Sorry for the delay...although in the grand scheme of things, I'd say we've updated this one pretty promptly! lol.
Hope you enjoy.
She is woken by her own shivering, opening her eyes to find him watching her with concern. A lazy glance at the clock tells her that it's 5.30am – half an hour before their alarm – and she groggily tries to decide if that means he's been watching her all night, or whether she's woken him up with her fidgeting. She can't decide, so she bundles herself up tightly in the duvet and, when he tries to peel away a corner of it to kiss her good morning, she shrugs him off with a grunt and wraps herself even tighter.
"I'll go and get you some tea," he whispers, a little disheartened, and kisses the top of her duvet covered head instead.
When he returns, she has sat herself upright, mummified in blankets still, and propped against several pillows. "Sorry," she sniffs. "I just wanted to be warm and back asleep, not fussed over. I'm sorry I'm so moody when I'm ill. I snapped at you last night, too." Her bottom lips wobbles a bit with the exhaustion of her emotions after a rough night's sleep and an aching body.
"You're allowed to be moody, sweetheart," he replies, tentatively sitting next to her as he waits to see if she'll rest her head against him like she normally does. She does, and he smiles. "When you're ill," he adds, cheekily.
"Not if it upsets you I'm not," she argues.
"I love having you living here with me," he blurts out, as if from nowhere.
"I don't think 4 days counts as living with you," she mutters, with amusement in her voice.
"You know what I mean," he whispers. "It's nice not to have one of us going home late at night or in the morning, stopping over only every few days."
"Even when I'm a moody bitch with the constant sniffles and a sickly glow?"
"Even then. I just like having you around."
"The correct response is 'You're not a moody bitch, Ruth'," she jokes.
"You're not a moody bitch, Ruth," he parrots back. "Much."
She pokes her tongue at him, smiles, and pulls an adorable pout, her lips a bright red against her pallor. "I think I'm in the mood for a fuss now," she murmurs, in her sweetest voice.
He growls good naturedly in her ear and adds, "Contrary Mary," before kissing her temple. "What can I do?"
"I want a big cuddle."
"Ooo, I don't know about that," he teases, as he pretends to weigh up whether or not to oblige.
She shuffles and tries to press herself more closely against his side, a task made more difficult by the way she's managed to bind her arms into the quilt. He playfully moves aside and she topples over as he laughs at her as she tries to wiggle herself into a better position.
"Harry!"
"Ruuuth!"
"You're a bastard sometimes."
"Only when you're really lucky," he teases. He lays himself down facing her and looks into her eyes before gently running his finger repeatedly down the length of her nose.
"I'm still waiting for my hug," she pouts.
"I'll give you a bloody hug," he mutters good-naturedly, wrapping his body across her huge quilted form. "Bloody hell, it's like being in bed with the Michelin Man, out you come." He slowly coaxes her out of the layers she's rolled in and wraps himself around her instead before drawing the duvet around them both and tucking the edges around their bodies.
"This is nice," she sighs into his chest. She is content to just be held by him and already feels a smidgen better for the attention and care he's giving her.
"It is. I think I'd like you in my bed more often," he murmurs and then immediately worries that it sounds a lot more suggestive than he had intended.
"Even in this state?" she teases.
"In any state," he says and confirms it with a kiss to her slightly sweaty forehead. "I meant what I said earlier. I like you being here with me."
She looks up at him and smiles softly. "I like being here with you too."
A happy silence settles between them once more, disturbed only by Ruth's coughing and sneezing fits, until Harry clears his throat and speaks.
"Will you marry me?"
If she could, she would have snapped her head around to him in shock, but as it is, every muscle in her aches and she is reduced to a squeaky 'what?' of disbelief which turns into a hacking cough.
"I couldn't not ask you anymore," he whispers.
She's completely taken aback by it all; despite knowing his intention for months, he's managed to catch her completely off guard, and the surprise is etched across her face.
"I'm sorry it's not a fancy proposal..." he starts to apologise having mistaken her silence for disappointment. She is quick to raise a finger to his lips, stopping him before he can say anything more.
"Don't you dare apologise," she whispers, fiercely, to him, "it's perfect."
"So?" he asks and her finger tingles as his lips brush against it to form the word.
"Yes. Of course I'll marry you, Harry," she answers, voice thick with emotion. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't?"
He shrugs, slightly embarrassed that he entertained the niggling doubts in his mind. "Not really. I suppose I just worried when you were a bit quiet."
"Daft sod," she murmurs, affectionately, and kisses him soundly.
"And you'll be Mrs Daft Sod," he mumbles through the kiss, making her laugh as she pulls away.
"I look forward to it."
"Good," he growls and pulls her back in for a heated kiss.
"You'll get my cold," she mumbles, the nasal sound of her words emphasising her point.
"Don't care," he whispers.
"That's taking the 'in sickness and in health' part a bit too seriously."
"I take it all very seriously," he replies, sincerely, and she reaches a hand up to caress his cheek.
"I know," she breathes. "I know."
"I have a ring somewhere," he confesses, "but I don't want to move."
"No, don't," she agrees. "It can wait."
"I've been carrying it around with me for weeks," he admits. "I think I'd got a bit worried about it."
"Why?"
"That you'd think I couldn't wait for something. It's so soon and I didn't want that to be the reason why."
"Harry," she sighs, and it's so soft and beautiful that he expects her to finish with a whispered I love you. "You're an idiot."
She splutters at the taken aback look on his face and gently traces her cold fingertip across each eyebrow as he whispers that he loves her.
"Do you know that I've thought about it?" she asks.
"What?"
"Our wedding night. I've imagined it, Harry. It's not a crime to want it."
"Have you?" he asks, slightly surprised by her openness, and very interested to hear more about it.
"Vividly," she says, boldly, but her confidence is slightly undermined by the light blush that creeps into her cheeks.
"I've thought about it too," he admits, glad that he can be honest about it with her.
"I think I'd be more upset if you hadn't, Harry." She smiles at him and fights hard against the urge to ask him how he imagines it will be. Perhaps if they discuss it she'll be able to give him everything he wants and she won't have to worry so much about pleasing him. It's not that she's as riddled with self doubt as she was at the beginning of the relationship – far, far from it – but she's acutely aware that first times can be at least as awkward as they are special, if not more so. Now that he's given her some confidence back in herself, she's keen to be proactive about matters, but the cat seems to have got her tongue. She might be bold enough to admit that she thinks about their wedding night, but the question she wants to ask is another step further altogether.
"What's going on in that mind of yours?" he whispers. He's been watching her intently and has seen a jumble of emotions flit across her face in the short time that she has been quiet.
She tries to brush the question of by mumbling 'nothing' as she caresses his face, but he isn't fooled for a second and gives her a pointed look. "I'm being silly," she admits, quietly, and it earns her another questioning look from him.
"I've embarrassed myself now," she mutters, pulling a face.
"Ruth, whatever it is, I don't mind."
"I want to know what you like...in bed," she explains, as matter of factly as she can. "I've no idea what you like and I don't want our first time to just be some experimental fumble. I...I want to amaze you," she swallows, looks at him, and meets his eye. He is smiling softly, and it's all the encouragement she needs to continue, more confidently. "I want to know exactly what you like; what you want me to do to you and what you want to do to me."
He props himself up on one elbow, and gazes down on her. "You already amaze me, Ruth; usually in completely unexpected ways."
"Harry?"
"For a nervous admission, that's a bloody sexy thing to come out with."
"It is?"
"Yes."
"So?"
"So…"
"Are you going to tell me?" She watches him, suddenly understanding that, in fact, now she's made him shy. "Please," she adds, in a nasal sounding whisper.
"I want what you want," he explains, gently, tucking himself back against her side. "Whatever happens, happens."
"Harry, I asked you a direct question and that's not the answer."
"I just want to be sure you want to talk about this; I know you've been worried and I don't want to make it worse."
"Jesus Christ, Harry," she laughs, and her blocked nose causes her to snort ungracefully, "what are you thinking of asking me to do then?"
He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."
She leans up and kisses him. "I do, and I'm not freaking out anymore; I just want to know all about you."
"You have to tell me, in return, then."
"Um, ok, I guess that's fair."
"Good. Can I make us dinner tonight? Tempting as it is to stop in bed all day talking about our wedding night, I'm not sure how I'd record that on an absence form at work."
"Deal," she smiles.
"Love you," he kisses, against her cheek. "Make sure you get some rest today, yes?"
She nods, consentingly, and feels her body sag with disappointment as he leaves the bed.
And here endeth the supply of fully written up OFL. The next bits actually have to be transformed from notes and conversations into something readable. And they need to have a pretty intimate conversation!
I think reviews might speed the process up!
xx