I am blown away by your appreciation for my last fic, where Jack's mother came to visit! Thank you so, so much for all your lovely comments - I am happy you liked both the story and my version of Mrs Robinson, and that you found the fic so fun. Thank you, thank you!
Here is another story that huddles on the line between fun and serious. It is founded on my wish to try out the "There is only one bed"-trope, that is kind of common in fanfiction and that I love im all its silliness: what would happen if Phryne and Jack found themselves stranded somewhere overnight, and there was only one bed? Several people have attempted to answer that, and this is my take.
The stake-out outside Melbourne had been a definite success. They had found several promising leads and Phryne had only put herself in danger once. All in all, a day well spent, Jack thought.
The problem turned out to be the return home. Every little detail that could go wrong seemed to do that. Jack's police car got stuck in mud, and as they were both exhausted from the long day, walking to the next village was not a viable option. Phryne had spotted a small cabin a bit further down the road; with a smile and a wink she decided their only choice was to break into it and take shelter for the night. Jack could do nothing but reluctantly agree. As they walked there, the burgeoning storm piling up in the sky sent shivers through them both. Phryne set to work with her deftly procured lockpick, and just as she managed to unlock the door with a triumphant cry, the rain started to pour down, attempting to drench them.
As Jack followed her into the sparsely furnished cabin, he nervously realised he was about to be alone, with Phryne Fisher, for a full night, far away from prying eyes. He felt his heart beat ridiculously fast as he looked at the slender and oh so alluring figure sashaying through the cabin, commenting on the things she found. How could he possibly come out of this unscathed? He tried to reason with himself – they just needed to find a way to settle for the night, then it would all calm down. How difficult could it be? It wasn't as if they were about to share a bed.
Phryne peeked into the second small room, and concluded:
"There is only one bed."
"You have got to be kidding," he said, swiftly joining her in the doorway.
"I would never joke about such serious matters," Phryne said, her eyes glittering.
She was right. There was only one bed, and to top it all up it was decidedly of the narrow persuasion. The implications hit him like a blow.
"Whatever will we do?" Phryne said, standing far too close for comfort. Jack's unease increased exponentially by the way she smiled as her gaze descended to carress his body. Excrutiatingly slowly, he felt measured and weighed and, possibly, approved by her piercing eyes. It was as if she could see right through his clothes straight to his naked body, or – worse – to his naked heart. She didn't need to give him more than that one, lingering look to make him feel like he needed to take protection in his armour, and simultaneously like he wanted nothing more than to spring out of it and sweep her off her feet.
He couldn't take his eyes away from her smiling lips and her mischievous eyes, and he swayed, drawn to her as if by a magnet, getting dangerously close. The tension between their bodies practically crackled in the air, making his hair stand on end. He was certain she noticed the blush on his face and his quickening breath. Without really thinking, he placed a hand on the doorway beside her and leaned into her slowly, as if to initiate a kiss.
"This could potentially get awkward," she said, meeting his eyes with a most innocent expression.
Jack couldn't help laughing, and he realised this was her gift to him. She was making light of the situation, taking away some of the tension that had started to build between them.
They had been dancing around each other for such a long time, not exactly courting, but not doing nothing either, and Jack all the time choosing to pull back. And now, they were stranded in a forlorn place, with only one bed to share – it was as if someone had designed this specifically to find out how far it was possible to torture one Jack Robinson before he finally combusted.
By addressing the problem, she had taken away some of the most acute tension, and allowed him to breathe. He gave her a half smile and a quirk of the eyebrow, feeling not so much that he had escaped a danger, but rather that the danger had turned on its heels and offered him a helping hand. She really has a heart, he thought, before deciding he was not going to think about Phryne Fisher's heart in exactly that moment, when he could so easily have held out his hand and felt for her pulse.
"Do you think?" he answered, and her laughter filled him with enough momentum that he could break loose from her proximity and take a few steps into the small bedroom.
Phryne was sure he would try to find some completely ridiculous solution to the problem, like trying to sleep on the floor or sit in an absurdly uncomfortable chair, and that she would have to convince him he needed his sleep and couldn't sacrifice himself like that.
After looking lost for a few moments, he surprised her by testing the bed's mattress with his hand, then turned to her and asked:
"Which side do you prefer?"
"On top?" she teased.
When he rolled his eyes, she remedied her answer:
"All right. To the left, next to the window."
He shrugged off his coat and started undressing, and Phryne didn't know if it was her eyes or her luck she couldn't believe. Jack Robinson, the meticulously buttoned-up detective inspector she had known for close to a year. Jack Robinson, who had positively enthralled her by once having one single button undone in his shirt – undressing, in front of her? She hoped he didn't hear her shaky intake of breath.
As he took off his jacket, tie and waistcoat and let his braces hang loose from the waist, Phryne realised the deep trouble she was in. Phryne Fisher did not get aroused simply by seeing a man in shirtsleeves, however deliciously he pulled it off. Phryne Fisher did not feel like she was melting just because a dishevelled man removed his cufflinks in front of her. That was the most ridiculous notion.
He lifted his head and met her eyes. There was his normal underpinning of sadness, but most of all his look was one of challenge. What are you waiting for? he seemed to say. You cannot be more reserved than me? Of course she had to beat him, so she quickly and artlessly removed coat, dress, shoes and stockings. Standing in her enticing but not at all outrageous lingerie – had she known this would happen she would possibly have chosen something more daring – she folded her clothes over a chair and moved towards the bed.
She saw Jack cast a glance her way and quickly look away again, pretending to search for a good spot to place his cufflinks. She sat down on her side of the bed, deciding that she was allowed to assess him properly and that she didn't need to protect his modesty. He was soon down to singlet and underwear, sporting a fine figure and impressive legs, and he seemed to have decided that was as far as he was going to take it.
Phryne felt a bout of giddiness and light-headedness. She wasn't sure if she could get him to... loosen up completely, but at least she would sleep next to him, under the same cover and with only thin layers of clothing between them. That was some progression compared to their usual fare. She would probably feel his breath on her neck as she woke up in the morning. The thought made her body hum a little.
She escaped under the cover. Jack took two resolute strides and lay down on his side of the bed. It took Phryne two seconds before she realised what he had done. He had decided to lie head to foot with her! There was no tender breath ghosting on her skin, no enticing arm she could accidentally brush her side against. Instead she could sense knobbly knees and hard angles. When she turned her head, she made a squeak as she was met with the sight of two large feet with – she was loathe to notice – nails that were in some need of pedicure.
"Jack!" she exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. She looked like a dismayed Aphrodite rising from the foam. Or perhaps a perturbed Athena, coming out of her father's head. Why did she always make him think about goddesses?
"What?" Jack answered.
"You cannot be serious. Am I supposed to share a bed with your… feet?"
"Um," he answered uncertainly. "They usually come in the packet with the rest of the person."
"But not straight at your nose!" Phryne cried. "I can't sleep with them there. They smell!"
Jack blushed. He had been afraid of the tension between them, of him acting on it. Now, he was suddenly afraid of the tension disappearing altogether. He was most ardently in love with her, he just didn't know how to proceed from that fact. But maybe this spell would just manage to make him repulsive to her?
Phryne sensed that her exclamation had perhaps not been the most diplomatic.
"Not that I don't approve of you having feet," she murmured soothingly, patting them for a moment, not realising how her unexpected touch sent ripples through his body. "I just don't fancy them in my face when I'm not conscious."
So much for trying to be respectable and keeping a safe distance, Jack thought.
"But otherwise, I will have you in my face when I'm not conscious," he pointed out. Or, he would not be able to go to sleep at all due to her proximity.
"There's either that, or the floor," Phryne said pointedly.
"Are you relegating me to the floor?"
"Jack." Her voice was level.
She sat there in front of him, beauty and grace and slight annoyance, looking him straight in the eyes as he laid there with his head at her feet.
"Jack. Either we sleep peacefully, or we decide to indulge in carnal pleasures. I don't mind either option. But I'm not going to accept having feet in my face, and there is nothing about sleeping head to foot that makes me any safer for you."
She looked down for a moment, tracing his forearm with her index finger, before her eyes pierced him again.
"It is not down to coincidence. We won't become lovers because there is only one bed. If we do, we will do it because we want to, because we both desire it."
He was silent, sensing they had come to that edge he had feared for so long – but in such an odd manner that he didn't know how to continue. Yes, he had feared being too close to her, succumbing to the temptation of her lips and being swept away by the look in her eyes. He had thought of himself as the moth to her flame, the planet in the orbit to her sun. And here she sat, in peach coloured lingerie that showed the exact right amount of flesh and made her throat the most enticing thing he had ever seen, and she was completely rational. Not willing to play the flame, not believing in the relevance of astronomical silmiles, dismissing his mothlike behaviour.
"This is not a danger, Jack. It's a decision."
Her expression was as far away from sultry as he could imagine. She seemed to hover between sense and sensibility. Do you want me? her eyes said. Do you crave me enough to choose to be with me?
It wasn't that she wasn't passionate and alluring and breathtakingly beautiful. It was just that she was completely sensible at the same time. His heart clenched painfully in his chest; he loved her contradictions and her multitudes.
Jack felt he was far beyond any idea he had ever had about an encounter like this. Of course he craved her. More than anything. But the road from that was completely blank in his mind.
He sat up so they faced each other in the bed, and mimicked her earlier gesture, tracing his finger along her arm, up to her shoulder. She made a very small shudder from the touch and looked him in the eyes.
"I am not luring you into something, Jack," she said.
His finger passed her neck and reached her face, and he cradled her cheek in his large, slightly knobbly hand. She loved his hands. She loved his eyes, and the way they had difficulties deciding which of hers they wanted to search most thoroughly. His face was so wide open he seemed ten years younger than his actual age.
She saw the decision take form in his eyes. As he leaned into her, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. It took ages before his lips reached hers, ages where she could have pulled back or he could have changed his mind.
They didn't. When they finally kissed, it was sweetness and fervour and longing, it was softness and exploration and insistence, and it was a thorough understanding of exactly what they were doing. He was kissing Phryne Fisher, and there was not a single part of him that was resisting that action, not one part of his heart left to protest.
It turned out that this was not the day for Jack Robinson to combust. On the narrow, uncomfortable and only available bed, he instead took Phryne in his arms and nestled his hands in her hair as he slowly pushed her down to lay beside her, kissing her thoroughly and letting her hands explore his body as deftly and impatiently as she wished. Before the night was over he had kissed every single spot of her soft skin, heard sounds he hadn't even dreamed of causing, and he had learnt beyond doubt why her favourite position was on top.