I'm not really sure where this one came from but it kept nagging at me till I got it written, so here goes! I've tried to check quotes and references but if the odd inconsistency creeps in, I'm sure you'll be kind and overlook it.

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Future Perfect

Chapter 1

"You never talk about Mrs Hunt, do you? The ex Mrs Hunt."

"That's right. I don't."

Gene's eyelids flickered open, and for a second or two he felt completely disorientated. It was very dark, and all he could hear was the ticking of a clock and the regular breathing of another human being close by. As his eyes adjusted he could make out the familiar shape of the wardrobe and the chest of drawers, and realised he was in his own bed and the missus was sleeping peacefully beside him. Where else would he be in the middle of the night after all, unless he was on a stakeout?

He lay there for a while with his hands behind his head, contemplating the dream. That was the third time this week, and the pictures in his head seemed to be getting more detailed each time. Not that he was complaining, mind: she might be irritating but she was one hell of a looker.

This time they'd been chasing after some criminal scum in a sleek red car, all clean lines and latent power. He had no idea what make it was, he'd never seen one like it before, but he'd adored driving it: one gentle touch on the accelerator and it went like shit off a shovel. Everything in the dreams seemed so much bigger or brighter than in reality: the clothes, the cars, the buildings, even CID. He didn't know where it was or when it was, but it certainly wasn't Manchester in 1973.

And then there was her. Apparently she was his DI, a posh, mouthy tart that he'd nicknamed Bolly-Kecks, but she was a lot tougher than she looked and she knew how to handle a gun.

"You. In leather. Holdin' that. Gives me the 'orn."

And God knows she had. He'd woken up with a healthy erection and if it hadn't been the middle of the night he'd have probably tried it on with Her Indoors. Their sex life had dwindled a bit in the last few years, but if he kept having repeats of these dreams he suspected things might change: she was still an attractive woman after all, and any port in a storm.

He drifted off again, half hoping he might have another steamy encounter with his mysterious DI before the morning.

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Gene looked around him, blinking hard as he tried to adjust to the scene. He was standing on the deck of an impressively big boat with a glass of champagne in one hand and a cigar in the other. Clearly there was some kind of a party in progress: the music was too loud, he didn't recognise any of it, and there were way too many people for his liking.

He reached up to tentatively touch his Stetson and then glanced down at his general attire. Seemingly he was doing a credible Clint Eastwood impression. Fancy dress, then. She was there too, the gorgeous Lady Bols, in a tight black strapless outfit which could quite possibly be illegal in several countries. She was dancing with DS Carling, or rather fighting him off, and Gene felt a definite twitch in his groin as he watched her gyrations. Ray appeared to be doubling as a waiter, which confused him slightly, but he just put it down to one of those inexplicable events that happen in dreams.

The scene blurred and he suddenly found himself in a candle-lit trattoria. A small balding man with a moustache, clearly Italian, was behind the bar cleaning glasses and humming under his breath. Over his shoulder, Ray and Chris were seated at a table with a crowd of people he didn't recognise, and perched next to him on a bar stool was Bolly-Kecks herself. He knew she was actually called Alex but he quite liked all his little variations on the original nickname he'd given her, it made him feel less inferior somehow. She was a determined pair of stockings and he had to keep reasserting his authority every five minutes, but he had to admit she kept him on his toes and she was very easy on the eye.

"What would you do, Gene? Last few seconds on earth, anything you want. Right now …"

She was clearly drunk and he knew he was too, but her eyes were sultry and heavy-lidded, and when her gaze flicked down to his lips he just wanted to jump her there and then. Instead, his dream self behaved like the perfect gentleman and took himself off home, leaving her to go to bed. Alone. What on earth was wrong with his subconscious, he wondered?

He woke up in a sweat with a hard on he could hang a towel off, and realised the wife was still awake, eagerly devouring one of her romance novels. She had her back to him, and he shifted his weight across the bed to spoon her, his erection pressing against her behind as he began to nibble on that sensitive spot behind her ear. One hand moved up to squeeze a breast and she batted it away half-heartedly.

"Gerroff, I'm readin'. What's got into yer? It's not Saturday night, yer know."

He replaced his hand, nibbling her earlobe.

"I was dreamin' about yer. Wan' the real thing …"

He knew he was in luck when she sighed and rolled onto her back and he wasted no more time, his lips capturing hers as his hand moved slowly up her thigh and a teasing finger reached its target, rubbing gently. She moaned softly as his other hand swiftly dealt with the buttons on her nightie and freed a breast, his mouth moving lower to suck on a nipple. She'd always enjoyed his amorous attentions and he didn't really know why he hadn't initiated sex more often recently, but he decided it was definitely time things changed.

As he slid into her gratefully, his concentration slipped for a second.

"Mmmm … Bols …"

"What?"

His lust-addled brain went into overdrive.

"Sorry, love. Aching balls. It's been a while …"

Later, after she shuddered into orgasm and he finally spilled into her with a grunt, he breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been lucky to get away with that one, he'd have to be more careful in future.

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Hope you think the idea was worth pursuing – all reviews gratefully received, as ever!
There will be more …