This chapter contains adult, sexual material. If that bothers you, please move along. Another word to the wise. In bugs'smut, it's supposed to be funny in places. You just have to decide if you're laughing at the places I intended.
I seem to have backslid this week with my English/English, so poor Aussie had to work extra hard to clean up my z's and double ll's. I am nothing but a Yank without her!
Alex had never had girlhood fantasies about a fairytale prince sweeping her off her feet and carrying her away to his castle. Yet it was shockingly easy to remain passive in Gene's arms every time he carried her.
Once more, he had her secure in his grasp, this time barrelling up the cottage stairs. All she could do was vaguely hope he'd have some energy left after hauling her arse to the bed. Banging through the bedroom door with his shoulder, he swung her around, making her dizzy. She had a moment of fear as his head brushed the low ceiling. Busting down doors to a hail of bullets was all well and good when they were after blaggers, but she needed him in one piece for what lay ahead.
When he tossed her on the bed, she realised that he'd brought them to his room with its narrow single crammed under the eaves.
"Uh, Gene-"
He must have thought she had another concern. "Got 'em-" he said briskly, snatching up his overcoat draped over the chair. Rummaging in the pocket, he pulled out a box of condoms and dropped them on the bed.
A whole box. Propped on her elbows, legs akimbo, she raised her brows. Optimistic beggar, wasn't he?
He loomed over her, hands on his hips. "Right then," he said, sounding a bit uncertain. His long thin legs, pale sticks in the dim room, were doing something to her own legs, making them shake.
This wouldn't do. They had to get the urgency back. She tugged her jumper over her head, tossing it aside. She'd left off her bra after her shower, figuring the heavy knit was thick enough to ward off an embarrassment and now she was grateful. Closer to the finish line; she started to shimmy out of her bottoms when his astonished stare made her stop, the garment wadded around her knees.
Looking down at her chest, she said, "What?" worried one of her breasts was lopsided or had some other deformity that she'd never noticed before.
"Yar tits-"
"Yes," she said slowly, feeling an embarrassed flush rising to cover the offending body parts. "What's wrong with them?"
He didn't reply for one long, awful moment. Then he breathed, "Not a damn thing."
This didn't reassure her; his expression reminded her of that time that twenty-five stone toerag had thumped him on the head with a brick during a takedown. "Oh," she said, giving a nervous smile.
"I've spared 'em a thought or two—" he admitted.
A bit more at ease, she cocked an eyebrow.
"Just expected that I'd be mentally prepared," he said, running his hand through his hair until it was a cuckoo's nest. "I'm still gobsmacked."
"They're just breasts, Gene." Why was she feeling the need to start some sort of roundtable discussion about a set of mammary glands? He was making her nervous, that's why. She wanted to clarify that they were in fact, just breasts; no guarantee that they were going to have the best sex of their lives because of these objects on her chest.
He shrugged one shoulder, looking all the world like a little boy. "I've seen a lot o' puppies in my day, Alex-"
That was not the direction that she wanted this conversation to go either. "I'll take that as a compliment and now let's change the subject-"
She straightened her shoulders, but this only gained her his soft smile and fixed gaze. She was visited by the ridiculous notion that she could now tame the Manc Lion at any time just by toying with her blouse buttons.
Finally galvanised, he sank to his knees, swung her legs around to sit on the bed's edge and leant into the crook of her neck, breathing deeply. Sly, his hand crept to one breast, just his fingertips touching skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps and causing a very needy whimper to escape her.
What the hell was he doing? Where was Gene Hunt and what had this man done with him? Had she reconfigured her delusion suddenly, afraid of tawdry sex with the construct that she had to interact with on a daily basis? She breathed deeply. Strong carbolic soap—she'd been ashamed as she'd sniffed the thick bar in the shower, knowing that it would sliding over his skin shortly. Stale cigarettes and alcohol; the smell of a boozer right at opening time, not disgusting enough to turn her away, but distinctive.
"Do you want me?" she murmured in this man's ear, still unsure. Because Gene Hunt should be mauling her with teeth and hands, grunting over her tits like a hog in slop. Not mouthing one of her breasts so gently as to cause her to be shuddering as if back in that damn meat freezer.
That got his attention. His gaze shot up, her nipple still balanced on the tip of his tongue.
He would have asked if she was fucking kidding, but that would have required taking his lips off this bap and there was no way in hell he was doing that.
He nodded enough for the affirmative and then returned to suckling in earnest, one to the other and back again. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Good."
"Gonna be more than good, luv," he promised, pushing her over on the bed and starting to unbutton his shirt.
Then he remembered her contempt for the unfortunate Anthony Manning's shagging technique. With a regretful groan, he gave her lovely tits another caress. He dipped his nose under one to breathe in the musk of her sweat's sheen, lingered there for a moment to have that tenderest of skin rubbing on his stubbled cheek. Then down to her navel, swirling his tongue around the dimple until she giggled, alternately tugging and pushing at his head.
"Yeah?" she finally moaned. Kicking free her bottoms, her long legs draped over his shoulders, her heel dragging up between his shoulderblades. He took that to mean she approved of his intention.
Pushing off his nervousness—he hadn't gotten any real practice at muff munching since that dirty weekend that had stretched into a week with that batty Kraut bird; count on some Shewolf of the SS to give him proper training.
His thumbs hooked in the elastic of her knickers and he slid them off to settle into the humid dark jungle between her thighs. As the steam and rich scent rose to meet him, he decided this wouldn't be such a chore after all. Helga's barked instructions fled his mind as he just latched on, licking and suckling at anything wet and soft. Her ever escalating whimpers told him that he must be doing alright though.
He dared to cast up his glance to see if she was just faking her pleasure and nearly tumbled over on his arse at the sight of her. She was his own Bond girl, all long limbs and tousled curls on the pillow, her eyelids half-closed but her caramel gaze keeping him pinned down. "Oh, Gene," she sighed and he nearly came in his shorts at the way she said his name. Yeah, just like that—He was Hunt. Gene Hunt. He'd wear black tie for this woman.
Back to it, lad. He pushed her thighs open wider, latched onto her clit and worked it with his tongue, vaguely remembering a good strong clip to the head from Helga as she's urged on this particular move. He received another blow as Alex suddenly bucked off the mattress, her heels thumping on his shoulders and she yelped as though he'd trod on her foot. He fell back, afraid that he'd done something wrong, but she reached for him frantically, yanking him back to her. Unsure, he kissed her inner thighs carefully. She murmured, "Too sensitive...Give me a moment..."
He cocked his head in confusion. Had he done that right? Was she pleased?
She saw his uncertainty; such a rare expression on him. Giggling, she grabbed his shirt collar and tugged him close, flicking the remaining buttons open and pushing the garment off.
Propped on his elbows over her, he went back to her tits. What he wanted anyway, he thought with a happy little groan.
Hearing that satisfied sound, she rolled her eyes, but moved along on her own want list. If he got to feel her up, she got to lay hands on him too. Pushing down his boxers, she took her time, tormenting him as he'd done to her, touching him with the lightest of touches. Tracing circles on his quivering thighs, her thumbs pressed on his narrow hips.
"Dammit, woman," he hissed in her ear, shifting to press his cock in her palm.
She gave a low chuckle, the confident sound of a woman with all the power.
But now he was the one wondering, "Do you want me?"
"Shush, shush," she urged, suddenly frantic.
She pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him again and again, her tongue and teeth making all sorts of promises. Her hand snaked down between their bodies, finally grasping his length. She had to break the kiss to mutter, "Oh boy..." She didn't begrudge Gene's answering smug chuckle.
Like grabbing a root, thick and solid, smooth polished wood but corded with strength. A head-spinning moment of doubt and fear, like being at the highest point of the swing's arc before jumping to see how far she could fly. She wasn't some size queen, but if it was there, she wasn't going to complain. All that bollocks about it's not the size but what they do with it—sometimes just that, bollocks. Technique wasn't everything, after all. His enthusiasm while giving her oral sex was worth more than any fancy tongue-twirling with that curl of the fingers in just the perfect spot. He'd been as eager as if wolfing down a dripping bacon buttie after an all night stakeout and she could really appreciate that for what it was.
Another giggle escaped, breaking their kiss.
His head popped up to glare at her. "Oi, Bolly. No bloke likes to hear a tart laughing when she's got 'er hand on 'is todger," he grumped at her.
She sputtered something, incapable of any witty repartee at this time. In retaliation, his hand burrowed between her thighs and she arched into the invasion. Okay, maybe he did know how curl his fingers just so...Win, win for her. She released a full-throated laugh, husky and filled with desire.
He loomed over her, that silver gaze pinning her down. He licked his fingers dry. "Right then. Let's get the wellies on and jump in."
He reached for the condom box and ripped one open with his teeth. Of course he would. She rolled her eyes again. He better have not damaged it with his showing off. His head was brushing the ceiling again. She lay back on the bed, trying to get her breathing under control—it wouldn't do any good to lose consciousness at this juncture, and her head did hit the wall.
Before he could roll the condom on, she stilled him. "Wait, I think—"
Think. Thinking never good, not when it was a totty about to let that bit of rough Guv put a leg over her. He slumped on the edge of the bed. With any other woman, he would have been furious, calling her a pricktease, but he could only just give a shrug. Close, but the cigar wasn't getting clipped tonight—
She stood. "Well come along then," she said in that bossy tone of hers.
He stared up at her. "Wot?"
"There's not enough room in this bloody bed," she said, ever practical despite being starkers in the presence of a bloke with a third eye beaded on her.
Holding out her hand, she repeating, "Come along."
He snatched up his box of condoms and trotted after her like a big-pawed Mastiff, complete with drool coming from the corner of his mouth.
In her room, Alex got down to business. "Right then," she said with that sharp-witted gleam in her eye that she had when scribbling evidence on her whiteboard. He should have realised that she wouldn't have a romantic bone in her body.
After sitting on the bed, she reached for the condoms. "Allow me—" she offered.
He shooed her hands away. "Not happening. I'd come all over you like some kid if you touch me again. For once I'll appreciate the numbing properties of a rubber."
She didn't take no for an answer. But she wasn't after the condom. Her fingertips grazed from his bottom ribs to his hipbones, making him hiss so he didn't giggle. He hadn't giggled since he was six, and yet he could barely control this impulse. She made him want to do a lot of things that would make the lads think less of him.
They weren't here though, having Alex Drake squeeze his arse cheeks while her lips and tongue travelled over the swell of his belly.
His head lolled back when her mouth went past his navel. No, this would not happen; if it did, things would end fast as a snap of the fingers. He'd already warned her how close he was—typical that she would not only totally disregard what he said, but now was going to really push it—
"Bloody hell, woman," he groaned when her mouth slid easily down his length, her tongue cuppng it as she came back up. Shivers shook his limbs. But he was weak. "Please," he whispered and yes, she slurped down again. Her hands were still roaming and he prayed she didn't—
And then she did, lifting and rolling his balls. He had a rule with birds, don't touch the knackers, but damn, he'd obviously been missing something good. He was a lot rougher when he took them out bowling himself, but this gentle pressure worked too.
Somewhere through the fog, he heard wet sounds. He managed to squint down and see that Alex had her hand between her thighs. Lightning crackled down his spine from his exploding brain toward his bollocks. Frantic, he squeezed around the base of his cock to keep from coming, the other hand gripping her shoulder to stop her from sucking him over the edge.
Once he had control again, he laced his fingers through her hair. "Just a bit more," he moaned, encouraging her to take one more slip and slide ride before tugging her free.
"Right then," he gasped out. "Where's them johnnies?"
When she reached for the box—he was pleased to see her hand shaking as much as his were—her breasts swung freely, the bright pink areolas and tight nipples calling again. Just one more thing...Fairly certain this was his only ride on this particular fancy pony, he wanted to shag her every possible way. Tick all the boxes he'd been lining up in his mind since he'd first caught a glance of white skin between the black lace topping her stockings and the flash of satin knickers barely hidden by that short red skirt.
"Come 'ere," he said roughly, and her gaze shot up to meet his, heated as low-burning embers. Standing between her legs, he palmed her breasts and shifted closer. Still wet from her mouth, his cock gleamed dark against the glaring white of her skin. She knew what he wanted and the edge of her mouth lifted in a dirty little smile. He had to grip his cock again to keep from coming all over that smug face—everything ached, from the need hanging low in his belly, to his balls, tight and hard now, to his head, both the one in his palm and the one thumping under his skull.
Sliding her hands up to her breasts, she pressed them around his tip, and rolled her head back to look at him again. Her tongue was caught in the corner of her mouth. "Gene," she whispered.
"Don't." He found his breath again. "Do a fucking thing."
A slow, mean grin spread across her face. She opened her thighs wider and he could smell her, a satisfying scent like when he cracked the seal on a new bottle of single malt. "I'm not doing anything," she said mildly as she pushed her tits snug to him, taking his full length.
He could actually feel tears hovering on his eyelids, but there was no bloody way that he was even going to blink, let alone close his eyes to block out this fabulously filthy thing that he was seeing.
He thrust slowly, almost carefully, just needing to feel the slide of her moth-wing soft skin and to watch his cock's head, swollen to ripe-berry bursting, appear through the swell of her tits, pre-cum balanced on the tip...A D cup was big enough to hold the Gene Genie, it seemed. That pink tongue of hers reached for it, but she'd have to release him to get at it...
"Shit!" He reeled backward, forcing himself to recall every bloated corpse he'd ever found floating in the Thames, but still shuddering on the edge of orgasm. When he could finally look back, Alex had sprawled out on the bed, legs open unashamedly, all pure white skin, red swollen lips and dark eyes-
"Right!" he barked. "Fucking rubber!"
That grin was back. She handed him a condom.
She watched him put it on with the same careful precision that he cleaned his gun. She appreciated that, but her impatient need was thumping at her apex. "Mush," she echoed, her fingers returning to between her legs.
Watching her as he finished his task, he said, "Filthy tart," with the deepest admiration, but then, "Move 'em aside, luv. Daddy's home."
"Oh, Gene!" she said, wincing in horror, but he didn't give her one more second to rethink this whole idea of sex with DCI Hunt, relic of dark days of policing in Britain. That lout, that brute—
Then he was on her, and it was as exciting and terrifying as racing through the streets in his car, the speed's power and centrifugal force drawing their bodies together with a thundering impact. They were hurling out the doors and down a dark alley, wrestling each other; he the blag, her the copper, then he on top and she panting and straining against his powerful limbs—the one he was going to lock up.
As a tall, strong woman, she'd spent too many relationships slumping down beside the man to assure he didn't feel diminished, or had been passive in bed to not overpower him. No danger with Gene Hunt. He was bigger, stronger, but expected her to fight right next to him. They rolled and writhed, each trying to be in the superior position. Her long legs fit knees to his armpits. His equally long thighs pistoned deep and true, no worry of some tiny bird broken at the power of his thrusts. She grabbed the bedstead like a banister rail, to keep from falling, to push herself higher, faster, overcome him. His hand gripped beside hers, pinning her down, supporting her, hanging on for dear life.
She could hear a distance voice, a woman, begging to be fucked even harder. What a silly creature—then Alex recognised her. Her face flamed, the blush spread its hot wave down her jostling breasts and clenched belly and the blue sky broke through the darkness to shine upon the sight of her. Turning her gaze away, she denied the bright wonder she saw in his eyes. Be anything but happy, Gene, she whispered.
"Wot?" he gasped, falling over to pull their bodies flush, side by side, now just undulating with slow strokes. His big hands pressed her lower back even tighter to him. His pelvic bone ground right...There...
Her cry was even more stark than what she'd been babbling. So much pain for so long, fear, anger, anxiety, found its voice in a sound, in a hot rush of blood, once cold and pooled safe in her heart, rushing through her limbs. She clung to him—safe as always.
Instead of the usual post coital exhaustion, she was exhilarated. The tremors still shook her as she wrapped her arms around him, demanding more. He knew she was a tough girl. She could stand with him, shoulder to shoulder, guns drawn.
"Get 'im, Guv," she growled, half giggle, half admonishment.
"Right," he panted, still managing to sound triumphant as well as close to death. He propped one of her legs on his shoulder, shifted their joined bodies until he could put one foot down beside the bed and started to hammer at her, gripping her hips in a vice hold, controlling everything; the depth, the angle, the speed—she came again, too soon but it had to happen; his domination scaring her to the point of hysteria and ecstasy. The way he irritated her, and drove her crazy and made her want to scream…who would have guessed that would lead straight to a great orgasm? Okay, she probably had known on some level—
Another ungodly sound, near a guttural scream, and she just let it go, not worrying about looking pretty or desirable or like the tarts in the blue films. She fought back, bucking up against his forceful hold, and his intense gaze heated to molten lead, his jaw tightened, but his grip lessened.
Swinging her ankle down from his shoulder, she wrapped both legs around his waist and pressed down again and again on his cock until his eyes rolled back and he cackled like some old Cockney barfly drunk on his pleasure and pain cocktail.
She repeated her ridiculous question: "Do you want me, Gene?" and he came in a flood of curses and head shaking, just as he did whenever she asked any other bloody nutty question.
She arched up against him again, slamming into the Quattro's passenger door one last time as he spun to a stop at the crime scene. Idiot. The dead body wasn't getting any less cold.
"Gene!" she gasped, falling back to the mattress.
"I know," he mumbled into her neck as he collapsed on her.
After the cacophony of squeaking bedframe, the headboard thumping on the wall, and their own bellowing, the room seemed deadly quiet. Gene raised his head cautiously, looking around at anything but Alex's face. He didn't know who he expected to be there—perhaps the Mannings, come to see what the hell the fuss was about.
Fingers brushed his hair off his sweaty forehead. Lips touched his chin, not quite a kiss. But he didn't feel a foot pushing him out of the bed, so he took that to mean he could stay. He settled his head on the pillow beside her. Good, because he didn't think that he could stand, let alone walk. When he lifted his arm, she snuggled under.
Still, he worried. And rightly so, when she said: "Gene—"
Here it came. While his simple lizard brain only wanted to bask in the blazing heat of their fucking, Alex Drake would want to talk. A lot. Vaguely, he wondered how hard he'd have to shag her to get her to shut up for even ten minutes. Whatever it was, he doubted that he was capable.
The tension in the air meant that he was expected to speak. "Yeah."
"You never answered me. Why did you bring me out here if it's not an op?"
He sighed deeply. There was no right answer to this. "You needed a holiday; I knew you wouldn't take one if I didn't trick you into doing it."
"Oh." Her palm was smoothing across his chest. He really did have the most lovely skin. It reminded her of petting the hide of a very well-bred Arabian stallion, the hair so fine and dense as to shed sweat and the sun's rays. Her lips followed her touch, and a deep rumble under her tongue made her smile. No, he was that lion after all. She thought about what he said, digesting, and her explorations stopped. He went still and tense under her.
"I see." She propped on her elbow and looked down on him. "So you didn't lure me out here with the idea to have your way with me?"
He winced. This was exactly the question for which he knew there was no good answer. Saying that he had no such plan meant that he wasn't attracted to her, or worse, he was some closeted pillow-biter who didn't know a great set of tits when he saw them. The alternative didn't sound any better; he had planned to get in her knickers all along, which made him a creeper, lying and sneaking instead of just being a man and asking her on a simple date.
But he had asked her on a date. Then she had picked a fight and gotten out of it. Hadn't had her damn sole. Maybe they could drive to the coast and get her that bloody fish yet...
"Well, Gene?"
His fags were back in his room. He wanted them desperately. He turned to kiss her but she put up her hand to stop his mouth from descending on to hers.
Sighing, he settled back on the pillow. "Fine."
She waited.
"You needed a holiday. Whatever that meant."
Studying his stubborn profile, the protruding chin, set mouth, she realised he didn't know either. Laying her head on his shoulder, she remained quiet. She needed him, and he was there; that was a good enough answer.
He took her silence as anger. "Want me to clear out of here?" He started to shift off the bed.
"If you want to go—"
"I didn't say that."
"You don't seem to want to stay."
He glared down at her. "What makes you think that?"
"You're leaving." She turned on her side, away from him.
Frustrated, he glared at the back of her head. He'd show her. He lay back down and folded his arms. She rolled onto her back and crossed her arms tightly too.
He really wanted his fags, he remembered. But he wasn't going to leave now.
Perversely though, where he'd wanted just to keep his hand on her tit and go to sleep, now he needed his own answers.
"Did your rump quiver?" he asked.
She wondered if this was a Northerner's way of asking if she'd came. Considering that she'd nearly blown the thatch off the roof with her cries, she found that a bit dense of him. Then she remembered, and just slapped his belly like the big drum it was.
His triumphant chuckle made her smile ruefully. Let him have his moment of glory. He crawled out of the bed just long enough to get rid of the condom, and returned to surprise her once more, how he wanted to snuggle his big head under her chin and cradle one of her breasts, fitting his long leg between hers. It was a comfortable intimacy that gave her instant unease, but he just fell right to sleep.
Men.
But then she found herself slipping off as well. She'd been so awake—alive—just moments ago. If this was going to her death, so be it, was her last thought.
Instead, dawn came soon enough. When the spot beside her was empty, she thought perhaps it had all been yet another crazy dream within a dream. Then the smell of spent sex, his distinct odour on the pillow, made it real.
She found her dressing gown and sought him out. No place to hide in this tiny cottage.
He stood in the back doorway, leant on one side of the jamb while his bare foot propped on the other, effectively blocking any exit. He was smoking and from the pile of butts on the outer step, had been for a while. He only wore a pair of unbuttoned trousers and his black overcoat. He had to be freezing in the autumn chill.
He turned to glance her way with almost shock in his sunrise-blue eyes. He'd probably thought it had all been a dream too.
She leant on the open door, heavy and oak, its weight reassuring her, and folded her arms against the cold, both from him and the damp grass outside. "Morning," she said vaguely, when nothing else came to her.
He was looking her over slowly, from bare, pale feet, one standing on the other for that little warmth, up to her tight nipples showing through the thin satin, to finally settle on her questioning gaze.
"Did I fuck things up?" she said.
He drew deeply from his cigarette, seemingly fascinated by his own bare foot on the jamb. "You?" he muttered.
She had to look away, silly, girlie tears threatening. Whatever happened or was said in the next few minutes, something told her that she must never let him see her cry.
"By throwing myself at you," she said, picking at a scab that last night hadn't healed. "This time, you couldn't get away."
"You dozy mare," he growled, "what, I'm some prat who can't even pull a bird on me own?"
She gave a half-hearted shrug.
"You're picking a fight, Alex." He flung the burned down cigarette away. "That means I'm being tossed over."
"I just thought—working with you is really important to me." She had to take a deep breath to regain control. "And I don't think at this time...1982...that a man and woman can work together and be—" She waved a hand aimlessly toward the ceiling.
He rummaged in his pocket for his smokes, but ended up just flipping the lid back and forth on the lighter while the cigarette hung unlit from his lips. "You're a good copper, Drake. I'd hate to lose you," he finally said out of the corner of his mouth. "The job's just too damn important."
"Okay." Another gulp of air. It was hurting a bit less each time.
When he bent his head to light up, his hair fell over his brow and she fought the urge to reach out and comb it back.
Exhaling smoke through his nostrils, his gaze finally darted her way. "But I've got the rental through the weekend..."
She had to close her eyes, but that only meant her mind played a quick film of every moment last night. Yet another deep breath. "I don't think that's a good idea." If they kept at this, they'd never be able to stop.
His turn to say, "Okay," tightly.
Now she was going to say something he definitely didn't want to hear. "Thank you, Gene. For everything."
"Best go back," he said, looking out across the mist-covered garden, not at her. Probably never really look at her again. Not that way he had for the past year, that ego-boosting yearning in every glance.
She hurried away to get dressed.
The Quattro was packed, the cottage cleaned up and the key left under the mat. Gene turned on the engine but didn't pull out of the drive. Through the knuckle holes in his gloves, she could see the skin was white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.
"Gene?" she prodded gently.
"We're still mates, right?"
Mates? She stared over at him, her mouth hanging open. He and Ray were mates! A mate...They had mated. She was his mate now...No, she would not use that term.
"Friends," she corrected and his mouth twisted in contempt at the soft southern word.
But he grumbled, "Friends then. Are we? Don't want to have fucked that up with my damn horn..."
She rolled her eyes. If it was going to do his ego better to think he was the grand seducer, so be it. "Yes. We're still friends. We'll still work together. No one has to know. I'm fine. You're fine."
He gave a short nod and finally released the clutch and the car eased forward. She studied his profile. He didn't look in her direction, but in that way she knew him every reflex, she knew that he was aware of her gaze.
"It's just that birds...Birds are that way."
He obviously had his own wounds to pick at, it would seem, Alex thought, raising her eyebrows.
"I'm not like other birds," she pointed out and that got her a very old-fashioned look shot her way.
"Too right," he muttered.
"We're friends," she repeated. It started to rain again and the beat of the wipers was a whisper of more questions and replies left unspoken between them, mile after mile.
When he finally pulled onto the motorway, she broke the silence. "Have you ever heard of friends with benefits?"
His brow furrowed with confusion. "Benefits?" He rolled the word on his tongue like he'd said 'rump' and then his faced cleared. "Benefits," he said with dawning wonder.
There. She'd put it out on the table. He could take it up in the future if he thought it could work. For once, she wasn't going to try to talk it all down into the ground. She let the subject drop, choosing to lean her head against the window and watching the raindrops streak on the glass.
Perversely, he could not. "Just..."
"Yes, Gene," she said with a sigh.
"Can I look at yo' tits one more time?" he asked, "that's a benefit, right?"
She opened her mouth to set him down, but then shrugged, reaching for her blouse buttons. She'd think of her own benefit for later.
~The End
E/N: Thank you for the warm welcome to this ship—this universe is definitely a challenge. But I adore Gene and Alex so painfully. Time to write some fix-it fic for their ending, I say!