False Alarm
Epilogue Part One.
Oh dear. Playing with those lovely characters I don't own but wish I did again. Remember this is an M rating for a reason.
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'Insurance, Shaz. Insurance. If word ever gets out about last night's experiment with bondage then this -' He shook the rapidly developing photograph, '- this gets sent to Ray's dear old Mum back in Manchester. Think on ladies and…' he coughed, glancing back at Ray - 'Yes, just think on.' And with that he walked out to join Alex.
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Ray swirled the beer dregs around his glass. 'Okay. I'll do it.' Gripping the edge of the bar he leant back into a decisive hard-man pose. 'Just one condition.'
Gene registered Ray's empty glass and jumped to the natural conclusion that Ray's services could be bought for the price of a drink.
'Certainly Raymondo. Luigi…' Ray patted his pockets as Gene sought the attention of the permanently flustered Italian. 'Refill of your finest ale when you're ready landlord.' Gene leaned over the bar, making sure Luigi had seen the note between his fingers.
'I know your beer's only fit for polishing silver, but pop in a couple of whisky tops for my friend and my good self, and I'll even cross your sweaty Italian palms with silver.' Gene grinned, then, feeling the need to elaborate, added 'We're celebrating.'
Luigi busied himself pouring drinks. Gene certainly looked like he was happy - but who knew what the irascible policeman could do next.
Ray's hands connected with what he was looking for. He pulled his cigarettes and lighter out of his jacket pocket. This was going to be harder than he thought. For once his Guv wanted him to do something for him and while a man was always chuffed to be asked Ray needed Gene to do something for him in exchange. It had been a long time coming, but at last Ray was in a position to bargain. After all who else was Gene going to get? Poirot, Bammo, Chris?
'If I'd have realised you could be bought with a few drinks I'd have collared you days ago.' Ray winced as Gene slung a heavy arm round his shoulder and crushed him in a matey squeeze.
'Your drinks.' Luigi pushed the pints across the bar and Gene released his hold on his drinking partner in favour of his whisky laced pint. Ray rubbed the blood back into his shoulder as he waited for Luigi to move out of earshot.
Drawing a deep breath Ray broke the companionable silence and spat out with more aggression than he intended, 'The photo, boss. That's my condition.'
Gene's eyebrows shot up as he spluttered into his drink. He turned to see Ray's lighter shoot out a defensive flare as Ray lit the cigarette now dangling between his lips. The glare of Ray's blue eyes through the smoke told him the man was serious.
'Which photo?'
'That photo, photo.'
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Gene stepped out into the corridor intending to follow Alex - but she was nowhere to be seen. The only sign of life was the soft scrape of an out of order sign swinging gently on the handle to the Ladies. So that was her game, was it? Checking to see no-one was watching he pushed tentatively at the door. This was unknown territory. Gene Hunt didn't do Ladies' loos. He'd barely got a leg through when his arm was caught in a tight grip and he was dragged in.
She stepped back towards the tiled wall, her kiss pulling him with her. Her hands gripped the back of his neck, his shoulders, then his back, clinging to him like he was her life raft. He could taste the urgency on her lips; feel it in the hands snaking inside his jacket, pulling on his shirt, fingernails testing his skin; hear it in the moans escaping into his mouth. The thunder of desire raged through his head: his need was greater. They'd have five minutes tops before the unwashed hordes of CID would be wondering where they were.
His fingers groped the firm cheeks of her arse. He ground his hips into her, showing her the strength of his desire. Crashing his mouth onto hers he pushed her head back against the wall not stopping when the back of her head reached solid ceramic. He kissed her roughly, his teeth clashing against hers as his tongue searched for her half-forgotten taste.
The outside of her skirt ruched against its lining as he skimmed her hips with his hands. Sparks of static jumped to his fingers. She was electrifying.
Abandoning his appropriation of her rear he slid a hand up to her breast. He gripped it hard, sweeping the side of his thumb across her hard nipple pushing it impossibly inwards. Her hands found his arse.
He closed his eyes and pulled away from her lips, moving instead to her neck. He felt her breath against him, she was trembling with expectation. Knowing they would have to break this contact soon he took a moment to enjoy the moment - the panting of desire on the brink - then the memory of Ray in her red and black satin peep hole bra flashed through his brain.
He opened his eyes. He drew a long in breath calming himself with the sweet smell of her hair. Damn Ray breaking into his thoughts. Damn him barging in between him and this gorgeous woman. He ran a possessive hand down her body, over her stomach and pausing to apply delicious pressure between her legs. She groaned. Her hands were on his chest now, tweaking his nipples. He cupped her sex through her skirt, squeezing the coarse fabric between her legs. He tried looking into her eyes, drowning in the want he saw there, but the sensations in his body were too intense, his eyelids fluttered shut releasing another unbidden image of Ray, sitting on the toilet, hairy legs akimbo and 'her' knickers barely containing his meat and two veg.
Alex adjusted her head to give him access to her neck. He dropped his lips to the base, pushing the image of Ray away. Unconsciously kissing turned to sucking, and sucking turned to biting. The hands exploring his chest pushed him away in protest.
He spun away from her, disgusted with himself for confusing her with images of Ray - bloody hell, Ray! - Disgusted for taking it out on her.
He strode across the white tiles to the window. Pretending to find something interesting in the view of dustbins and garages below. He leant his head against the glass, resisting the urge to bang his head repeatedly against it.
'We shouldn't have done that.' He said by way of explanation.
'Don't say you're drawing the line at some heavy petting in the Ladies Gene?'
'Heavy petting?' He watched her put her hand to her neck and rub. He almost couldn't bear it. 'No.' He sighed, turning away. 'To Ray.'
'But you went along with it. You just said you were glad you'd listened to me. You said it gave you the best laugh you'd had in years. '
He said nothing. He could hear the tension rising in her voice. Her failsafe snotty belligerence coming to the surface.
'I know.' He said sadly.
He knew he was endangering loosing everything all because he couldn't get the picture of the station's hairy chump out of his head but he didn't know what to do.
He rested his head against the glass again. It had to mean something didn't it? Seeing pictures of nearly naked blokes in your head when you were straight.
What would she say if he told her?
Some tosh about psychological motivators no doubt. Jealousy? - it certainly wasn't that.
Guilt? Would they have to make it up to Raymondo for taking the piss out of him?
Possibly.
Fear?
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He heard the soft click of the door behind him and thumped the glass. That was it then. Fear. Fear of not being good enough for her. Fear of her leaving him, fear of her taking him for a fool.
A weaker man might have cried, but he wasn't a weaker man. He was a man about to get pissed. He reached into his pocket for his flask. There wasn't enough whisky in it to anaesthetise his utter feeling of loss but a man had to start somewhere.
He was draining the last drops as simultaneously the fire alarm went off and the door opened. He didn't look round.
Whoever it was ignored his ranting that the toilets were out of order and they should learn to read and bugger off or else risk being burnt alive. Whoever it was, slipped her hands over his eyes.
'Guess who?'
'Dorreen.' He'd said, bluffing.
'Who the hell is Dorreen?' This was good. She was back and acting jealous.
'Works in the canteen. Always gives me extra portions.'
'Pushing sixty with most of her own teeth…?'
He turned to face her. He should have known she wouldn't give up on him that easily.
'What did you go out for?'
'This', she answered, swinging the polaroid camera by its strap and thrusting it into his hands.
He lowered his eyes to consider the black box, staring at it like it had landed from Mars.
'What's this for?' He asked not raising his gaze.
'Taking pictures Gene.'
'Well I know that…' He heard the grate of a zip opening and looked up. She'd stepped away from him. Her hands moved to her sides as she shimmied the skirt over her hips. His eyes widened as the garment fell to the floor revealing the swinging straps of a red lace suspender belt and matching knickers.
'Ray got what he deserved Gene. If he wanted to keep his infantile fantasies private he shouldn't have tried getting his jollies hiding underneath my bed.'
'What?' Gene couldn't believe his ears. 'He can't have, he'd only just come in…'
'I thought you knew - why you were so keen.' She looked at his disbelieving face. 'The evidence says he was there.'
'What evidence?' He was getting ready to combust.
'The rather damp piece of tissue paper I found while you were in the bathroom.' She advanced towards him toying with the buttons on her blouse. 'But I don't want to think about Ray now, do you?'
'No.' He agreed. Ray had got what he had deserved, and no, he didn't want to think about Ray. He didn't want to think about Ray in women's undies, picture Ray in women's undies, or talk about Ray in women's undies. What he wanted was to hold the beautiful woman in front of him and never think about Ray in women's undies ever again.
All he wanted to think about was Alex, but the rather insistent ringing of the fire alarm was threatening to spoil his fun.
'You know we'd better get out of here - before we risk getting burnt to death like a couple of Doreen's best sausages.' He screwed the top on to his flask and pocketed it inside his jacket, slightly dismayed she seemed to be still undoing buttons.
'Monday, 11 o'clock: fire drill. You really should learn to read your memos Gene.' He tried not looking at the creamy tops of the breasts she seemed intent on revealing, knowing if he did he'd be lost.
'Viv will still want to account for us.'
'Already done Gene.' The blouse finally open he allowed himself a look, drawing in an admiring breath as she exposed her shoulders and let the red silk fall to the floor.
'Now what?' He coughed, suddenly nervous as her hand went up to her neck again.
'Now we put to rest the reason why you did this.'
He spun on his heel - turning to the window again. He knew she was a bloody good psychologist but she couldn't see inside his head - could she?
Her hands rose to his shoulders as she tried kneading his tensions away. He sighed. No way could she come even close.
Her breath warmed his neck. 'You think if I can make a joke out of Ray that easily - then one day I could make a joke out of you, don't you?'
He had to give it to her: psychobabble amounted to something after all. He nodded dismally.
She spun him round to face her and thrust the camera into his hands.
'Take a photo Gene. One shot. One time offer only. Ten minutes left. Entire station to chose a location from - interview room, one of the cells, your office?... Here?...'
He flung the strap purposefully over his shoulder and drew the camera up to his eye, framing her earnest face in the view finder before lowering the camera again.
'So I get to keep this photograph?' He asked, not quite believing her proposition.
'You get to keep it.' She assured him. 'Insurance, wank material, blackmail… yours forever.'
She advanced towards the long mirror above the row of sinks, cupping her breasts through her bra and adjusting her look in the mirror. 'Just think Gene - what's it to be? Saucy undies or….' She reached behind her to unstrap her bra, 'topless?' Easing the straps over her shoulders and letting the bra drop into the sink she pushed a plump round breast towards her face, sticking her tongue out as if attempting to lick her hard nipple, 'like this? Or...' She whispered seductively, turning to run a finger down his chest and over his groin, bending her knees in front of him, hands at his belt, 'You in my mouth….?'
He pounced, grabbing her by the wrist, pulling her up from the floor.
'Drake, my office. Now.' He pulled her out of the ladies, marched her down the corridor and into CID, manhandling her into his lair and pulling the blinds down furiously.
'Can't take a photograph without light Gene.'
'Bugger.' He exclaimed, releasing the blinds just as quickly as he'd pulled them down, leaving her standing in the centre of the room, waiting expectantly.
'Seven minutes.' She reminded him.
'Desk.' he ordered, sweeping the surface clear and sending a ream of papers fluttering to the floor.
'Front, or back?' She asked demurely.
'Back.' He whispered, scarcely believing she was going to go through with this. Palpitating as she approached the desk.
'Knickers,' she hissed. 'On, or off?'
'Whatever you feel most comfortable with.' He answered gallantly fighting for breath.
'To the side it is then.'
She climbed onto the desk as elegantly as she could. Gene wiped the sweat from his face.
He kept bringing the camera up to his face, walking round the end of his desk, climbing on the chair, trying to picture how he could best photograph her. She was lying on top of his desk now, head propped up by an elbow, breasts bare, nipples hard, one hand down her knickers, exposing herself to him and touching herself at the same time.
It took all his resolve not to leap on her and feast on her delights that instant. Instead he looked through the camera. She looked like a woman in a porn mag, better than them because she was real.
She smiled, enjoying his gaze, loving his admiration, his nervous adoration of her and suddenly he knew exactly the picture he would take.
Raising the camera to his eyes he found the right angle and clicked.
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TBC.
In the distant future probably - but reviews do encourage me, if that's a good thing.
Please note. In the 80's there were no mobile phones, no network sites - a nudie pic couldn't transmit round the world in a couple of clicks. Please remember Alex is a trained psychologist - ie. She knows what she is doing and Gene - unlike most today - is a proper gentleman.