~*~
"D'you know what I think, Gene?" said Alex, resting her chin on her palm and waving her wineglass for emphasis.
"I wouldn't even pretend to know what passes for coherent thought in that pretty little 'ead of yours, Mrs Fruitcake," Gene replied, watching her take another sip.
"I think… that you are a very special person indeed," she said, and he could see her eyes having a little trouble focusing on him, even though he was sitting right next to her, leaning on the table with his elbows.
He lifted his eyebrows appraisingly and took another mouthful of beer.
"That has got to be one of the single most inane things that you have ever said," he replied.
"No, but you are, you are," she insisted, putting her glass down and patting his arm.
"You know what I think, Bols?" he said, leaning closer to catch her eyes.
"No, tell me," she smiled.
"I think…" he began, putting his hand over hers on his arm. "That you like hiding."
He sniffed and waited for his words to sink in a little. Her smooth white brow creased up, and there was befuddled confusion behind her immaculately made-up eyes.
"I don't… I don't think I underst…"
"You like hiding," he reiterated. "You like putting yourself in places where you think you can't be seen."
She shook her head a little, her eyebrow bobbing up as she took another large gulp of red wine. She took a breath and focused on his eyes again.
"I am grown woman, Mr Hunt, I do not play hide and seek," she said finally. She was being evasive, the bugger.
"Believe me, Alex, there's nothing I know quite so well as the fact that you are a grown bloody woman," he snorted. "I'm just not sure you know it. Certainly don't act like it."
She looked hurt; it was step along from confused and evasive, he reasoned.
"I have had a little bit to drink; if this is a lecture on drink from Gene sodding Hunt…"
"Oh shut up, you daft bint, I'm not talking about your ability to consume more alcohol than a fleet of off-duty sailors," he snapped.
She blinked in surprise, her delicate pink mouth pouting gently.
"I am talking," he continued, his voice lower again. "About the fact that you are in your own little made-up world, and you don't want to accept that there's anyone else here with you."
He watched the surprise in her eyes increase, her lips parting slightly, and for a second thought he'd gone a bit too far. He ran his words through his, admittedly, alcohol fogged head, but couldn't work out why they'd be shocking her as much as they seemed to.
She suddenly laughed, looking down at his hand over hers on his arm, and back up to his face.
"I'm not sure I follow…" she slurred a little, waiting expectantly.
He took a steady breath in, holding her eyes. Right, my son, now or never.
"You once asked me to let you in, yeah?" he asked, and she nodded slightly. "If I… if I actually wanted to be, you know, let in, how do I know you wouldn't just hide away like you did in that cupboard today?"
He held her eyes for as long as he physically could, seeing the uncertainty in them before looking at the table. He picked up a coaster and began to trace it over a small round wet mark on the table.
"You mean the kiss, don't you?" she said, sounding more lucid. There was a note of disappointment in her voice that cut something in him.
He looked up at her, ready to bluster through it, faltering when he saw tears welling in her eyes.
"What? What've I done now?" he asked, thrown off his already unsteady game.
She closed her eyes and smiled a small soft smile; when she opened her eyes the smile remained, and the tears had abated.
"Everything that you needed to, Gene, as always," she said, leaning forward and resting her head on his shoulder, chuckling in what sounded like relief.
"Tell you what, Bolly, you know how to keep a bloke on his toes. I have no idea what's happening here now," he said, baffled.
She looked up at him again, and her hand came to his cheek. Her fingers were warm against his skin, stroking along his jaw line. He really wanted to kiss her, but his confusion made him immobile, just able to look at her.
"Gene," she said, her eyes darkening as her pupils dilated. She really was very drunk, and he knew he'd be escorting her to the door of the flat and no further tonight, but this was much bigger than what might be happening in his trousers.
"Alex," he returned.
"I'm not sure you know what you're asking for if you let me in. I'm not sure I know myself," she said.
"See, that's the thing, I'm a grown man, me. I don't need to have it all explained," he replied, reaching up for her hand. He turned it over and looked at her palm, running his thumb over it as he held it.
"And we've already established you're a grown woman," he added, looking back at her.
"What are you asking me, exactly?" she said, and there was something playful behind her eyes.
Gene pouted and frowned slightly. That was perhaps more specific than he had planned on, and his normally sure gob didn't seem to want to help him out.
"I'm asking… if you'd consider… well… me," he finished, feeling exactly like the coy teenager he swore she wouldn't make him.
"Alright," she said smartly.
He blinked, startled.
"What, is that it? 'Alright'? You're not going to dance around it a bit more?" he said.
"Well, I could say no if you want…"
"No! No, 'alright' is fine, I just didn't think, well, you know, that you'd…"
She stood up, a little unsteady on her feet, and put her hand on his shoulder.
"And you think I underestimate you. You underestimate yourself, Gene. Now, take me upstairs," she said, swaying.
He jumped up quickly, wrapped his arm round her waist to steady her.
"What, now?" he said, his resolve to be a gentleman somewhat rocked by her unexpected acceptance.
"Yes, now. I've had far too much to drink, and I'm going to pass out if I stay down here. I am a 'grown woman'," she waggled her fingers. "And I know when to call it a night."
Kicking himself inside, he felt chivalry getting the better of the elated libido that didn't quite believe she hadn't turned him down flat.
"Bols, I'll take you up there, but I'm not staying," he sighed.
It was her turn to look baffled. "But I thought we just…"
"You just said you'd consider me. I'm quite happy for you to do that sober, when I've treated you to something a bit more upmarket than Luigi's house vinegar," he said, steering her to the stairs.
She looked an odd mixture of disappointed and tremendously pleased, teetering with her arm round his shoulder. When they got to the door of the flat, she slipped her other hand round his neck, standing in front of him and leaning against his chest. He could feel her heartbeat through the slightly guilty pleasure of her breasts pressed against him.
"I quite like conshidering you," she slurred.
He smiled ruefully, thinking of all the times in his head when this scene ended differently – no reticence necessary for the DI Drake in his head. He sighed. The DI Drake in his head was always eager and willing, but he didn't want just a shag with the real one.
"It's never going to be a hardship to consider my faultless male form, Bolly," he said, allowing himself to rest his hands on her hips.
She smiled, amused, running her hands through the hair at the back of his head. It was such a sensual, intimate thing to do, especially with her breasts against him too. He couldn't hold back a physical response, however much control he was trying to exert on himself. She felt it straight away and wiggled against him, grinning wickedly.
He sucked in a breath and looked away from her, knowing it was entirely useless to pretend.
"I can't…" he said when he looked back, her face seeming closer.
"Don't you want to?" she asked, feigning petulance.
"I think you know very well what I want, but not like this," he said, and after a second rested his head against her forehead, willing himself to draw back.
The desire burning in his chest and other more obvious places drummed against his will, and barely a second later he had taken her mouth with his, pouring all the frustrated, pent up passion he could into it. She fell back against the door with the force of it, returning it with an instinctive finesse, hooking one of her legs around his calf and shifting the angle of her hips against him.
He broke away, gasping, pushing back far enough to see her face clearly. Her lips were slightly swollen from the bruising kiss, and he waited until her eyes had refocused before speaking.
"Now, you get yourself to bed and I will see you tomorrow," he said firmly, steeling himself against her crestfallen expression.
"You think this is happening because I'm drunk, don't you?" she said.
"I know this is because you're drunk, woman. If you weren't drunk, your knees'd be up by your ears by now," he replied. "And because I would very much like to do that more than once, I am going home, and you are going to get some sleep."
She smiled wickedly again, and conceded, untangling her hands from his hair.
"I told you that you were special, Gene," she slurred.
"Yeah, prince bloody charming, me," he said, pulling away to leave. "Go. Bed. Now."
He pointed at her door, watching her slot her key in and push it open.
"Right, see you tomorrow, sexy knickers," he grinned as she went inside, and stood by the door watching him. He turned and walked away, staggering a little, partly from the alcohol, and partly from the effort of walking with a monster hard-on.
He heard the door click behind and he blew out a long breath, leaning on the wall.
"Hope you know what you're doing, pal," he said to himself.
~*~