Disclaimer: For entertainment purposes only. Not for profit. The crew of Fenchurch East belongs to Ashley Pharaoh, Matthew Graham and Kudos Entertainment. No infringement is intended.
Notes: Originally written for the A2A Kink Meme, hosted here. This is the same story, edited. Prompt: Alex 'belongs' to Gene for 24hrs and Gene has Alex on a leash.
It had just gone midnight when the conversation took a turn for the strange. As usual, they were ensconced in his corner, a half drunk bottle of wine between them and a long bloody day on the job behind them. The case was closed, but the memory of the young Russian women they'd freed from the brothel still hung heavy in the air, casting a pall over their usually playful conversation.
Alex had brought up the decidedly modern topic of dominance and submission, and Gene, in his typical manner, scoffed.
"I would, you know." Her voice was barely more than a breath, but her gaze met his, unflinching.
His eyes narrowed, sceptical. "No one 'belongs' to someone else, Bols. Those girls -"
"I'm not talking about the case anymore, Gene. I'm talking about an agreement between two mutually consenting adults. With a pre-arranged safe word to designate when the scene is over."
"Scene," he huffed. "What, you mean like - an evening's worth of slap and tickle?"
"No," she went on, her tone patient and more than a bit serious. "A scene goes on as long as the two participants agree."
He took a long drink of wine and squinted at her over the rim of his glass. "You mean all day."
"Longer, if that's the agreement. But a day - sounds reasonable." She licked her lips, one finger trailing along the rim of her wine glass.
Again, he was silent for a long moment, his gaze taking on that thousand yard stare. "Wha' word?" His question was brusque, and he didn't look at her.
She was silent for a long moment, waiting until just his eyes moved to meet her face. He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she answered. "Apples."
He grunted, looking down at the last swallow of wine in his glass before tossing it back. She watched as his long fingers reached up and tugged his tie loose, pulled the end almost through the knot before slipping it off over his head. She sat back a little, her eyes going wide.
"That Russian bloke, he had the girls wearing little silk cords." His eyes stayed downcast, and there was a hint of bashfulness in his tone. "S'not a cord, but it is silk."
She didn't let him finish before she was reaching up to pull her hair back, sitting up straight almost by instinct. He gave her a long, uncertain look, and she nodded a little. When she spoke, he could already hear a deferential tone to her voice that make his cock grow heavy between his legs.
"You have to do it. And only you can take it off."
She didn't have to ask twice. He leaned forward, and slipped the tie over her head, arranging it carefully around her neck and then tightening it.
"So. Until tomorrow, midnight, you - belong to me?"
She nodded, looking down at the black tie with the red slash across the fabric. There was no mistaking the little flush of colour to her cheeks.
He reached out a finger and tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Say yes, Bols."
She looked into his eyes and swallowed once, licking her lips. "Yes."
He held her gaze for another long moment and then nodded, curtly, a little smile lifting one corner of his mouth. "S'there anything you won't do to get on my good side, Drake?"
"Yes, actually." She blinked, her head tilting, her usual wicked smirk reasserting itself.
He held up a hand, and she stopped mid-breath. He gave her a look and, wonder of wonders, she backed down. If he wasn't careful, this could go to his head. He pushed himself to his feet, reaching for his coat, smirking himself as her eyes went wide.
"G'night, Drake. Make sure you're still wearing that in the morning when you get to work. We'll talk then."
He left without even looking back, silently marvelling that she didn't say a single word to stop him.
The next day was a glorious mess.
When he stumbled in late, she was already seated at her desk, looking bright eyed and bushy tailed. She'd worn a man's jacket, no doubt left over from the flat's previous occupant, and it was the perfect camouflage for his tie, nestled against her skin, as the blouse she was wearing beneath had no collar. He wasn't sure he approved of the cheat, seeing as it involved another one of her impossibly tight pencil skirts, but in the end decided it was better than make their little game public.
And he had no idea how incredibly arousing this whole scenario could be. Just the idea that she belonged to him for the day had him sporting wood. It was sweet torture, and he couldn't help but wonder if she hadn't anticipated that little side effect. Cheeky mare.
She brought him tea. In his favourite mug, no less.
He looked up in surprise, but didn't say thank you. She was still smiling, and it made him wary. He couldn't help but notice the look on Shaz's face. It had taken the young plonk all of five minutes to put it together, and she kept looking at Alex like she'd gone out of her mind.
She finished the morning's reports, and paused outside the threshold of his office.
"Filing?"
He looked up again, blue eyes flashing, one eyebrow raised. She just smiled that Mona Lisa smile, idly toying with his tie between her fingers, the sight of those red nails dragging over the silk driving him right out of his mind. He jerked his chin at the pile and she collected it all, three month's worth, without a word. By the time she was done filing it all, he was ready to get the hell out of CID.
He pulled on his coat and gloves, jingling his keys. "Drake, you're with me."
She didn't question, just fell into step beside him. Ray and Chris reached for their coats, and he waved them off. "We've business." The lads looked baffled and Shaz, well, Shaz was turning seven shades of bright red. For a moment, he thought Alex might kick her. "We'll be back later."
She settled into the passenger seat of the Quattro, prim and proper, and a part of him missed her running off about whatever psychiatry bollocks she'd got her head into a tizzy about for the day. No, she seemed oddly relaxed. It didn't seem fair. And something had to be done about it. If only he could think passed the fact that he seemed to have acquired one posh mouthy bird as a slave for the day.
A rather large portion of his head was convinced she was taking the piss. That the moment he actually tried to exert any real control, she'd laugh in his face and take that tie off, handing it back to him with that smug little smirk. His gut on the other hand told him that the tea and the filing had been significant, that the fact that she was quiet now was also significant. And all he he had to do was work up the bollocks to ask her the right question, and he'd know for certain just how far she was willing to take this.
He drove about, aimlessly for half an hour, waiting for her to ask where they were going, but she never did. He finally pulled into a car park, taking them all the way down to the lower levels and parking in a dark corner. He turned off the ignition, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Right. Showtime.
He held out his hand. "Knickers."
Her eyes went wide.
He snapped his fingers. "Don't make me ask twice, Bolly."
She moved slowly at first, shifting from side to side to pull her skirt up, and he was certain she could hear his heart pounding in the enclosed space of the Quattro. The sight of her stockings and then the garters almost made him groan aloud, but there was no way he was going to let her see him falter. He watched impassively as she hooked her fingers under the black silk scrap of fabric and drew it down her long legs, pulling them off and handing them to him without a word.
His gloved hand closed around them and he brought them to his nose, eyes closing as he inhaled deeply. The heady scent of her arousal filled his nose and he did choke back a groan then. When he could think again, he quickly stuffed them in his pocket and cut a glance at her. For the first time that day, she looked a bit uncomfortable, possibly out of her league.
Well, it was about bloody time.
"Never figured you for the submissive type, Alex." His smile could almost be construed as sympathetic, in the half light. "Go on. I want to watch you touch yourself."
"Gene -" His hand moved so fast, she barely registered the movement.
He grasped the end of that tie and gave it a sharp little tug, drawing her closer, until they were almost nose to nose. His voice was a dark, quiet growl.
"Did I ask you to talk, DI Drake? No, I asked you to frig yourself for my personal viewing pleasure. Now get to work or this little experiment is over here and now."
She nodded, eyes wide and dark, waiting silently until he let her go.
She sat back against the Quattro's door, slipping her shoes off and turning in her seat. There was a moment when he thought she was going to change her mind, but she stunned him, lifting her knee and draping her leg across his lap. His gaze followed the long line of her stockinged leg from her ankle, over her calf, passed the shifter pressing against the inside of her knee, up the inside of her thigh to the promised land. She tilted her hips, giving him a spectacular view of the crux of her thighs, and he could see her dark curls already damp with the sweetest nectar known to man. Her long red nails teased over her skin, and the air inside the car grew almost too thick to breathe. He sat back and nodded his approval as she began a slow, delicate exploration of her slit.
He watched, mesmerised, not even daring to think about his own aching prick, or about sliding into those silken folds, or disappearing into her depths. No, he couldn't let himself think about that yet. Instead, he bit his lip and tried to remember to breathe.
She teased her clit free, one finger tip sliding down lower to slick her fingertip before moving back, flickering and fluttering over that sweet pearl. His fist pressed into his thigh and he moaned as she began to whimper, her hips dancing on her hand now. Her head tipped back against the glass and she gasped, her movements growing intent, more focused with each passing moment. She slid two fingers into her hole, and she let out a low keening cry.
"No," He growled, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears. "Did I say you could come yet?"
Her hand stilled and she trembled, a soft plea on her lips.
"No. You come when I say you come, not before. Now, give."
He held out his hand again, and she blinked at him, dark eyes glazed with lust, confused by his request. He gently reached across and grasped her wrist, bringing those honey-slicked fingers to his mouth.
She didn't even try to contain the moan that sprang unbidden to her lips as he suckled her fingers clean.
He drove them back to the office in silence, and he knew now that she was aching for it, just as he was aching. He wasn't quite sure why he wasn't ready to give in yet, but he knew the time wasn't right. His tone and his mannerisms grew sharper and shorter as the day wore on.
They stopped by one of their crime scenes to pick up a list of stolen property. He made her stand at the side of the car while he went in to give the list to the skipper, so she didn't have a moment alone to finish what she'd started. She stood there dutifully, but he could see her through the window, knees sliding passed one another as she struggled to get some friction where she desperately needed it.
It made him feel like a king, watching his Bolly Kecks, for once wrapped up in obsessing about him, instead of her own lunatic theories. Maybe he'd found a way to keep her focused on the job, once and for all.
A nice theory, if it weren't for the incredible inconvenience of walking around with a raging erection all damned day. Even with his long coat buttoned, he felt like everyone he spoke to could tell he was light headed from the change in blood pressure.
Their next stop was somewhere in the industrial district, a little nook of an alley off a larger alley. He lit a fag, took a good long drag, gathering his nerve and it has to be said, relishing the way she was squirming in her seat.
"Boot or bonnet?"
She drew in a sharp breath and one hand came up to rest on the tie.
He turned on her, blue eyes fixed on her like a falcon turning on a hare. "You ready to end it so soon?"
"No. No I -"
"So decide. Boot? Or bonnet."
"Boot." The quickness of her answer made his cock throb.
"Go on then. Make yourself presentable. And if you come before I tell you, Bols? I'll make sure you can't sit down for a week without squealing, comprende?"
She gave a tight little nod, already opening the door and stepping out. He watched as she walked around to the back. The sight of her bending over and laying her cheek against the lid of the boot almost made him come in his pants like some randy teenager. He readjusted the mirror so he could see her face. He could tell she was touching herself again and when he saw her lips part, he threw the fag out the window and got out. His snakeskin boots ground in the gravel, and he slammed the door shut, one hand already undoing his belt.
He joined her, walking a slow arc around her, pausing for a long, blissful moment to let his eyes trail over her body. She had the most beautiful and impossibly long legs. His gaze followed the seam up from her ankles, all the way up to her gorgeous, sumptuous arse, her skirt ruched up over her hips, one hand working between her thighs, teasing, delving into her own depths, toying with herself.
"Please, Gene. Please."
Her voice flowed into his blood like a drug. He stepped in closed and rested a gloved hand over the base of her spine, the other pushing her skirt up higher, exposing her completely. Slowly, he bent to whisper against her ear, his voice thick with lust.
"Always knew all you needed was a good stiff one inside you, Drakey." She gasped in indignation and started to rise, but no, he knew the game now. He pressed her back down, hard enough to force the air from her lungs in a sharp breath, and held her there.
He waited for her to resist again, keeping his hands firm on her hips. His nose traced the curve of her ear and he pressed a kiss to the corner of her jaw. That little touch soothed her, made her gentle a bit beneath him. Another moment, another soft kiss, and she sighed. He felt her acquiesce.
"There's a good girl," he crooned. "Don't worry, love. I'll make it up to you later. You 'ave my word."
She nodded, already breathing hard. She turned her head, meeting his gaze, blinking languidly at him.
His hand brushed her dark curls back, his knuckles grazing the side of her neck, catching that tie and carefully finding the ends. His long fingers grasped the ends and worked it up under her jaw line, using it to pull her head up, using it as the collar it was meant to be. His fingers coiled through tie and wove her hair, grasping her in a commanding grip. Her lips parted and she keened in arousal.
"Dreamt about this," he ground out between clenched teeth, still breathing in her scent. His other hand fumbled with his belt, and then his trousers. The cool rush of air felt glorious, but not as good as the touch of her skin. Iron met silk, and his breath left his lungs in a low hiss. It took every ounce of control not to just take her, but he managed, slowly drawing the head of his weeping cock down her wet slit. He pressed into her with care, and felt her low decadent cry, felt her bucking beneath him, rocking back. It wasn't rough at all, no it was a torturous slow dance, a gentle advance and retreat, slicking his heated skin, each thrust taking him a little deeper until he was buried in her cunt all the way to the hilt.
Her thighs trembled, and he felt her rippling around him already. He knew this first time wasn't going to last long, but the day was a long way from over. If she let him do this, who knew what else she'd allow? The very thought made him throb inside her, and he felt himself begin to move, felt their instinct taking over. He buried his face in her hair and began fucking her, hard and slow and deep, drowning in the pleasure of her body with every breath, every heartbeat.
She was with him every step of the way, her hand coming up to touch his cheek, her voice a quiet litany of 'please, love' and 'oh God', growing louder with each passing moment, until it was nothing but that sweet stream of incoherent syllables, her voice twisted up in ecstasy washing over him.
He gave up his grip in her hair to clamp a gloved hand over her mouth, growling against her ear.
"Come for me, Alex. Come for me. Come on my cock. You're mine. Mine." He repeated the word over and over again, thrusting hard enough to rock the whole car, sharp deep thrusts, lost in the idea and the reality of possessing her so utterly and completely.
She screamed out her bliss behind his hand, her whole body quaking as she hit that point of no return, dragging him with her, that impossibly sweet liquid heat twisting through his balls, coiling up out of his cock, whiting out all his senses. His whole world folded down to nothing but her scent in his nose, the clench of her sweet pussy on his cock, and the sound of her voice ringing in his ears.
It was a long moment before he could think again. He kept his lips pressed against the corner of her jaw, painting her skin with soft kisses, soothing her back to earth. He pulled out and adjusted himself briefly before helping her up, sitting her on the boot lid and smoothing her skirt down. He kept his gaze lowered until he felt her hands in his hair. His eyes slipped closed, and a quiet moan rose unbidden in his throat.
He kissed her then, claimed her with long and slow mouthfuls, like he'd been dying to do since the first time he'd ever laid eyes on her. Better still, she kissed him back, and it was better than he'd ever dreamed.
When he finally took a breath, he pulled back, looking down at the tie around her neck. His long fingers tugged gently at the tie. "Day's not over yet," he murmured, his words heavy with promise.
She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his. He could feel her breath, still a bit ragged, feathering against his cheek. "Good."
"Should make you wash my car," he teased and she leaned in to nip at his jaw. He laughed, pulled her closer, kissing the side of her neck. He nuzzled up to whisper against her ear. "Truth be told, I'd rather you work me up into a good lather, Bols."
"As you wish," she purred against the corner of his mouth, and his cock twitched in response.
"You'll be the death of me, yet."
She didn't seem too put out by the idea.