Written to follow a little plot bunny during the bedroom scene in episode twelve. What might have happened if the pair had kissed. Do not own any characters or plots. Love, love, the show and only wish it had made a bigger splash in America.
Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was silently begging Phryne to go before he did something they both might regret...or not regret. He wanted her to go before he utterly abandoned all his scruples and took her right there in the bedroom.
They stood inches apart in the spare bedroom, Phryne already dressed as the alluring Cleopatra for her cousin's fancy dress ball. She had been trying to get him to change into a Marc Antony costume she had saved for him. She had even begun to loosen his tie. The seconds seemed to stretch for hours as the tension grew between them.
The maddening woman didn't leave. She only stood closer to him, if that was possible. Her head was tilted up towards him, her lips begging to be kissed. Her sparkling eyes kept flitting back and between his eyes and mouth. He could recognize the want in her eyes as the same want that had lately burned in his own heart. Something titanic was pulling him towards this mad, wild creature. He thought he might shatter from the tension. Instead, he gave in to the longing and kissed her.
It wasn't like their earlier kiss in the cafe. That had been a desperate ploy to keep Phryne out of sight of a mad killer. It had awakened in him such deep feelings that he hadn't recognized them at first. He thought those feelings of desire and love were long dead – burned in the fields of France and lying in the streets of Melbourne. That kiss had ended before he could even begin to focus his shattered emotions. He had only dimly realized Phryne had also kissed him before he had had to let her go and go back to work.
This kiss was on an entirely different level. He had grabbed her and unleashed all the pent up emotions that had been awakened by this wild, infuriating woman. He had thought after the war, after the police strikes, after his marriage had failed, he would never have tasted such deep emotions again. He had thought that part of his heart, his soul, had been killed off, choked off by life's cruel twists. He had come to terms with that – hidden away his wounded heat under a dour poker face – never letting anyone near enough to glimpse it.
Enter Phryne Fisher – a lively, crazy woman who didn't abide by any rues of convention. She did what she wanted and said what she thought. She lived life to it's fullest. If she wanted to play detective, there was little anyone could do to stop her. If Jack locked her up as a public nuisance, she'd still find a way to escape. She was everything he didn't know he had been craving – life, love, freedom and passion.
Under his deepening kisses, he felt her smile and kiss him just as passionately. She opened herself up to him and he followed after her like a dying man chasing an oasis in the desert. He wanted to soak up every bit of her essence of life, her wild heart, her passion with every kiss. He hadn't realized how much he had missed having a willing, eager woman in his arms. Someone who wanted him, flaws and all. Someone who he could talk to without being afraid he'd chase her away when the ghosts fell out of his past. Phryne had just as many ghosts, just as many hidden fears and she was still giving herself to him. He wanted to close his eyes and be lost in her forever.
The movement of her hands on his chest finally awakened him from his passion. She was reaching for his tie, the buttons on his shirt.
"No, we can't do this, Phryne," he broke off, gently stopping her hands with his own.
"Jack, don't you dare apologize. I'm not sorry. I wanted this too."
He looked done at what he had done to her and met those fierce eyes. He had kissed the lipstick off her lips. The headdress to her costume he vaguely remembered ripping off so he could run his hands through her hair. She looked like she had been ravaged by some wild animal. He supposed he looked just as wild.
"It's – it's just a little too fast for me. It's been a long time. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you."
"Jack, if I hadn't wanted you to kiss me, don't you think I'd have found a way to stop you?"
Jack's mind flashed to her grin, her hidden knife, her fighting skills. He nodded with a small wry grin.
"I'm sure you would be able to stop a running elephant if you wanted to."
"So don't apologize for taking advantage of me. I enjoyed it just as much as you did."
The thought of what other passions they could enjoy together, caused him to clear his throat.
"I think I need to cool down before the party. You'd better get back down before you're missed."
He reached down and picked up her headdress, which had landed on the floor. He awkwardly handed it to her, trying very hard not to look beyond her shoulders. If he looked at her revealing costume now, he might imagine what she looked like underneath it and he would lose whatever control he had left.
"Alright," she said, throwing him a saucy smile. "I'll get fixed up too and meet you downstairs. Remember, the queen doesn't like to be kept waiting."
He nodded and watched her grab a letter from the night table before she shimmied would of the room.
Jack released a long breath. He contemplated his Marc Antony costume. A giant helmet, a leather kilt – this would take some courage. He sat down and tried to sort out his thoughts and prepare himself for battle. Everyday with Phryne Fisher was a battle. Fortunately, this was one war that he was willing to sacrifice himself for. The memory of her kisses, burned on his lips. No, next time, losing to Phryne would not be a bad thing at all.