Disclaimer: Kudos, Monastic and the BBC own Ashes To Ashes, not me.
Thanks are due to huge numbers of people who have helped me get this story off the ground. Lucida Bright, grainweevil, Siggy and liverdoc have all provided much specific help as well as encouragement; many more of you on the TRA have helped with my research. Thanks so much to you all; I hope you'll think it was worth it!
Big thanks also to my dedicated beta RedSkyAtNight76, who not only picks up my puctuation but also provides masses of ideas and insight.
I love reviews, particularly encouraging ones - if you're going to criticise please be gentle and/or constructive. And just to make things quite clear, this is a Galex story - if you don't like, don't read.
As this story is a sequel to my first short story 'Appetite', I have repeated that story as the first chapter. Apologies to those of you who have read it before.
The bright red Audi sped up the outside lane of the motorway on a dark, wet November evening.
Alex Drake sat in the passenger seat, feeling drained. In the weeks since the car bomb, the days had dragged past, empty and futile. She hadn't been sleeping well, and had had little appetite, not only for food but for work, for alcohol, even for arguing with Gene Hunt. It was just an effort to get through every day and make it to the next. I'm grieving, she told herself, grieving for my parents all over again, but knowing what caused her mood did not make it easier to bear. She no longer knew what she was doing here, stuck in this strange world of her own making, and the prospect of getting home to Molly seemed further away than ever. Sighing slightly, she gazed out into the glare of red and white lights reflecting on the wet road.
Gene's motorway driving was even faster than his driving elsewhere, but at least here it was in a straight line, and in these less congested days of 1981 there wasn't too much other traffic about. In any case, she realised, she'd actually come to trust his driving over the last few months; it might seem reckless, but he knew what he was doing. She glanced at him now, black leather driving gloves gripping the wheel, staring ahead, chin jutting as usual, his profile betraying nothing.
The Quattro's heater was effective, and in the warmth she began to feel drowsy. Tucking her legs up beneath her, she turned to one side, leaned her head against the seat back, and closed her eyes. The hum of the road and monotonous sound of the windscreen wipers lulled her, and soon she was asleep.
Gene's mind roamed over the following day's work as he drove. A particularly nasty rape on their patch had shown some similarities with a string of others committed in Nottingham six months earlier. They'd had copies of the files sent down to London, of course, but there was no substitute for face-to-face communication, and he wanted a proper chat with the Nottingham CID officers who were investigating the crimes. Also, two of the Nottingham victims had agreed to be re-interviewed about the assaults, with a view to revealing more information and perhaps building up a psychological profile of the attacker. That sounded like a job for Bolly and her psycho-whatsits. In any case, she'd not seemed herself lately, and he was hoping this case might re-kindle her interest in work, and in life in general. The Nottingham officers had wanted to start first thing in the morning, so that meant this drive up the motorway on a wet Thursday night, and staying in a hotel so as to be there on time.
He stole a glance at her as she slept, face turned towards him, illuminated in flashes as they passed each motorway light. He was glad she was having a kip, she needed it; she'd been looking wrecked lately. Asleep, her face looked younger, free of tension, but still a bit pinched. She's been losing weight too, he realised. Not that she had it to lose in the first place. I've seen more meat on a butcher's pencil. He sighed. His confused feelings about the woman hadn't clarified much over the past few weeks, but they were still there, and it pained him to see her every day looking thin, pale and withdrawn. He couldn't even remember the last time they'd had a proper argument, and for some reason he missed that, too: missed the spark in her eyes as she challenged him, her fire, her certainty that she was right.
Eventually they passed the sign for Nottingham; he turned the car off the motorway and headed down the sliproad. The hotel, modern, anonymous and boxy, was not far from the junction. As he pulled into the car park, the slowing down and the change in engine noise began to rouse Alex. She stirred in her seat, and, cat-like, stretched out her legs, then opened those huge hazel eyes and, for reasons best known to herself, gave him a sleepy smile. Caught off guard, he felt a sudden pang, as much to do with tenderness as with desire. Jesus, what wouldn't I give to wake up to that every morning?
Fat chance, Hunt, he told himself sternly. She'd gently but firmly rebuffed all his advances of a few weeks ago, letting him know that he wasn't her type, and since then she hadn't really seemed interested in anything, let alone him. Drop it, you twat.
"Decided to rejoin the land of the livin', 'ave ya?" he grunted at her as she yawned and sat up. Not waiting for a reply, he got out of the car, lifted the suitcases from the boot, and they went to check in.
She was just unpacking a few things in her room when there was a knock on the door. She opened it to find Gene, looking the same as ever: suit, dark shirt with open collar, loose tie, tousled hair.
"Restaurant's still open, if you want somethin'," he offered.
"I'm not really hungry." No surprise there.
"Just the bar it is, then. C'mon," he replied, holding the door open for her. She shrugged and followed him down the corridor. After sleeping in the car she wouldn't drop off for ages tonight; she might as well have a drink as anything else.
The bar was like the rest of the hotel: large, bland, impersonal. There was hardly anyone there. She sat at a table by the wall as Gene headed towards her with the drinks. Sitting next to her, he settled a pint in front of himself and a large glass of red wine in front of her. He began to talk about tomorrow, who they would meet, what they needed to do, but her answers were automatic. The glass of wine soon emptied though, and he fetched her another one. Why not? she thought, sipping it. It was certainly a lot nicer than the stuff she drank at Luigi's, anyway.
Gene sat in silence, watching her. They'd finished discussing tomorrow and the conversation had dwindled: he wasn't much good at small talk, he thought ruefully. His blue eyes ranged over her, searchingly, seeking some clue to why she was like this, some way to make a connection. Why am I bothering? he thought to himself. Bloody moody cow, what do I care? But he did care, and he didn't know what to do about it. Women. Wasn't kidding when I said I was completely baffled by them.
Alex sat, staring at the table, barely aware of her surroundings, but then a sound intruded on her consciousness: the piped hotel muzak changed from one record to another, and she gasped, eyes widening with horror. The familiar electro-pop intro, the haunting Bowie lyrics: 'Do you remember a guy that's been / In such an early song?' She shuddered and felt a wave of nausea. No, no, not that, Please, not that. But the images were crowding into her mind once more, unbidden but unstoppable: the car, the red balloon, the blinding explosion… Twice over, the sense of powerlessness, watching, unable to do anything… the screaming… Noooo…
"You OK, Bols? What's the matter?" Instinctively, he had reached out to take her hand. The touch brought her abruptly back to reality - well, this reality, anyway – heart thudding, she stared at his hand on hers, the large, square palm, the fingers entwining hers, the oddly bending-back thumbs… He had done this before, she remembered. He had held her hand before; she had thought it was Evan, but it was Gene, Gene who had come and held her hand and picked her up and made her feel safe. Or was it? She didn't know what was real any more, but she clung to his hand anyway, something to keep her, to anchor her in this room, away from the horrible flash of light, the fireball.
"Bols? What is it? Look at me!" He gazed into her face and she vaguely registered his expression of intense concern, the same look as when he had rescued her from that freezer. She took a deep breath in and forced herself to exhale it slowly, to slow her racing heart, to concentrate on here and now.
"It's… nothing. A flashback. That's all. Nothing. It doesn't matter." She ran a hand over her eyes, her other one still clinging tightly to Gene's. His face told her he was not at all convinced by her words. "You're not right, Bolly. Not right at all, you 'aven't been for weeks. You should see a doctor. Or 'ave a holiday."
"I'm fine." Hand still shaking, she reached out for her wine glass. She forced herself to sip it, slowly, until her heart and breathing has completely returned to normal. When it was empty, the feeling of panic had gone, but she felt drained, completely limp, like a rag doll.
"I think I'll go to bed," she muttered, but when she made to stand up, her legs felt weak and she swayed, grabbing the table to steady herself. Instantly Gene was next to her, arm around her shoulders, supporting her. "C'mon," he said, and she gratefully leant against him as he steered her back to her room.
When she unlocked the door he did not let go but led her over to the bed and sat down next to her, clearly still worried that she was unwell. She leaned against him, feeling his solid warmth, breathing his familiar scent of cigarettes and aftershave. That was better. Now his arms were around her and she snuggled against his chest as she had done in the vault, feeling comforted as she had done then. That was much better. Actually, it was better than she had felt for weeks… it was odd, barely believable, but she could feel her mood physically lightening, she felt lifted, buoyed up inside, as though gaining physical and emotional strength from the man who was holding her. She knew for certain that she didn't want to let go, she needed him to stay, she wanted him… what? With slight wonderment, she realised that she wanted more of him, of his physical self, wanted to kiss him, to feel his body against hers… He was life, a physical force that made her feel connected to this reality in a way she hadn't felt for weeks, and he was what she needed right now.
She lifted her head and ran her fingers up the side of his face. "Gene," she whispered, "stay with me."
Gene didn't know why he had put his arms around her; it had just seemed the right thing to do. He held her close and buried his nose in her hair. No, that was a bad idea, it made him want her and that was the last thing she needed right now, she was ill… God, but it felt good to hold her. When she lifted her head and whispered to him his eyes searched her face – did she mean what he thought she meant? Her eyes were brighter than usual and there really did seem to be an invitation there… No. I mustn't. I can't take advantage of her when she's feeling ill or upset or whatever. She'll only regret it later and then we'll be messed up big-time…
She saw the uncertainty in his eyes and pressed closer to him: Please, please, don't leave me now. "Please," she said aloud. "I need you." His physical desire was really awakening now; her face was so close to his, her breath, her lips… Even so he could have gritted his teeth and walked away from that, if that was all there was between them, but looking in her face once more he saw more, saw her emotional need for him too. He didn't understand why in hell he cared about her, but he did, and this was his chance to show it. It might be his only chance. His glance moved to her mouth, and then he pressed his lips against her soft, yielding ones.
The first kiss was gentle, full of tenderness, as each sought to convey reassurance to the other. Slowly their lips moved against each other, caressing, tasting, savouring the moment. Then Alex slipped her tongue between his lips and teased with the tip of it, and suddenly his stomach was molten with desire for her, and he pressed her backwards onto the bed, and the next kiss was not gentle at all.
Alex woke up early the next morning and lay on her back in the darkness for a while, listening to the rain outside.
OK. So, I've had sex with an imaginary construct. An imaginary construct who, at that precise moment, was lying with his back to her, snoring gently, and appearing extremely solid and real. And, she admitted as images from last night arose in her mind, considerably more attractive than she'd ever realised before. Why, she wondered, had she never taken much notice of those broad shoulders, that dark golden mane… and the eyes, that blue gaze could bore into her like a heat-seeking missile, but occasionally held tenderness, kindness, even perhaps a hint of vulnerability. And the way he had been with her – his hands gentle, but his mouth and body urgent with desire – well, that had exceeded anything she could have dreamed or hoped for.
Why did I do it? It wasn't like her to stop thinking and go with her feelings, but last night, something had compelled her… all she had wanted was to give herself to him, and take all of him in return, because he was her lifeline, her anchor, the one person in this strange existence that might be able to make things right. And it had worked… the strange lightness that she had felt last night had not left her. Instead of the dragging emptiness, she felt calm, positive, even energised, ready to take on the world again. Who'd have thought it?... but I'm not complaining. No regrets.
Needing the loo, she got up and padded naked into the bathroom. Then, washing her hands, she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and felt a rush of embarrassment as she saw that her neck and shoulders carried a liberal number of small, reddish-black bruises: bite-marks. There were even a couple on her breasts. Good grief, I'm too old to be waking up covered in lovebites! Anyone would think I was a teenager… Embarrassment was replaced by panic as she tried to remember what she had brought with her to wear today. Oh, thank God, it was a high-necked blouse. The irony of turning up to interview rape victims while looking like one herself was not lost on her.
It was nice though, she admitted to herself, turning her head to examine the marks more closely. Some of them were really quite dark. They didn't call him the Manc Lion for nothing.
Some construct. Last night she had wanted everything Gene had to give, and the feel of his teeth on her flesh, signalling his desire, had been exquisite, heightening her own pleasure…Now, however, it was time for her to take charge. And perhaps for a bit of fun, too. Smiling slightly, she turned off the bathroom light and returned to the warmth of the bed.
Her movement had wakened Gene and he rolled over to face her and opened one eye. Not altogether sure of his reception, he stretched out a hopeful arm towards her, but she held his wrist. "Look what you've done to me!" she said, quietly but accusingly.
"You what?" It was too dark to see anything and he reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, then peered blearily at her as she proffered her neck for inspection.
"Oh." Shit, perhaps I was a bit of an animal. She had seemed to like it though, he thought, her body writhing underneath his as she mewled like a kitten… Just the memory of it was enough to turn him on all over again, but she was looking accusingly at him now.
"Uh, sorry 'bout that, Bols," he muttered, but then she smiled, a teasing smile. "It's alright," she said softly, then moving towards him, snuggled into him and whispered into the base of his neck, "I liked it." His arousal cranked up another notch at the feeling of her breath against his skin. He leaned over and nipped her very gently on the earlobe, then growled into her ear, "Did ya, Bols?"
"Mmmmmm." She lifted her head and kissed him softly on the lips. Then she sat up, a half-smile on her face, wearing that superior expression that he hadn't seen for some weeks. "But not as much-" she placed her hand on his chest and pushed him gently onto his back "-as you're going to like this." And with that she pushed back the covers and settled herself comfortably into a position where she could pay attention to his lower body.
Last night had been a bit of a blur, but now she took the opportunity of having a good look. "Bigger in every department." he had said, and, well, he certainly wasn't a disappointment. She ran her fingers gently around his inner thighs, eliciting groans of pleasure, and then moved onto his balls and the sensitive area behind them. Dropping her head, she buried her face in him, inhaling his musky maleness before planting a soft kiss on his balls; then, turning her attention to his erect cock, she busied herself in earnest with her mouth and hands.
Jesus Christ, she's good at this, Gene thought unsteadily through the mass of sensations. Where did she learn to do it like that? Surely they don't teach them that at those posh girls' schools? Her hands worked him skilfully while her tongue traced intricate patterns over the head of his cock. Bloody hell, I've had whores who weren't as good as this… A sound between a groan and a growl escaped him. She raised her head for a moment and teasingly raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Good?" she asked.
"Bols…" he began weakly, but then she was off again, stroking and teasing, circling his cock with her tongue and then taking the whole head into her mouth. As her tongue began to work the sweet spot just below the head, he knew he wouldn't last much longer… he willed himself to hold on as long as possible, riding the moment… so good… and then the explosive, blissful release as he ejaculated into her mouth, once, twice, and on until he was spent. And then just lying there as though floating, nothing else in the world making the slightest intrusion on his mind or body at the moment…
Alex swallowed quickly and hid a small grimace. Not her favourite part of the proceedings, she had to admit, but she thought he'd appreciate the total package. She'd been right, too, she decided, leaning back to survey him. In fact, she appeared to have temporarily deprived her DCI of the power of speech, which was quite an achievement, she felt. She couldn't help smiling. Eventually he looked at her and murmured a few choice blasphemies, which she took to signify that he was impressed.
She kissed him on the lips and then lay next to him, propped up on one elbow. "So," she enquired softly, "are you going to return the favour?"
Gene felt a slight twinge of uncertainty. What she wanted was something his ex-wife hadn't let him practise very often, and with the whores and the one-night stands he hadn't bothered; after all, they'd been there for his pleasure, not their own. He covered his misgivings with a grumpy comment: "Bloody 'ell, Bolly, do I 'ave to do all the work round 'ere?"
Indignation rose in her immediately. "All the…?" but then she saw him grinning and gave him a gentle slap on the forearm for winding her up. His grin broadened: it was good to see the spark in her eyes again. He moved slowly down her body, kissing and caressing, awakening each nerve with his teasing mouth until her whole body was crying out for more. Eventually he lay between her feet, covering the insides of her thighs with insistent kisses; she moaned softly as she felt his hot breath and the slight scratch of stubble on her skin. He nuzzled at her bush and then gently parted her with his fingers before starting to explore with his tongue, finding her wet, ready for him.
"Mmmm, that's good…" she whispered as he savoured her. "Aahh… a bit higher… no, higher…. Mmmm, there…"
"I don't need….mmpf…. bloody directions!" he growled, somewhat indistinctly. She had to laugh at that, but her laughter quickly turned to moaning and whimpering as he found the place and began to caress it with his tongue. Long slow licks were followed by quicker flicking and tickling, driving her closer and closer, and when she arched her back and cried out as her orgasm came, he didn't stop, but kept on, stimulating her again so that wave after wave of sensation swept over her, until she finally cried "Enough," and collapsed, breathless, wide-eyed, amazed and giggling slightly at the extent of her own capacity for pleasure.
By the time she could speak again, he was lying next to her, his expression gentle, watching her. "Well, Bolly?"
"Not bad, Mr Hunt, not bad," she conceded, smiling playfully. "In fact, with a bit more practice…"
"More practice? I'll give you 'more bloody practice', DI Drake!" He tried to sound angry, but couldn't help grinning. God, it was nice to be fencing with her again.
"Well, is that a promise? I might just hold you to that…" And with that she stretched languorously and curled up against his chest once again.
Gene lay with her in his arms, experiencing a feeling of slight disbelief. Of all the things he'd thought about whilst driving up to Nottingham, ending up in bed with his DI had seemed the least likely of them. He'd wanted her, of course, almost from the first moment he set eyes on her… fantasised about shagging her in numerous situations… but gradually, disconcertingly, had come the realisation that he wanted more from her than that. He wanted her to like him, and that, a lot of the time, had seemed near impossible, what with all her ranting and arguing... And then there had been the times when she had seemed lost, alone, vulnerable, and he'd had this absurd urge to protect her, scoop her up and take her away from all the pain… Bloody hell, I'm turning into a right soft Jessie. But lying here now, with her in his arms, it didn't seem so stupid after all. He had no idea what would happen from here onwards – the woman is a complete fruitcake, after all – indeed, he was willing to bet that she'd be arguing with him again before the day was out. But sod all that – right now, with her warm soft body curled against him and her hair tickling his nose – right now, it felt bloody fantastic, and he was going to stay like that as long as she let him.
Lying comfortably against the warmth of Gene's thickset body, Alex's mind turned to the day ahead. For the first time in ages, she felt excited about the day's work: a chance to use her abilities, interview these women properly, apply her mind to the investigation, and with any luck, as Hunt would put it, nail the bastard responsible. Yes, it would be good to get to work. Mind you, there were a couple of things he'd said yesterday about their plan of action that she didn't agree with… she'd have to have a word with him about that… As her mind turned over the day, she started to be aware of yet another appetite that she had neglected lately. Lifting her head to smile at him, she asked, "I wonder if this place does a decent cooked breakfast?"