do this and one of us changes their mind?" she asks.
He purses his lips. "C'est la vie. I would respect that and not hold it against you. I hope you would likewise."
"Really, Harry?" she presses him.
"You don't believe me?" He frowns, looking rather offended.
"Well," she replies, tilting her chin up defiantly, "you're a spy and – forgive me for saying this – but I don't think I need to remind you that you can be rather manipulative when it suits you. A right bastard, in fact."
His frown deepens, but he doesn't deny it. "So that's a no then," he says.
"I didn't say that. First, I need some assurances."
"You have them. As much of a bastard as I have to be for work, I thought you understood that that doesn't extend into my personal life. I would never coerce or force any woman to-"
"I know you wouldn't," she says quickly. She hadn't meant that at all. "That's not what I'm saying."
"What are you saying then?"
"I'm saying you have to give me your word you won't use this to manipulate me into doing things for work, even when you feel an operation demands it. You find another way to convince me, but this arrangement needs to remain off the table for any sort of negotiation, even when it's for Queen and country."
He purses his lips, his hands deep in his pockets. "It's a bit late to worry about that now, isn't it, Ruth?"
She frowns at him, suddenly feeling apprehensive and uncertain. Has she misjudged his character so completely?
No. She doesn't think so.
"You're testing me," she says after a moment, guessing he's a little hurt to have her question his honour like this. She's sorry to have hurt his feelings, but she doesn't regret it. She rather thinks he'd not have given it much thought if she hadn't pressed him now and would likely have used their arrangement against her, if the need arose, without a second's consideration. Now, at least, she's certain that he'll think long and hard about it beforehand. "Alright. I agree. Let's try it. Colleagues with benefits, it is."
"You're sure?" he presses her, his eyes on hers, gaze intense and calculating.
"Yes. I don't believe you'd betray my trust as I wouldn't betray yours," she says. Harry may be many things, but disloyal he is not and she believes that, deep down, he's a gentleman. It costs him dearly when he has to hit below the belt because his job demands it.
He watches her for a moment more before pulling his right hand out of his pocket and holding it out to her, like he's waiting for a handshake. "Deal?" he murmurs huskily.
"Deal," she replies, placing her hand in his and shaking it once before he tugs hard, causing her to stumble into his chest, his other arm wrapping around her back, his hand cupping her bum as he pulls and holds her against him while he kisses her soundly.
"You are the most frustrating, most exasperating, most infuriating woman I know, and so sexy with it that I can't seem to get enough of you," he growls against her lips and kisses her again, sending shivers of pleasure running up and down her spine. She's wondered why it is he finds her so desirable and is rather proud to hear that it's because she stands up for herself and her principles instead of bending over backwards to please him. She supposes it makes perfect sense, if she thinks about it, for someone in his position of authority to value and admire that, when every other lover he's had was probably a spineless pushover, coveting a part of the prestige and power he has, going out of her way to please him. He probably enjoys the ego trip, but she can imagine it would get rather boring after a while.
"What can I say?" she replies, mirroring his words from earlier as she looks up at his face, smiling, "I've never been a pushover. I'm not about to start now."
He chuckles, pressing his lips against her forehead before pulling back. "So we're agreed then?"
"Yes. But not at work, Harry. You don't ask again at work, alright? No conversations, no innuendos – nothing. We hide this from everyone."
"Tell you what," he murmurs, "I'll get us a couple of burner phones for this express purpose. Alright?"
"Right. Good. And we should agree on a very subtle signal perhaps. So we know to expect a phone call later, once we're home, to arrange the details."
He chuckles. "You think of everything."
"I try." She smiles, chuffed to hear him say that. "Now you should go and I need to get some sleep. I'm sure the lull after POTUS's departure won't last long."
"You're probably right." He smiles, his eyes lingering on her for a moment.
"POTUS makes me think of a hippopotamus," she confesses, making him chuckle again.
His eyes sparkle fondly at her. "Sweet dreams, Ruth," he murmurs and brushes his lips against hers once, then turns away, opening the front door and slipping out into the night. She doesn't linger with the door open, closing and locking it quickly to shut out the night-time chill and running back up the stairs, wrapped in nothing but her dressing gown.
A bath would be nice, she thinks, going back into her bedroom to find her slippers and collect her pyjamas and clean knickers before heading off to run her bath, oddly content and at peace with the agreement they've reached. Who knows? Perhaps having Harry in her bed regularly will diffuse some of the tension between them on the Grid and make it easier to hide their mutual attraction from everyone else. She could use a reprieve from that.
Briefly, she wonders how long it can possibly last, this lust they both feel for each other. A few weeks? A few months if they're lucky?
And then what?
She drops a dollop of bubble-bath mixture in the bath and ties her hair up to keep it dry, slipping out of her dressing gown and easing herself into the hot water with a sigh of contentment. Gently she traces the mark Harry left on her left breast with her fingertips, leaving a trail of bubbles behind. What if he leaves a similar mark on her heart? Several months is a long time. What if she falls for him – this man who can be so charming and has such stamina and charisma, can give her such good orgasms every time they're together? What will she do then when he ends it?
She sighs, switching the water off and lying back, the sudden stillness in the room making her thoughts too loud for comfort.
Bit late to worry about that now, Ruth.
She'll just have to guard her heart, that's all. Harry's not the one for her. She knows that. He knows that. Everyone in the bloody Service knows that. Harry Pearce doesn't settle down. He doesn't do intimacy. And he's got a long list of affairs and a failed marriage to prove it. He's just a... hot-water bottle, a place holder in her bed until the real love of her life comes along and that's that.
End of story.