A NICE WAY TO END A HARD DAY
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I love Jack and Phryne together and I wish, so dearly, that they would do so in the show.
. . .
Phryne considered herself in her mirror. Her black cap of hair, cut in such a manner that it required little fussing, would require a lot of fussing if it were ever to return to a state acceptable of a lady, or even a street child for that matter. Her latest adventurer had not been good on her appearance. She dropped her silk robe – a gift from the beautiful Lin Chung – and examined the bruises that impeded upon the smooth cream that was her skin. Upon touch they ached, but not as much as the many that had come before them. She deduced that within a few days, and many hot baths, they would disappear, leaving her with little to nothing to remember them by. Phryne would not miss them.
Upon the knock on the door she slipped the silk back onto her shoulders and gave herself another look in the mirror. She didn't even bother to try and fix her hair. A lost cause, she decided. Well, at least for herself. She was sure that Dot would be able to return her to her usual self with little more effort than it took to run a bath. She chose one of the fine crystal decanters from the table and poured herself a glass with a liberal hand. After the day she'd had she deserved it.
"Yes," Phryne replied to the door. Her voice was rougher than she would have liked but little matter, the whiskey she sipped would deal with that.
"Miss Fisher?"
A mischievous smile crept onto Phryne's lips at the sound of Jack's voice and she wished to dear God that she had Dot's skill when it came to wild, untamable hair. In a manner unlike herself she rushed to the mirror and raked her hair with one of the many brushes that lined her vanity. It hurt more than the good it did and again she resigned herself.
She refilled her glass – which had somehow managed to empty itself – and posed herself on the bed. How, she wondered, had Jack managed to sneak past Dot? She was sure the young Catholic would not have allowed it if she knew. Even if she had become used to Phryne's male company, Phyrne doubted the young woman would allow him to come up unannounced. One way to find out.
"Come in, Jack dear."
Jack entered and, to his credit, his eyes widened only slightly at the sight of Miss Fisher strewn out over her bed covered only in patterned silk. Her messy hair was not noticed by him. He swallowed the lump in his throat and managed a smile.
"And what," she smiled, sitting up painstakingly slowly to rest on her forearms, "can I do for you?"
"I just wanted to check that you weren't too badly damaged," he explained. Jack did not know where to place himself so continued standing. But, Phryne observed, he did not at all look awkward. Nor had he broken eye contact with her. This was a feat that many a man could not have accomplished. "Dot told me come up."
This time it was Phryne's turn to widen her eyes, though, like Jack, only slightly. Was the young Dorothy giving her consent to such behavior? The thought made Phryne lips turn up at the corners.
Neither of them said anything but it was not awkward. Jack stood and looked into Phryne's eyes, Phyrne lay and did the same. The contact was not broken even as she reached for her drink and brought it to her lips. The whiskey was warm as it slid down her throat but it could not compare with the heat that was creeping through her body.
Something within her compelled her to look away but she didn't. Phryne Fisher was not the type to back down, especially not to a man quite as intriguing as Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson. In fact, she didn't think that her brain had ever previously considered the idea to ever back down.
Phryne's legs slid out to land her bare feet on the carpeted floor, exposing her bare calves. To his credit, Jack's gaze still did not flicker.
She drained the glass in a manner fitting of a lady, slowly and smoothly, then placed it softly down on the table beside her bed. When she walked towards Jack she was like a cat on the prowl.
"Did you want to examine the damage for yourself, Inspector," she dragged out his title in a sultry manner that had his chest tightening. Despite her pounding heart and raspy throat, her words managed to come out in her usual cheerful and playful tone.
Jack did not know quite what to say and fought not to look down as he was sure such a move would result in a loss of the capacity to say or do anything. In the presence of Phryne he fond himself often lost for words, though he felt he usually managed to hold his ground quite well. Usually, he thought to himself, she was not quite so scantily clad. He managed a somewhat cheeky smile.
That was the end of it for Phryne who felt her heart hammering against the cavity which held it and heat spread through her such that she thought she might spontaneously combust. Despite her feelings, she acted in a slow manner. She had a reputation to uphold.
Slowly, oh so very slowly, she undid the tie that held her robe on her. It did not fall.
Jack's breath hitched.
She raised herself up onto her tiptoes in order to lean in and whisper in his ear. The soft whisper of her lips over his ear tickled Jack's spine. "Are you going to inspect me Jack?"
It was, Jack knew, up to him to decide. But he did not believe that he had been given much choice. Following her example, he slowly ran his hands up over her bare shoulders and pushed the silk to the fall.
It formed a pool around Phryne's skinny ankles.
Jack let his gaze drift over Phryne's body, so thin and pale. She was so beautiful. The fact that her beauty was corrupted by dark bruises and marks hit him in his stomach. Those marks were his fault, he thought, pained by this sight. His jaw clenched. Phryne began to question whether this would be a violent burst of lovemaking. But when he ran his hands over her body he was soft and gentle.
Phryne was treating him as one would a bird. She did not move as to not scare him off. Instead, she slowly let him come to her. Though she did wish he would go slightly faster as every lingering touch was like a burn and she not believe that she would be able to hold her resolve for much longer.
When one of Jack's hands cupped her neck she moved forward into him and met his eyes once again. They were intense pools of brown that she had previously viewed as just another contribution to his near unmemorable appearance. Up close, they held considerable more effect. Phryne was so very intrigued by them that she could not look away. It was Jake that broke the contact.
His gaze flickered down to her lips as he wondered what she would taste like this time. Last time they had kissed, though it had only been brief, her flavor had been mixed with fear. He certainly hoped it would not be the same this time. Slowly Jack pressed his lips against hers.
She tasted of whiskey and dust, a strange combination that Jack had not expected but he felt was very fitting of this woman he was so captured by.
Phryne melted. Their lips parted and their tongues met. She didn't bother to hide her moan as he ran his hands up her back, over the bumps and bruises. Any pain she felt was outweighed by pleasure. The kiss deepened and her moans grew louder.
Phryne's resolve broke.
She fisted a hand in Jack's hair and pulled herself against him to deepen and quicken the kiss. She pulled away breathless to push his suit jacket off his shoulders to join her robe on the floor. Her fingers, she found, were shaking as she worked to unbutton his shirt. On a sound that could only be described as a grunt, though a very ladylike grunt, Phryne relented and instead ripped the shirt away from Jack's body.
She was, Jack observed, like an animal, and he was the same. He usually took great care in his lovemaking but he did not feel he had the ability to tame himself.
Her delicate fingers were struggling with his belt buckle, something she had never found difficulty with regarding our lovers. Jack removed her hands, which came to rest on his sides, and did it himself. Soon he was naked and had her pinned to him.
"Jack," Phryne moaned against his lips.
Their hips rubbed together and Jack could not take it any longer. One hand on Phryne's lower back and the other on her small bottom he lifted her to the right height. Phryne knew what to do and wrapped her legs, once trained to hold her to a horse, around the policeman's hips.
Again, their eyes met. Phryne gasped. Jack's face held a look of pure determination and harbored passion. Phryne gasped again as he slid into her and, on that, Jack crashed them both down onto the bed.
.
Phryne's head rested on Jack's chest, his heartbeat, still hammering at a pace unnaturally fast, reflecting her own. She was covered in a thin sheet of sweet and was warm enough in their embrace to not feel a need to pull up the blanket.
"Phryne?" Jack asked. There was no worry in his voice, which Phryne found a relief. She did believe in regrets and felt strangely that if Jack felt in such away in regards to their "going ons" – as Dot put it – then she would likely find her small pistol and put a bullet sized hole in the detective's fine face. She was glad such would not be necessary. Instead, he seemed simply to be inquiring as to whether or not she was in the land of the living or floating on a cloud of dreams.
"Hmm?" She replied.
When no answer came she rolled in order that she could look up at Jack. His hair was stuck to his forehead in a rather charming manner and Phryne smiled. Jack smiled back, reaching up his hand to push back her black cap of hair in order that he could properly appreciate the masterpiece that was her face. Phryne Fisher, he decided, belonged in artwork.
"Never mind," he said, shaking his head as if to dismiss the thought, when, truth be told, it had disappeared as soon as she had turned to look at him.
Phryne smiled a smile of genuine happiness as she looked at the policeman, her policeman. Her smile turned mischievous as she ran he foot up along his leg and watched his face turned from one of joy to desire. The hand that had been softly holding back her hair fisted.
Seconds later Phryne was pined beneath him, feet locked together around his waist. They began again.
. . .
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