Saturday night passed slowly into Sunday morning. Waking alone for the first time in days, Alex stretched and tried to enjoy the quietness and solitude. Not really working. She rolled onto her side and pulled Gene's pillow – the spare pillow – towards her, curling into it, breathing in his scent.

Good God Alex, you really have got it bad this time. The odd thing was, he remained the same neolithic Gene Hunt, the same shoot-first-ask-questions-later, old-school copper that he'd always been. She knew he wouldn't change one iota for her. Didn't really want him to. It was she who'd changed. Exposure to policing Hunt-style had reawakened her love of the chase and her excitement at putting away London low-life. She was relying on instinct and bending the rules more than she ever would have done in job in 2008, where spontaneity and risk-taking were greatly frowned upon. She supposed she had Gene to thank for that. And a bit more besides.

And now here she was, lying in bed, wondering what to do with her Sunday and trying not to think about Gene Hunt. She knew she should get a few groceries in but had a moment's hesitation about maybe missing a phone call. Giving herself a mental shake, she reminded herself sternly that she hadn't waited in for a bloke to call since she'd been desperate for a date at the end of term disco.

Other than the trip to the corner shop, though, she had little to fill her time. She mooched around her flat, trying to busy herself with housework, with cleaning and laundry. She studiously avoided looking at the telephone but couldn't stop herself wondering whether Gene would call her, what he would say if he did, how she should respond. She knew she could call him – even picked up the receiver – but the thought of his reaction was enough to defeat her. So she waited, wondering whether "I'll call you" meant "I'll call you tomorrow, can't go a day without hearing your voice," or "I'll call you next month, check you're not up the duff." Hmmph. She opened her cupboard but was all out of red. Heading downstairs to replenish supplies, she missed the sound of the phone ringing out in the briefly empty flat.

A couple of miles away, Gene Hunt put the receiver of his phone back in its cradle, letting out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Where was she? He'd spent the day wondering how long he should leave it before he called her. Too soon and he'd look like a creep. Too long and she'd give him hell and never speak to him again. Or do anything else. The last time he'd had to worry about that sort of thing, he hadn't yet begun shaving. Finally deciding that Sunday evening would be as good a time as any, he'd taken a deep breath and dialled her number. And then she hadn't picked up. Bloody woman.

What was he going to say to her, anyway? Bloody good shag, let's do it again? Didn't seem quite the right approach. And anyway, somewhere along the way, it had become more than just the shag. Did she know that? Did he want her to know that? She'd probably run a mile. Not for the first time, Gene reflected that life would be that much simpler if he she would just tell him what she wanted.

Sighing, Gene picked up the phone again and redialled her number. It rang ten, eleven, twelve times and Gene was about to give up again when he heard Alex's voice, breathy like she'd been running, saying hello.

"Alex. S'me. Er, Gene." Closed his eyes, wincing.

"Oh, hi. Wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon. How are you?"

Shit. "Fine. Am fine. You?"

"Great, actually. Busy day?"

No. Spent most of it thinking about you. "Pretty busy. Brought some work home. We're a DI down at the moment, you know."

"I heard something on the grapevine."

She sounded like she was smiling. That was good, right? He ran a hand across his eyes. "So, erm. If you're free tomorrow night, we could maybe go out for dinner? If you fancy it. Somewhere nice."

A huge grin split Alex's face; she was relieved he wasn't around to see it. "Okay," she replied, after a suitable pause. "Got anywhere in mind?"

Of course I haven't, you daft bint. How would I know anywhere nice? You're the one with the posh frocks and the silver spoon. "Yeah, I'll, um, book it tomorrow. Pick you up at eight?"

"Kay. Looking forward to it."

"Yeah. Me too."

"See you then, then."

"Yep. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Gene replaced the receiver and sat back in his armchair, a contented smile now working its way across his features. Perhaps he wasn't so bad at this after all.

xxxxx

At five to eight on Monday evening, Alex was pacing around her flat, telling herself for perhaps the hundredth time to calm down. It's only Gene, she told herself, the same man you've been working with every day for months, not bloody Prince bloody Charles. Nothing to worry about. All the same, she couldn't stop her stomach from flipping at the sound of the doorbell.

He was leaning against the door frame, keys jangling in his hand. His shirt was freshly pressed and he smelt of citrus and spice. Perhaps she wasn't the only one who'd made an effort.

He leaned towards her and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. He could feel her smile against his lips and smiled in return, relaxing just a little. "You ready? Or do you need to run around for five minutes, doing whatever it is women do before they can leave the house?"

"Ready," Alex laughed, picking up her clutch and a shawl for her shoulders.

Gene drove them into the West End, pulling up in Dover Street. He led Alex to a discreet front door that led into a lobby and coat-check area. The restaurant was in the basement, tables set far apart, white linen and red roses, cut glasses shining in the candlelight. A piano was set on a small stage in the corner. The waiter led them to their table and left them with menus and a wine list. Alex looked around, impressed. "Nice place. Been here before?"

"No. Luigi recommended it." Gene shifted uncomfortably, feeling out of place in the plush surroundings. He wasn't used to having waiters fussing over him or having to choose a bottle of wine from a menu that appeared to be several pages long. Not cheap, either. Still. She seemed to like it and he supposed he could put up with it.

"What? He didn't mind that we weren't eating at his, then?"

Actually, Luigi had been surprisingly helpful when Gene had approached him. An annoying twinkle in his eye, and a told-you-so expression on his face, but he'd come up with the goods so Gene couldn't really complain. "Couldn't wait to get shot of us."

"I can imagine."

Having made it through the ordeal of ordering food and wine, Gene began to relax and enjoy the evening. Alex was good company – funny, but not in her sometimes crazy way – and the meal was better than he expected, despite it being French. They chatted about nothing, agreeing to disagree about Margaret Thatcher and discovering a common interest in film noir and Raymond Chandler. As the waiter was clearing away their plates, Alex mused aloud about her future.

"I'm surprised I didn't get a call from DCI Blackwood today. I thought he'd be interested enough to get in touch."

"Who's he?"

"He's the DCI from Central and South division, where I put in for the transfer. I'd heard good things about him from the Super. Was hoping he could find room for me there."

"Ah." That bloody transfer application. He supposed he'd have to talk to her properly about it at some point soon. He just didn't really know what to say.

"Oh well, I suppose it's only been a day or so. Maybe he'd rather wait and go through the proper channels."

"Mmmm. Do you want desert? Or cheese?"

"Just cheese, I think. And coffee. Maybe I should give him a call tomorrow, see what he thinks of the idea."

"No! I mean, as you say, there are channels. I heard that he was quite the one for following procedure."

"Oh. I'll wait, then. Sounds like it could be quite a culture shock, after you."

Gene smiled and caught the eye of the waiter, ordering cheese and coffees and asking for the bill. Alex managed to suppress the urge to offer to go halves, knowing Gene would be offended if she did. Sexual politics was very different in 1981. Gene would need to pay, not so that she owed him a favour he could collect later but because it was the respectable thing for a man of his era to do. Maybe she'd be able to treat him next time.

Alex was quiet on the drive home. She was peeling away the layers surrounding DCI Hunt, getting closer to the real man beneath, and was finding to her surprise that she was liking what she found. He made her laugh, made her feel special and precious and very, very sexy. That is, when we wasn't infuriating her beyond measure. They stopped outside her flat and Alex turned to face him, putting a hand on his arm.

"Thank you, Gene. I had a lovely evening." She leaned across and placed a light kiss at the corner of his mouth. As she drew back she saw disappointment briefly flash across his face.

"The pleasure was all mine, Alex," he said gruffly. "I suppose you'll be wanting an early night, then. Don't worry. I'll just see you up and then get out of your hair."

"Gene," Alex said, her slight exasperation evident in her voice. "I can hardly believe I'm saying this to you, but you must stop being so oversensitive about this. Why would I want an early night? I don't want an early night. Please come up."

A beat, while Gene digested the rebuke. "Okay," he nodded, arranging his features into a stern pout. "But you'd better not be planning to take advantage."

Pulling a face, Alex led Gene up to the flat. She'd barely closed the door behind them before he was on her, arms around her waist, pressing urgent kisses against her lips, his hands stroking her back and cupping her bottom. "You look so beautiful this evening," he muttered as he pulled at the belt of her black silk shirtwaister. "I've been wanting to do this all night."

He freed the buttons holding her dress together, pushing it from her shoulders, allowing it to fall in a pool at her feet. He couldn't stop a low whistle as he took in the sight of her, dressed in a sheer black bra, silk knickers sitting low on her hips, lace-topped stockings and a pair of towering patent heels.

"Christ Almighty, Bolly. Are you sure you don't moonlight as a tom? You could make a fortune."

"You like what you see?" She stepped closer, put a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "If you're very, very good to me, I won't even charge."

"Oh, I'll be good, Alex," he murmured, pulling her to him and nibbling gently on her earlobe. "I'll be so good you'll forget your own name."

He kissed his way down her throat, across her collarbone and down to her breast. Swirling his tongue across her nipple through the fabric of her bra, he felt it tighten in his mouth and heard her mewls of pleasure. He sucked hard, friction from the bra increasing the sensation, and she cried out, head thrown back, hands tangled in his hair and holding him to her. "Oh, yes, Gene, that feels good, so good," she moaned.

He ran his hand down her body, lifting her leg so it curled around him. It brought them closer and she could feel his cock, hard and strong, pushing against her. She ground her hips into his, the silk of her knickers rubbing against her swollen clit, and he swept his hands across her arse, holding her tight against him.

"God, Alex," he muttered against her tits, "you feel bloody amazing." She tugged on his hair, pulling him up to her and taking his mouth with hers, drowning in the taste of him, squirming against his chest, her thigh rubbing against his hip.

"Want you, Gene," she murmured as he nibbled his way down her throat, sucking and biting at the sensitive spot where her neck joined her shoulder. "Please, now." She lowered her foot to the floor and began tugging at his shirt buttons, pulling away his tie, pushing his shirt over his head while he reached round her to flick open the clasp of her bra, slipping it from her shoulders. Their bodies pressed close, her fingernails scraping along his back as she pressed frantic kisses onto his face, her mouth against his, tongues entwined, the air pierced by cries and gasps and moans of desire.

She dragged her fingers down his spine, curving around his arse as he thrust against her. He felt her hands fumbling at his belt and groaned as she lowered his zip, her fingers grazing the length of his cock as they went. He kicked away trousers, shorts and socks, toed off his boots and stood naked before her. She was mesmerised by him, his solid chest, long legs and most of all his hard, heavy cock, throbbing at his centre. Biting her lip, she fell to her knees, desperate to taste him.

"So beautiful, Gene," she breathed as she closed her mouth around his cock, licking around the tip, his sharp, musky taste leaving her gasping.

"Jesus," he groaned, his hands in her hair as he held her against him. "So good."

She ran her hands over the cheeks of his arse, pulling him closer, taking him deeper into her throat. Sucking hard, she drew a moan of pleasure from him, and she closed her eyes, lost to the thought of everything but the feel of him filling her mouth. She moved a hand round to the base of his cock, across his balls, underneath. He opened his legs slightly and she explored further, all the time working him with her mouth and her tongue but now also caressing with her fingertips, stroking from his balls to his arsehole. She rubbed against it until he allowed her fingertip to enter and as she crooked it gently towards her she heard shouts of pleasure emanating from deep in his chest.

Holding her finger there she continued to suck on his cock, faster now, deep in her throat, driven mindless by the taste of him. She squirmed as she knelt, her clit pulsing between her legs, needing him to ease her ache. His knees began to buckle and he pulled her away, groaning his need to be inside her.

She allowed him to tug her back up to standing, sharing fast, wet kisses as his hands slid beneath her knickers and across her clit. "You're soaking," he growled, slipping two fingers inside her, his thumb continuing to circle her clit. "I know what you want, Alex. I know you want my cock in you."

"Yes, please, Gene," she begged. "Fuck me, want it now."

He pushed at her knickers, sweeping them over her arse until they fell to the floor, leaving her only in stockings and heels. He turned her round and she planted her hands firmly against the wall, her back arched and legs apart, head turned round to him, eyes darkened by passion as they raked him up and down. He came close, his chest against her back, hands feathering across her hard nipples, teeth biting at her shoulder and the base of her neck. She felt his cock slide between her legs and as it slipped against her throbbing clit she cried out, shaking with need. Reaching down she guided him into her and he pushed to the hilt, filling her completely.

Thrusting into her, deep and hard, she cried his name as he pinched at her nipple, his breath hot at her ear, ragged as his control began to slip. "So good, Alex, want you so much," he muttered, stroking from her breast across her stomach, reaching down to flick at her aching clit.

"Gene, yes," Alex cried, the familiar heat now spreading across her body. "I'm coming, Gene." He grabbed her hip with his free hand, holding her firmly against him as he thrust deep into her and she clenched around him, shouting his name as she came. Gene followed quickly, driven over the edge by the feel of Alex tighten around his cock, grunting against her shoulder as he flooded into her, her name on his lips at the end. She sagged against the wall as the final waves of her orgasm rippled through her, his weight heavy on her back, his arms wrapped around her, lips planting kisses at the back of her neck as he held her close.

Finally slipping out of her, he turned her around in his arms and kissed her slowly, catching her small sighs of satisfaction in his mouth. "That," he murmured huskily, "was bloody amazing."

She smiled in agreement, not yet able to find her voice. He lifted her carefully and carried her to the bedroom, setting her down gently and sliding alongside her. He stroked a hand along her body, dipping at her waist and over the flare of her hip, stopping at the top of her stocking. He slid it slowly down her leg, kissing the flesh as he revealed it, dropping it on the floor before repeating the action with the other. Alex smiled lazily, stretching, pulling Gene into a soft, gentle kiss. "Nightcap?" she asked.

"Hip flask's in my jacket pocket," he replied, feeling in need of the 10-year-old single malt he'd refilled that morning. She swung her legs off the bed and went in search of the flask.

As she bent to pick up Gene's jacket from the floor in the hallway, she reflected on their recent encounter. Shouldn't it be getting mundane by now? Now that the joy of discovery was over, now that she knew every inch of his body and how it felt next to hers, shouldn't it be getting less exciting, more ordinary every time? She knew that had happened with her other casual flings; the sexual spark faded with familiarity, boredom set in and eventually she'd moved on. But this was different. With Gene it was actually getting better, more exciting, more fulfilling with each encounter. She shook her hand slightly in disbelief. What on earth was happening to her?

Rooting around for the flask, she pulled out a piece of paper she recognised; the note she'd left him that first morning, the one he'd lost. She smiled that he'd kept it, putting it back in the pocket. As she did her fingers hit the flask and she pulled it out, along with some other paperwork she'd seen before. Her transfer application forms. What the hell? She froze for a moment, the glow fast leaving her body, as she turned the forms over in her hand. Anger growing, she dumped his jacket in a heap where she'd found it and she stormed back into the bedroom, a hundred livid questions fizzing through her brain.