TITLE: This Christmas
AUTHOR: bolly69
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or concept; they belong to the BBC/Ashley/Matthew, etc.
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My favourite pair came out to play again this Christmas! Written in a rush so please excuse any errors or omissions. I wish you all this kind of Christmas…
This is an M rating, please do not read on if you're easily offended by sex and/or strong language.
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The sex was more than she'd ever imagined it would be, and unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. She'd been married for Christ's sake, but nothing had prepared her for this; for him.
Pete had been an entirely conventional lover; missionary position usually, her on top rarely, a blow job for a special occasion. And he hardly ever went down on her, not without a protest anyway. He'd been more adventurous in the beginning, but that was when she was shy and inexperienced; a virgin when they met, she knew all the practical bits from novels and technical text books, but when it actually came down to stripping bare for intimacy, she was lost.
After Pete there was a long time of no one, just her concentrating on taking care of little Molly, enough of a parent to make up for two, pushing her own wants and needs as fas away as possible. Then, as Molly got older and didn't mind staying out at a friends house or with Evan, she had ventured onto the dating circuit; not entirely successfully though. There had been men; one-nighters, some lasted a few dates, no one who made a lasting impression. Or rocked her world. Or fucked her like this. Not until now. Not until him. Not until Gene Hunt.
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Christmas Eve had started out as a normal day, just a bit more shit because of the fact that it was Christmas Eve and she wasn't with Molly. She had been quiet in the office where the tinsel was out in force and on the radio Noddy was reminding everyone that it was, indeed, Christmas. Everyone was in full on festive mode, everyone apart from him; he had glowered at her through the glass door for most of the morning. She had no idea what she'd done to upset him this time but it didn't seem to take much to send him into a foul mood lately.
The team had foregone proper lunch for booze and mince pies in the office, with a view to escaping early and heading off to the pub. Alex nibbled a pie hesitantly, remembering how artificial pre packed baked goods in the 80's tasted. Gene eventually ventured out of his office, stuffed a full pie into his mouth, scowling as he barked orders that everyone should clear off to Luigi's as soon as possible, no one argued with that, they were glad to be away from him today. But Alex wasn't in a rush to leave; she'd slowly tidied her desk, clearing the cups and plates the others had left behind and crept away to the kitchen to wash up, allowing her mind to wander once again to Molly; a stray tear rolled down her cheek and a low sob broke from her chest. She didn't know how long he'd been behind her, watching her. Sometimes he seemed almost supernatural in his stealth.
"Not rushing off to get shit faced in Luigi's, Bolls?"
She slowly shook her head, "Don't really feel up to it Guv, not today… what about yo…" his hands were on her shoulders before she knew it, spinning her around, his mouth crashing down onto hers; warm lips and hot breath, strong arms holding her tight against him, his erection pushing persistently into her hip. Burning kisses stilled time; seconds, minutes, hours; who could say how long they remained entwined, his very real heartbeat pounded into her breasts, all the while his firm grasp never lapsed.
At some point they broke for breath, still clinging to each other, gasping in air and scent; her berry shampoo, his smoke-whisky man stink; entrancing. Her lips tingled, she was sure they would bruise. She glanced down, her blouse had shed a button or two, pushed aside exposing her bra; the ghost of his fingers still kneaded her breasts. Jesus.
Somehow they had composed themselves long enough to gather their belongings and get to the flat; she remembered clutching her jacket around her to hide the gaping blouse, her footing unsteady as they strode quickly out of a deserted CID and crossed the road, the cold misty air pinching at her flushed cheeks. He had held her hand close as they walked, making it clear she wasn't going anywhere.
She had almost stumbled up her stairs and with shaking hands had only just managed to get the key in the lock, barely pushing through the door when he turned her again, his mouth capturing hers, both tugging and pushing each others clothes away, stumbling into her bedroom.
He always managed to surprise her, and this had been no different; his mouth was on her, down there, tongue darting and flicking, clever hands knowing exactly what to do. Her back arched and she heard a cry ring out in the distance; not in the distance, it had emanated from her. And then he was above her, kissing across her eyes, nose cheekbones, jaw, down her neck and collarbone. His hand rested on her cheek, dazzling blue eyes gazing down on her, and her breath caught as he pushed into her, stilling for them both to relish the feeling of being one. Moving slowly at first, he soon found his rhythm and Alex moved easily with him, as naturally as taking a breath. He was urgent, demanding, gentle, loving; it was wonderful, beautiful, mind blowing, earth shattering sex; a crazy rollercoaster of a ride, confusing and confounding her very being; with heart pounding, head spinning, words filthy, she urged him on; more, harder, faster, more, more, morrrrrrre, fuuuuuuuuucccckkkk. She came, gloriously, gasping for breath, tears spilling onto the pillow. He had turned her flesh molten, logic to fantasy, dreams to reality. He had clung to her as his own orgasm enveloped him, whispering her name into her hair, feathering kisses anywhere he could.
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She had slept, solidly without dreams, for the first time in forever. As consciousness crept back she became aware of one thing; she was sore; deliciously sore. The kind of sore that makes you blush as it forces you to remember exactly why you're sore. Every time you move. Sore from his hands, and mouth, and magnificent cock; relentless attention, pawing, biting, pounding; the thin line between pleasure and pain never more apparent, driving her to that inevitable, glorious ecstasy, to the blinding, paralysing orgasm she had only ever experienced with him. Leaving her with the ache of pleasure. Leaving her feeling sore. And oh, how she was sore. She shifted her weight on the bed and opened her eyes, startled to find Gene watching her. He looked menacing, his eyes dark, silver blue boring deep into her. Not a smile, more a scowl of desire. She shifted again and so did he. She knew why; the look in his eyes told her all she needed to know; she reached down for confirmation, his hard-on twitched at her touch. She stroked its length and again it bobbed. Gene growled, low and quiet, but it was definitely a growl, forcing a smile to skip over her lips. She wanted him again, needed him to take her again, to be surging into her once more. Over and over. Until she was sore again. Delightfully, wonderfully, delectably sore.
Her lips brushed over his, "I love you, Gene Hunt", as she climbed onto him, guiding him in with adept slender fingers, moving with renewed vigour as the surprising wave peaked again, and she was helpless to do anything but ride it, frantically, wantonly, grazing her teeth along his jaw and chin as she came again, crying out his name.
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Gentle kisses on her nose stirred Alex, opening her eyes to the cold winter dawn seeping through the blinds. And to Gene, his face almost glowing and those eyes, steel blue, ablaze with passion. And something more…
"Morning Bolls. Alex. Merry Christmas love"
"Morning you" Alex whispered, "Merry Christmas Gene"
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Thanks for reading! ;-)
Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year 2017 to you all. May the Galex continue forever! xx
Thanks to Ash & Matt for giving us fantastic characters to play with, to whatever ends…
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