I don't own Ashes to Ashes

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"Lose the shirt, Gene." Her whisper was shaky and nervous, and he didn't question her when he saw the look of hurt on her face. With a pang, he realized he must reek of sex, booze and fags, and pulled away from her.

"Sorry," he said, voice pained. "I'll just... can I use the bathroom?"

Alex nodded, pulling away and looking at the wall, swiping angrily at the unbidden tears that slid from her eyes; she had no right to be jealous. It was perfectly acceptable for him to sleep with whomever he pleased, and it shouldn't bother her like this, in this painstaking way that made her heart muscle clench. But the honest truth was, it hurt to know that he could so easily swan from the arms of someone else and arrive back here with such blatant disregard for... for what? For the fact he spent every night with her in case she broke down? Was she being irrational, to expect him to remain celibate? Of course she was, she told herself; he hadn't sworn his love and devotion to her, they weren't a couple –Christ, they weren't even really sleeping together- and he had made it quite clear that first morning that whatever they were, they would not, could not be a couple... So she was wrong to expect him to abstain from women... but looking at him as he rifled through his drawer, pulling out a pair of jeans, she thought he looked ashamed, guilty, almost sorrowful...

"Back in a bit," he said gruffly, and in a moment he had disappeared into the bathroom, and she could hear the shower running, water shooting down heavily, imagining the small rivulets running down his neck, over his back... Shaking herself, she gathered her dressing gown around her, walking into the kitchen and pulling down two glasses and a bottle of whiskey that Gene had insisted on bringing over for emergency purposes a few nights before. The fact he had 'emergency whiskey' had made her laugh hysterically, but now she suddenly understood the occasional need for a calming of the nerves, and poured generous amounts into both glasses, thinking to herself as she did so.

She hadn't intended for him to have a shower; she'd have been perfectly happy if he just took off the shirt that smelt like a cheap brothel and slipped into bed with her. Now though, she was glad for the time of solitude, knowing he was in the next room, but allowing herself that small moment of deliberation; what exactly did she want from Gene?

The last few weeks had shown a gentle side to the Manc Lion she would never have expected, made the aching pain of lust and affection triple in volume and threaten to brim over in her stomach every time he held her close. It was foreign to her, being so intimate with a man and yet never having broached the sexual barrier; she longed to kiss him, touch him, run her hands down his chest and press her mouth to his pulse, his chest, his stomach... Yet something about the past few weeks -the nights of contented companionship- was threatened by that dawning desire; if she made a conscious decision to act on the impulse that was slowly igniting in her stomach, and it went unreciprocated, the company he offered would be torn from her grasp, and she wasn't sure she would be able to handle a night away from him...

The fact of the matter was, the terror of being without Gene was worse than any other fear she had ever known; because without Gene, the other fears surfaced. When he was there, she didn't feel them, didn't consider them at all... With Gene she was safe.

---

When she walked back into the bedroom, glasses in either hand, bottle tucked under her arm, it was to see Gene entering from the bathroom, towelling his hair dry with his jeans resting unbelted low on his hips, bare-chested and oblivious to her.

She took a moment to admire his body, smiling at the schoolgirl part of her that got giddy at the sight of a shirtless male; he was no Adonis- there was no way she could claim he had a sculpted six pack- but he was flat-stomached now, having lost a good three stone in the last year through methods she hadn't been able to fathom. His arms were strong, biceps larger than she would have expected, and shoulders broader, too; she supposed hauling criminals around had paid off in that respect. His chest was scattered with lightly coloured hair, trailing down his sternum and disappearing beneath the waist band of his jeans. His thin gold chain glinted in the dim light of the room, startling in contrast to the pallor of his skin, jangling as he repeatedly towelled down his hair, glinting with every movement he made. When he finally tossed the towel aside onto the chair beside the door, he looked up and froze, their eyes locking briefly before he cleared his throat.

"Sorry, I'll get a shirt, I was jus'-"

"Its fine," Alex said, voice soft, extending her hand and offering him the whiskey she had readied for him. "I've seen you now, what would be the point?"

Gene seemed to breathe a sigh of relief then; she was teasing him, which meant they weren't at odds, and she wasn't just doing this out of sympathy. "You sure, Bols?"

"I think I can manage a bare chest, Gene; you've handled me wearing t-shirt and knickers for two weeks, and I think we'll both agree I have better control than you." With a teasing waggle of her eyebrows, she sashayed over to the bed, placing the whiskey bottle and her own glass down on the bedside table before sitting herself down, hugging her knees to her chest and looking over at him almost nervously. He remained still for a few moments, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck and looking for an excuse to make a joke; but at nearly three in the morning, there wasn't much humour to be had.

"Come here," Alex murmured, twisting her legs beneath her and kneeling up on them, holding out a hand expectantly. With a gulp, Gene stepped forwards, slipping his hand into hers and pausing, looking at her for confirmation that this was ok, that she didn't mind... She squeezed back at him reassuringly, eyes never leaving him as she tugged gently on the offered limb so that he stepped forwards, knees knocking against the bottom of the bed. With a snort of amusement, he knelt on the bottom of the mattress, hand in hers but too nervous to move as he looked at her. Another gentle tug on his hand, and Gene was smirking, crawling up towards her almost hesitantly, eyes full of questions he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to.

Alex caught her breath at the sight of him coming towards her, reeking of dominance as he edged almost like a predator towards her. His eyes were clouded, his chest still bare, and she found it hard to deliver any oxygen to her body at all...

And then he was inches away, but he didn't stop moving; the hand that had long since left hers gently reached out to wrap around her waist, the other seeking her opposing hand, locking their fingers together... and with barely a moment's hesitation, he'd leant her back down on the bed, body lying softly over hers and his face settling into the crook of her neck, the pressure so great it was hard to think of anything else. As he lay there, enjoying the fresh scent of her, face pressed flat against her skin, Alex could have sworn she felt his lips brush against her pulse, but pushed the thought away as he gathered her close, rolling them both onto their sides, one of her arms around his neck, the other entwined intimately with his.

"I ain't good for yer, Bolly," he whispered gruffly, face still pressed into her neck, "bu' I can' stay away..."

"I don't want you to, Gene," she replied softly, slipping her hand into the softness of his blonde hair as she whispered to him, "I want you to stay here."

He made a sound of agreement at the back of his throat, nuzzling her neck with his nose in a way that made Alex's heart skip a beat and her breath catch in her mouth. "Cold..." he said eventually; Alex felt his lips brush against her pulse at the movement of speech and she sighed, closing her eyes briefly before murmuring softly back at him.

"Duvet?"

"Mmm..." he sighed, eyes closed to all but the sound of her voice and the scent o her skin, "lyin' on it though..."

Alex smiled, "I'm sure we can move..."

"Mmm..." Gene assented, remaining completely still.

With a sigh, Alex murmured, "ok... it's your testicles that might shrivel up back into your body." She feigned a yawn and stroked his hair gently, "goodnight Gene."

"You're lyin'," Gene growled, but that didn't stop him rolling away from her, standing up and slipping beneath the duvet. With a grin, she joined him, lying with her chin resting on her hand, eyes soft. Gene looked back at her, hand reaching out to tenderly stroke the side of her neck, watching as her eyes fluttered shut and she lay her head down on the pillow, sighing softly. "Bols?" He whispered eventually.

"Yes Gene?" Her reply was soft, mellow, eyes remaining closed as she answered him. There was a moment's hesitation, and then he was pulling her close again, shifting so that his head rested once more on her shoulder.

"When yer 'usband left... what'd he say?" He could feel her tense, was about to take the question back in fact, but then she was answering him, curling her body against his and speaking in a soft, gentle voice that was plain and honest.

"He said he couldn't love me anymore," she said softly, "said that me and Molly were too much of a strain, that he wasn't ready to be married..."

A low rumble rose in Gene's throat, "Bastard!" He growled, arms holding her ever tighter as his nose continued to tease against the skin of her throat.

Alex gave a sad smile, and, knowing that he couldn't see, whispered, "what he meant was, he could handle being married as long as he didn't have to deal with a child... he was fine at the beginning; twenty-four hour access everyday suited him I suppose," she felt his hold tighten, felt the warmth of his breath on her skin and closed her eyes. "What happened with your father, Gene?"

From his closeness, she could feel the rise and fall of his Adam's apple as he gulped, and began sliding her hand up and down his arm repeatedly, in silent reassurance as she waited for his answer. When eventually it came, his voice was gruff with emotion, and her first instinct was to shift closer, to increase the contact between their bodies as he divulged information she wasn't sure he had ever bothered to share before... she followed it.

---

"'e left when I was a lad... was 'bout twelve, I think... said 'e didn' wan' me or Stu when we were born an' 'e 'adn't changed his mind... don' remember much of 'im, to be honest Bols... jus' the drink... an' the women... an' the beatin's..." he shuddered against her and Alex's heart seemed to crack and splinter into a million pieces as the Neanderthal man she knew fell away to reveal the broken boy he had once been. "I'll never forge' the beatin's, Bolly..."

"What did he do?" She whispered, slipping her fingers into his and sighing with relief when he returned her actions with a brief squeeze, speaking quietly, forehead resting on her shoulder, eyes closed as he did so, overwhelmed by the knowledge that he wanted to tell her, wanted her to know why he was such a bastard, why he acted the way he did... but at the same time he was terrified, scared to death that she would turn away from him and ask him to leave...

"You goin' anywhere, Bolly?" He asked softly, voice full of doubt.

Alex frowned, but replied evenly, calmly... "No, Gene... I'm staying here."

He hesitated only briefly, and then nodded, settling his face back against her neck and inhaling deeply before he spoke, taking comfort in the flowery scent, the velvet warmth and the comfort of her pulse beneath his cheek... Voice cracking with the effort, he began to speak, and though it brought the world crashing down on his back to do so, he continued on.

"Firs' time I was five... I 'ad me footy match on the Sunday an' he came to watch- I scored an' all..." He gulped, fingers tracing patterns against her skin as he spoke, "though' he migh' be proud o' me... but he wen' an bought himself a bottle o' vodka at 'alf time an' by the end 'e was yellin' at me for bein' a useless little shit..." His hold on her tightened, nose pressing into her neck as he went on, voice softer, full of remorse and bitterness, "an' I go' injured, didn' I? Righ' there in fron' of 'im... some bastards boot cut into me head an' I 'ad blood pourin' in me face all day..." He was shaking, the effort of bringing these long displaced memories to the surface clearly taking its toll. His hands grasped at her like iron, fingers clenching on her waist repeatedly, but Alex refused to react, simply taking the slight pain as her own form of sacrifice for the years of pain Gene had endured in silence. "Got 'ome an' I was cryin'... I was only five for Christ's sake – course I bloody cried... 'e told me to shut it... said I was an embarrassment an' I deserved what I got for bein' so crap... an' I couldn' help it Bols..." his voice cracked, tears threatening to spill over, and then it all tumbled from his lips, uncontrolled and blundering as he let down the walls he had kept inside his own head since the age of six. "I kep' cryin' an' 'e got... 'e got angry an' 'it me, so I cried even more... an' I kep' cryin'... so 'e kept at i'... an' in the end 'e tol' me if I wan'ed to play footy again I better learn to keep me gob shut an' take i' like a man..."

"Gene..." Alex whispered, pulling her head back and tilting up his chin to meet her gaze; he wasn't crying, but there was a thin sheen to his eyes that she found unbearable, and she wanted more than anything to rid him of it, but didn't know how... "You don't need to do this..."

"Please Bols," he begged, "I do... just lemme do it, please?" he slipped his hand back to her neck, focusing intently for several moments... Alex watched him uncertainly before realizing, as the thump of her pulse intensified, that he was seeking the reassurance of her beating heart.

Without thought, she nodded, slipping her own hand slowly over his chest, resting above the pounding of his own heart, the warmth of his skin a welcome factor in the chill of the room. Slowly, as she met his eyes, she felt his pulse calm, steadying to a gentle and repetitive rhythm that became a teasing, tingling sensation beneath her fingers...

Gene looked down slowly at her pale hand, resting on the left side of his chest, her red fingernails stark against the pale colour of his skin... and in that moment, feeling the safest he could remember having felt in years, he looked back up again, meeting her eyes with the most sincere thanks he could muster in his gaze, his own hand remaining comfortingly on the pulse that was thundering at her neck. He closed his eyes, resting his head on the pillow before continuing.

"Secon' time 'e came 'ome pissed as a fart... couple o' months after me match, that time... tol' me Mam his vodka 'ad gone missin' and lined me an' Stu –me brother- up in the 'all... tol' us if we didn' own up to it 'e'd beat i' outta us anyway..." his voice faded slightly, only to be counteracted by the sudden panicked desperation that drove a knife into Alex's chest, "it weren' either of us Bolly!" Pained, she realised in that second that he had spent his whole life trying to convince himself that the beating was undeserved, that he hadn't stolen his father's alcohol... Aching inwardly, she lifted her spare hand, the one not resting above his heart, and caressed his face with tender strokes until his eyes fluttered closed.

"I know, Gene," she whispered, eyes stinging. "I know... I believe you..."

With a deep breath, Gene went on, eyes open and averted once again, focusing on the pillow to the left of her face..."'e started on me... said I were a thievin' little bastard an' deserved to rot... on'y Stu started sayin' it was 'im, that 'e should leave me alone 'cause I were just a kid... 'e was on'y twelve an' all..." Gene's eyes were still closed, though now it was not, as before, to the comfort of her caress, but as a shield, a way of hiding his pain from her... Alex's hand continued to caress his cheek, her own tears falling freely for the man pouring his heart out so openly before her...

"'e didn' care... beat us both up jus' like 'e wan'ed to begin with..." His shaky breath faltered only slightly, then, quietly, he murmured, "Stu started drinkin' after tha'... tol' me all the older girls liked 'is scar... on'y I knew they didn', 'cause I followed him a coupla times..." a small, ghost of a smile flitted over his face, sad and lonely, reliving a million demons in that split second alone... "'e wen' ou' alone, nicked shitloads o' drink from the shops an' came 'ome as pissed as the ol' man every other nigh'... got ten shades o' shit kicked outta his arse every time an' all... ended up doin' crack an' 'e died when I were fifteen..."

Voice hollow, Gene trailed off, chest heaving with emotion as he fought back the tears which were slowly becoming more and more inevitable. Alex could think of nothing to say, and instead she did the only thing she thought might offer any comfort; she placed the hand which still rested at her pulse over her own heart, holding it there as she edged closer, slipping one leg between his and stroking his bare feet tenderly with her own. Gene responded by rubbing his thumb tenderly against her chest through the cotton of her shirt, as though searching for reality, for comprehension... And he found it, not in the touch of her skin against his or the smell of her in his nostrils, but in the tears he saw spilling from her eyes, glittering and glinting with light from the bedside lamp... and in those tears he found the strength to continue; because she understood, and he knew, as she held his hand against her fast beating heart, that she really wasn't going anywhere- she wouldn't leave him.

"'e tol' me 'e loved me once, Bolly," he said quietly, thumb still tentatively caressing her. He felt her stiffen in shock, saw her eyes widen in surprise and he allowed his lips to contort into a sad, bitter smile that plucked at her heartstrings. "'e was pissed outta 'is skull an' beatin' me to shit at the time, but 'e said it..." His breath caught as memories of the physical and emotional pain bore down on him. "I came 'ome from footy one nigh' and he was screamin' bloody murder at me Mam... an' I 'ated 'im, Bols... right then I was the closest I've ever got to killin' someone... 'e was yellin' at 'er, tellin' 'er if 'e wan'ed dinner at ten in the evenin' then it was 'er job to get it for 'im... I could've 'andled the yellin', Bols... I'd done tha' for ten years... bu' nobody throws glasses at me Mam, whoever 'e is..." His hand twisted away from the soft beat of her heart, instead capturing and holding her own hand, linking together their fingers as he stared, transfixed by the delicate beauty of her slim, smooth hand next to the rough masculinity of his own.

"Stu'd left 'ome when 'e turned sixteen, so 'e weren' there, and she was jus'... jus' letting 'im bash 'er about... so I chucked me bag at him... an' when 'e turned around, 'e 'it me an' all... knocked me black an' blue an' laughed 'bout it just 'cause 'e could... an' when I yelled back at 'im to stop it 'e jus' laughed, told me 'e loved me... said 'e was a good daddy an' someday I'd realize it..." his eyes had closed again, his face scrunched up in unspeakable pain as he made his greatest confession for the very first time in his life; "an' I ain't ever been able to say the words since... don' even know I believe in 'em anymore..." His heart sank all over again; it was horrible, he realized, that his mother told him he was loved every week, and yet it was his father's crass drunkenness that bulldozed into his mind whenever 'love' was mentioned...He met her eyes and whispered to her, feeling absent, lost and adrift as he whispered 'cause if that's love Bolly, then what the 'ells 'ate meant to be?"

Alex stroked his cheek tenderly, eyes softening, and even when his heart was wrenched with emotion, he still felt that warm sense of attraction rising in his stomach, spreading to his fingertips and turning up the slightest smile on his lips before she spoke again. "You don't really believe that's love, do you Gene?"

He shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable; because this wasn't recounting anymore –and that had been bad enough-, this was talking about feelings, something he never had been good at, nor did he ever think he would. "I ain't a nancy boy, Bols." He said gruffly, "I wouldn' know 'bout all that bollucks." And suddenly he was turning away from her, and she knew the conversation was over as he pulled his hand from hers; she wasn't surprised. He'd said more than she'd ever heard from him in one sitting, and it was still new to him releasing any kind of personal information.

After a moment's hesitation, she moved her body closer to his again, her arm slipping around him and fingers gently running over his stomach and chest, chin coming to rest on his shoulder as she listened to the rough grate of his breath whilst he attempted to calm himself, to banish once again the demons that had just surfaced... it was easier than he'd expected. Knowing Alex was here with him, that she had listened to his stories and not tried to analyse and counsel him, was worth more than she would ever understand...

Without speaking, Alex slipped her leg over his, turning so that her cheek pressed into the skin of his shoulder, her eyes closed as Gene lay completely still, whilst her hands continued lightly caressing and grazing over his smooth, soft flesh.

Eventually, he let out a strange noise that was neither groan nor whimper, but somewhere in-between, catching her wandering hand between his and holding it firmly against his chest, "don' do that," he grunted, "else we'll both be screwed."

Alex sighed, brushing tentative lips across his shoulder blades before whispering seductively, "I really wouldn't mind."

Gene remained resolutely composed, facing away from her, hand holding hers firmly to prevent any further form of movement as he spoke, "I mean i', Bols... I'd ruin yer."

Her reply was instantaneous, full of sincerity, "I don't believe that for a second, Gene."

There was a pause in which Gene glanced sideways, seeing her eyes fixed on his face, then tore his gaze away again. "You 'eard what 'e was like, Bolly... an' I ain't much better."

"You're wrong," she told him simply. "You're nothing like him."

"Booze?" Gene muttered, lifting his spare hand and raising on finger as he said, "check!" Alex sighed, watching as he continued, "Fags? Check!" The second finger lifted up, and she waited as he went on. "Cheatin' on the Missus?" The third finger rose, and she saw the self-loathing in his expression out of the corner of her eye as he whispered, "check."

"Gene..." she started, but he had already spoken once more.

"Throw in a kiddie, Bollykecks, and I'll have the whole caboodle." His voice dripped with bitter hatred, and Alex could think of nothing to say, and once again settled for brushing his skin with her lips, feeling him initially tense, before relaxing with a sigh. "When yer gunna start listenin' to me, Bols?" he whispered. "I ain't good for yer."

"I'll start listening when you start talking sense," she said quietly. "Because whatever you might think about yourself, I know firsthand that you are not, and could never be, the sort of beast you're making out."

Gene felt his heart contract at her words, at the depth of her belief in him, and suddenly he wanted to believe her, if only to be able to roll over and bring his lips lightly against her own... her free hand traced a pattern over his shoulder and up towards his neck, around his ear and down, before she stopped, looking at his face, which was still turned resolutely away from her, in expectancy. His eyes were closed tight, lips moving slightly; straining her ears, she could hear him counting to ten under his breath, and smiled sadly; perhaps this really was all they would ever be.

"Goodnight, Gene," she whispered, moving her head to the pillow but keeping her arm and leg around him. His grip on her hand tightened slightly, before he nodded, letting go of her to reach over and switch out the light, pausing only to take a large gulp of whiskey straight from the bottle. As the room fell into darkness, he lay back down, head swimming and saying nothing for a long, long time...

And then he found himself turning towards her, staring transfixed as the moonlight bathed her in ethereal beauty that softened her face and took away the stresses that had plagued both their minds in recent weeks... Her lips were parted slightly, eyes closed, her hair falling slightly in her eyes... she looked incredible.

"Bolly?" He said eventually, voice soft but seeming almost like a thunder-clap in the silence of the room.

"Mmm?" She asked softly, keeping her eyes closed.

Gene reached out, tucking the stray lock of hair behind her ear in an oddly tender gesture as he murmured, "yer know if anythin' 'appened –with us, I mean... I... I'd never be able to tell yer... yer know... an'... an' yer deserve better than tha'..." His gaze faltered, as did his voice, and he looked briefly away.

At his words, she opened her eyes, catching his hand in her own and replying, in a soft voice, "Words only go so far, Gene; I wouldn't need them..." Their eyes locked, and for a moment, she could have sworn he was moving in for the kiss, that in a moment their lips would brush... but then she was being gently wrapped in the circle of his strong arms, his chin coming to rest on the top of her head, whilst her hands slid tenderly over his bare back.

"Bolly?"

"Yes Gene," she murmured.

A beat, and then, "yer know I didn' like 'er righ'? The stripper... she was jus'... she was jus' in the right place..." his voice trailed off towards the end and he sighed, "I'm sorry, Bols..."

Alex said nothing, simply returning his embrace and trying to keep her tears at bay...

"Goodnight, Bolly," he murmured eventually.

Alex blinked away hot tears and nodded, voice soft and distant, "goodnight, Gene..." Her eyes closed to the familiar sensation of Gene holding her close, just as he had every night for the last two weeks... With just one small difference; tonight, as Alex started to drift into peaceful slumber, he pressed his lips against her forehead, gently, but with pressure enough to stir her from her slight doze.

"You'll never 'ear me say it, Bols," he whispered into the darkness, "but it don' mean I ain' thinkin' it."

---

Since Phil Glenister lost much weight for series 2, I thought I would pay homage to his now even sexier good looks in the bare-chesty bit ;) YAY! Much fun-time!

Mage of the Heart