Title: Bolly Knickers
Pairing: Gene/Alex
Rating/Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Author's note: Gene is dumbstruck. Short: 192 count.
Summary: "Bolly, what in the name of Clint Eastwood do you think you're doing?"
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Gene Hunt wasn't often lost for words
Gene Hunt wasn't often lost for words. He wasn't often so completely dumbstruck that he couldn't come up with something worth saying. He was rarely, if ever, speechless.
Right now, Gene Hunt was so past speechless that he was certain thunderstruck, gob smacked and utterly flabbergasted would apply too. In spades, in fact.
"Bolly, what in the name of Clint Eastwood do you think you're doing?" he said, eventually, and very, very hoarsely.
"I am making your car smell nice again," she replied innocently.
He swallowed, unable to lower his gaze. Unable to take his eyes off her. Unable to move.
"In your knickers?"
Because she was. In her knickers. In her expensive French knickers. In her expensive French knickers and not, bloody well not, much else. Oh no wait, she also wore rubber gloves and an expression taken from the most sordid, corrupt place of Satan's own mind, and she was thoroughly sprawled across the bonnet of his beautiful, magnificent car. A car he loved. A car he loved because it had brought him this.
"Oh sweet Lord, Bolls. Oh sweet, merciful God."
"Yes. I was hoping you'd feel that way."
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