A/N: A little more explicit in this chapter... hey, I love hot Galex :D For the weak-stomached, please look down to Molly's part and read that. Please remember to review! Jazzola :

Several hours, a few towels and a lot of moaning later, the intrepid explorers were lounging in bed, Gene's ankle resting on a small rut of duvet as Alex's foot stroked up and down his leg idly, her head resting on his naked chest. The feel of her thick hair sneaking between his chest hairs made Gene's skin tingle happily, his chin brushing her crown as he leaned back on the headboard, counting his blessings as Alex blew gently onto his nipple, stroking her hip beneath the duvet.

"Any pain?" Alex asked gently, prodding at his foot with her toes, making him wince.

"'S fine if yer don' prod it."

Alex smiled, draping her arm over his stomach and idly pinching his buttock, earning herself a cheeky look.

"Just can't get enough, can yer, Bolls?"

"Well... you are all mine now, though..." Alex purred, moving closer to him, pressing her body against his as he shifted to cover something up, looking down at her with eyes darkened with lust and love.

"Not anybody's, Bolly. I'm the Gene Genie. My own man."

Alex snuck her hand beneath the covers to find a certain rigid something, hard and hot against her hand, beginning to stroke and cup it as he tensed, his body responding almost instantly, his length seeming to reach out for her, a little moisture seeping from the top as his lips parted, his breathing erratic. Her face split into a broad grin as she halted abruptly, making Gene's throat draw in a breathy gasp, his eyes swerving to hers.

"Whose are you?" Alex whispered in a seductive, sugar-sweet voice, her nails pinching Gene's manhood. Gene gave a stranged whimper.

"Fuckin' bloody..."

"Whose are you?"

Gene yelped as her fingers brushed against his balls, finding the straining skin, caressing his crotch as she pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, her mouth finding his pulse, feeling the heart beating desperately beneath.

Her fingers withdrew suddenly, making him groan, reaching out for her hand, for the magical fingers; her fingertip grazed against his foreskin, making him wince with desire and need, his whole body shuddering at her touch.

"Bolly... Jesus, please, yer can't stop now..."

"Tell me whose you are, and I'll keep going," Alex whispered, sex dripping from each word as her palm squeezed his balls. Gene writhed, moaning gently, her cruel administrations enough to drive him crazy but not enough to tip him over the edge.

"I..."

"Come on, Gene..."

"I... am... bloody yours, you bloody sexy, magical, irritatin' woman!"

Alex beamed, her hand squeezing his member, easing up and down as Gene gave himself up to blissful oblivion, stars blinking and the aqua duvet shining in his blurred eyes as he came.

Maths always dragged. Always.

It was such a cruel irony, Molly reflected as she sat with her biro in her hand, the sheet of maths problems in front of her. When she was watching TV with Gene or shopping with her mum or dragging them to the cinema or the local pizzeria, time was as slippery as gas, it was gone before you really saw it. And when you were bored out of your skull, with no-one to laugh with or listen to policing stories from, it seemed to take an eternity, an entire pizzeria trip, an entire film, an entire TV programme or shopping trip, for just one second to pass.

Her maths teacher looked up, a frown on her face as she saw Molly staring vacantly at the clock. Catching Molly's eye, she mouthed, "Do you need some help?"

Another cruel irony. Her maths teacher was as sweet as Gene's tea, yet Molly could never enjoy her classes.

A knock on the door startled the girls, and most of them swerved to look: DI Ray Carling stood there, an awkward look on his face, his warrant card outstretched. At the back of the classroom, Catherine Finley slid down in her seat, covering her face with her hair.

"Need ter take Molly Drake outta yer class, madam. She's needed at Fenchurch East CID."

"Has something happened to Mum or Dad? Are they OK?"

Molly stood up, knocking her pencil case off the table as she did so, barely glancing down at it as she stooped to grab it and shoved it in her bag. Ray shook his head.

"Yer mum an' dad are fine, Molls. We, er, need yer in connection wi' a case. An incident that took place in yer street a couple o' days ago."

There was something amiss, Molly decided, but she didn't really mind going with the flow. After all, it got her out of maths. The relief on Catherine Finley's face was enough to make her giggle.

"Sorry, madam," Ray muttered to the maths teacher, who smiled, shaking her head.

"Not at all, er, DI Carling," she said sweetly, looking down at his warrant card and then back up at him. Ray smiled at her, watching as she reached out to guide Molly forwards with her eyes glued to his, watching him through thick eyelashes as Ray gave her a wink and steered Molly out towards the car, bustling her in and making sure to fasten the seatbelt as he headed back onto the main road. Molly sighed to herself, remembering what her mother had said: "Ray Carling would flirt with a lamp-post if it had boobs."

"So, what's this "incident", then?" she asked, wiggling her fingers, a perfect imitation of her mother. Ray winced.

"Er, yeah. We'll, er, fill yer in on that when we get in."

Molly's arrival in CID was greeted with a host of sheepish smiles from the people who quickly gathered around her, watching the young girl raptly as she plumped down on her mother's desk chair; with their keen gazes on her, Molly began to feel like the Pied Piper leading rather oversized children.

"So?" she asked, folding her arms, once again a faultless miniature DI Drake. Ray picked something up off Chris' table and tossed it over to her: a case file.

"We, er, needed ter know what..."

He leaned over her shoulder and pointed with a thick finger to one word in the file, the word "masticate".

"Shaz isn' in an' nor is DI Drake, an' our dictionary 'ad the Ms missin', so we, er- we needed ter know what it means."

Molly's mouth gaped open. The whole of Fenchurch East CID, with all its combined brainpower and resources, if half a dictionary could be called a resource, was reduced to calling on their DI's daughter in the absence of the academics of the office.

"It means "to chew"," she said slowly. "To eat something. If you masticate on a steak, you eat it."

CID's members looked round at each other, eyes wide, shuffling from foot to foot as Molly stood up.

"Is that all you needed?"

They nodded slowly. Chris gave an awkward giggle, which quickly died at the looks from his fellow officers.

"I'll take yer back ter school, then," Ray said quietly, picking his car keys up, both cheeks a glorious shade of red.

"Back so soon?"

"Molls co-operated very well," Ray said evenly, pushing Molly forwards gently. Her maths teacher smiled, directing Molly back inside.

"Well, thank you, DI Carling," she said gently, once again using Ray's full title. The man's chest swelled.

"That's OK, Miss, er...?"

"Terri," the woman murmured. "Terri Jamieson."

Ray grinned.

"No problemo, Terri."

And before either Molly or the maths teacher could react, Ray had gently taken the pen from Miss Jamieson's hand, eased her sleeve up and written his phone number on her arm.

"If yer fancy meetin' up," he said saucily, winking at her as he gave Molly a pat on the back and headed back to his car, almost skipping into the driver's seat as he slotted the keys in. Molly groaned silently, dumping her things on her desk and trying not to think how awkward it would be if her parents' colleague and good friend was going out with her maths teacher.