This Old Man – S1 E2

D.I. Poole, Chief of Police for an entire island, the main bulwark between good and evil for 10,000 resident souls and countless visitors, protector of the weak and upholder of The Law – this man tried and true – THIS man falls back onto his pillow with a groan and a laugh, "Well, here's another day started with a bang!"

The object of this bon mot kneels above him and hums with contentment. She draws her hair up with both hands and stretches like a big cat, giving him an excellent view of an excellent sleek chassis that gleams in the early morning light. His hands sweep up of their own accord over her taut belly. He can feel her power thrumming under his fingertips. He shudders in delight but keeps a neutral face. If he gives her the slightest indication of his hormonal reaction to her then he will be pounced upon once more and this man – this man right here - THIS man needs a breather!

She looks down, carefully studies him. He gives her a sly smile and says nothing. She cocks her head and drops her mass of curls back onto her shoulders, "Mmmm, yes. It's the best way to start any day, don't you think?"

He nods languidly, gives a slow blink and a small moue, "Oh, sure. Gets the blood pumping and clears out the cobwebs. Right now I'm planning my whole day and I need to start it with a shower." He gestures to his hips still caged between her knees, "Um, do you mind?"

She gives him a knowing look, "Well, no, not really, as long as you don't go too far."

He sighs, "Oh, never fear, I doubt I can walk farther than the shower and back again."

She swoops down to nuzzle his throat, "All right, I'll let you go." A kiss into the hollow just above his left clavicle, "Mind if I join you?"

He smiles, "Not at all but you better start before me. By the time this old man gets his tired body out of bed, you'll already be lathered up for the second or third time. Honestly, Camille, how many lotions and potions do you need in order to face the day?"

She slides across him, a silky glorious glide. He keeps his neutral face in place but it's difficult. "As many as it takes to keep you captivated and my absolute love-slave," she purrs.

He gives her ass a soft pat as she reaches the side of the bed, "Oh, no fears there." She gives him another look as she stands. He waves her away, "Go ahead. I'll join you in a minute."

She nods, "Mmmm, a minute. Can I last a whole minute without you?"

He relaxes on his pillow, lacing his hands behind his head, "Sure you can. You lasted two whole years before this, didn't you?"

She calls back over her shoulder as she saunters away, that sweet ass swaying hypnotically. It's a good thing she didn't look back because his mask of neutrality slips quite badly. "Yes, I did. More fool me. I should have jumped you on our very first case. It would have saved us a lot of time."

She is out of sight. He hears small clinking noises and the jostling of many bottles and small pots. "Oh?" he calls back, relishing having the bed all to himself once more. "How so?"

She looks back round the door frame, her chosen medley of today's beauty products filling her arms, "We were all alone in that hotel room, you were stunned into silence by my tirade, and I'm sure William would have waited of-so-patiently for us to come back out." She gives him an evil smile before stepping back into the bathroom, "Eventually."

He chuckles and calls out, "Yeah and he would have had to wait a good long time, hey?" He hears her laugh in reply then the shower starts up. He sighs and wonders what wonderful scent she will wear today? Somehow she manages to smell different almost every day. So far he hasn't discovered the one he likes the best – he likes all of them but… yes, yes, I like her own smell, the smell of my Camille.

He shifts a bit then thinks, Actually, I like our combined smell, the smell of Camille/Richard. I imagine it's a pheromone cocktail that is lethal in the right hands. He stretches and grins. Oh, that cocktail is definitely in the right hands, all right! He would gladly OD on it if he could… except then he'd never get to enjoy it the next day. And the next. And the next.

He listens to her quiet movements and begins to hum low under his breath. It is some few moments before he realizes he is humming the tune of 'This Old Man'. He frowns. That's odd. What a strange tune to pull out of the air like this. Then he remembers. He'd called himself 'this old man' and something must have jogged in his memory.

He stills, sinking down through the years, searching for the last time he'd sung that song. Ah, yes. He'd been seven and only days away from the life-shattering discovery that he was going to spend the next ten years of his life in an all-boys school. No matter, the memory itself is bright and innocent.

He is in granfa's apple orchard with his best friend and they are watching rabbits. He smiles, eyes closed, and begins to gently sing:

This old man, he played one,
He played knick-knack on my thumb;
With a knick-knack paddy whack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

This old man, he played two,
He played knick-knack on my shoe;
With a knick-knack paddy whack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.

This old man, he played three,
He played knick-knack on my knee;
With a knick-knack paddy whack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling…

His reverie is interrupted by a cool hand laid on his forehead. He opens his eyes and gazes up with adoration, "There you are. What's wrong? Did I take too long?"

She smiles, "No, I heard you singing. I wish you'd sing more, I love your voice. What song was that? I've never heard it before."

He shuffles over and makes room for her. She nestles down into his side and he lets the sensations wash over him, so cool silky soft. Her damp hair rests on his shoulder and he sighs, "It's a very old song, out of Wales or maybe Ireland. My grandmother used to sing it to me. It's a counting song but I've always wondered about The Old Man's motivation."

She is nibbling but stops to ask, "Oh? Why? What's he up to?"

He gives her a quick hug, "He knick-knack paddy whacks various body parts until he gets to ten then he starts all over again."

She slips up onto an elbow and leans onto him, "Oh, I like the sound of this old man. Tell me, does he bear any resemblance to the not so old man you spoke of earlier?"

His arms go around her, "Do you know, I think he might but I'm going to skip all the numbers and go right to nine, if you will allow me the freedom."

She is inching up and over him, "Why? What happens at nine?"

He whispers into her ear, "He reaches your spine." His fingertips are running up and down the velvety groove of her backbone, stopping to flutter at the hollow just above the swell of her ass.

She arches her back and presses her hips into him. They both groan quietly. She settles back and catches his face to hold him still, "He's reached my spine, all right, and I'll tell you something else."

He flexes and feels his entrapment begin hot and tight, "What?"

Just before she swoops down to claim him, she grins, "I'm gonna need another shower."

He flips them over and stills for just a moment, the moment of calm before the storm, "That's fine by me. I never got mine." He lowers himself and breathes deep, "You smell so good and I can't get enough of you. I hope you don't mind too much." He adjusts her to his satisfaction and begins the dance.

She closes her eyes and pulls in a long breath, "No, I don't mind at all, Richard. Sing for me, will you?"

He hums for a long time, vocal and matrimonial rhythms keeping perfect pace.

She echoes him.

Knick-knack paddy whack becomes their newest code word.

END