Ever since he had gotten you back, Noah had been waiting to touch you like he had seven years ago. That night in the old house that he had long since rebuilt to fit your preferences- even if he wasn't sure if you were coming back- where the two of you had lost your innocence to each other. Now, he can do it on a bed- the bed you will both share for the rest for your lives- and not on an old dining room table. He regrets that. Regrets not making you more comfortable for your first time.

You're the same you, just a bit older. Still as gorgeous as he remembers. Still as sweet, still a spit-fire, still proper in an attempt to hide the naughty side he knows is lingering in there. You love going out on the canoe with him and feeding the swans on the lake. You love playing fetch with Clementine until your arm falls off. You love play wrestling him and giggling the whole time until your face is flushed and he has you pinned. You kiss him without room for Jesus.

But... like him, some things had changed about you. You enjoy cuddling in bed, but you never let him touch you the way he aches to. He wants to be intertwined with you. One being, like you had been all those years ago. He remembers how warm you felt, and how good you had felt. How you had moaned and writhed in pleasure. He wants to see you like that again. But you don't let him, even now, with the ring on your finger, declaring your marriage with him.

But he notices little things. Moments in time when you'll stare into space- like he sometimes does when he's remembering something from the war. It scares him.

It's late one night as the two of you lay in bed. Your head is on his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. His arm is around your shoulders, playing with the strap of your silk night gown. Clementine sleeps at the end of the bed and the cicadas sing.

His voice is quiet. He's sure you'll decline as always, but he'd wait a lifetime for you. Sex isn't everything. He doesn't need it- he needs you. But he'll try. "I want to make love to you."