Hunt felt sure she was about to slap him again when she took hold of his hand. He wasn't sure how to defend himself against her affectionate response. He looked into her eyes, playful and glowing with something he didn't understand. He was in no hurry for her to let go of his hand, though, allowing himself a small moment to enjoy it.

They sparred lightly and, just as he was sure she was going to release his hand, she put her other hand over it too. It was like being plugged into a mains supply of electric life. He was totally distracted now, her hands warm and soft, and was suddenly somewhere else in his mind, her hands still touching him, softly clinging to him as she let him run his own hands over her naked form. He blinked, realizing she'd just said something about leaving.

"Don't have to go yet, I've only just got 'ere." He said, gulping at his wine to clear his mind of that wicked image of her and then nails were digging into him and that really wasn't part of that image. Well, not like this, anyway.

"Good god, Bolly, you trying to cut it off?" He looked at her, seeing her eyes shining with tears as she shook her head and let go of his hand. She looked as lost as he'd ever seen her, her curls tumbling round her face, her shoulders slumped hopelessly in a red satin blouse. The thought crossed his mind that she might be wearing the red basque under it, and he suddenly felt like slapping himself. Time and place, Hunt, you clumsy dolt, she's crying.

He cast a quick glance round the bar, but there was no one else there he knew, and right then he didn't much care anyway. He wanted to hold her, and yes his motives were mixed, but that was how it was with this irritating posh bird who he wanted and hated and…

He grabbed her hands and pulled her to him, let her sob her heart out in his arms, kissing her head like she was a frightened child. She looked up, her eyes about as beautiful as he'd ever seen them.

"Gene, take me upstairs." She was subdued, but sounded certain. He swallowed down the sudden need to kiss her properly. Time to stop pissing about, Hunt, you're not a bleedin' Casanova, look after the woman. Like so many times before, he scooped her up, and this time he felt her yield to it, and damn, that felt good.

He got them to the top of the stairs and set her down at the door. She slid the key in the lock, her hands shaking. He closed his hand over hers and turned it, swinging the door open and carrying her through. She'd left one lamp on, and he navigated through to the bedroom in the dim light. He set her down on the bed, a little too heavily, his hair falling into his face a little.

"Right." He said, firmly, catching his breath, watching her lie there, slightly curled on her side. He deliberately straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Drake."

Time to go, sunshine he told himself as he turned away, but she caught his hand suddenly, lifting her self up a little on the bed. Her curves were so obvious in the half-light, the satin of that blouse making him see things he wasn't sure he really could.

"Please, Gene. Stay with me." She pleaded, and yes, there was a little-girl-lost there, but there was also a woman, real, fiery and in need of a serious seeing-to. He knew how this worked.

"You're drunk, Bols, and I might not always know when to hold back a thump, but I know when to hold up my trousers. Get some sleep."

"I'm not drunk, but I am sure I can't be alone right now." She said steadily, shaking her head slightly, the tumble of those curls mesmerizing him, as she pulled his hand towards her. He could feel the steel of her determination, and felt his own resolve begin to buckle against it. He let himself sit on the edge of the bed, interlacing his fingers with hers in a rather half-hearted attempt to maintain distance and self-control.

"Bolly…" He began, but she put her other hand to his mouth, drawing herself up onto her knees on the bed in front of him.

"Sh.. shut up, you bloody-minded, stubborn, arrogant, cocksure bastard. I am asking you to stay with me, right here and now because… because I don't even know if there's going to be a tomorrow and I don't have time for all the goodbyes I want to say and I am so, so tired of thinking and…"

He told himself he was kissing her to shut her up, but he knew it was a bald-faced lie. He was kissing her because he was damned sure he wanted to, and he knew it more with every second his mouth tasted hers. His good intentions were a memory as he took her other hand and pushed her back on the bed, his heart racing as he realized she offered no resistance, just gentle, open, unhesitating surrender, both arms above her head, even.

He pulled back enough to look into her big pretty eyes again, and then he was completely lost in the kiss, in the trust she placed in him, and in the knowledge that whatever was coming, he would fight for her when she couldn't fight for herself. He would hold her hands to the end of time if he had to.

And that's it for this one, I think, I'm all wrung out with the angst! :-) It's hard work being in the heads of these two.