Like I said when I began this story, I don't worry too much about canon. This one isn't after any particular episode, but doesn't need the S3 finale to fit either...it's just a Phryne/Jack first time, based on the premise of...what happens when Jack says the wrong thing? What might that be, and how might he make amends?

A soft M, sweet & hot, I hope, based on a cocktail called Port in the Storm.

-j&p-

It was cold and raining, and just plain miserable. They'd solved another case, but one of the ones that left no one satisfied. It had started with a gruesome death, and as they'd unpacked all of the clues and motives, it had only gotten more demoralizing, leaving no victory in the solving. And now it was late in the evening, dark except for a few street lights and other random cars. Both Jack and Phryne were quiet as he drove; Dot had used her car earlier in the day, and now he was giving her a ride home.

The rain pounded against the windshield and windows, but it wasn't quite loud enough for Phryne to miss the soft sigh from Jack's lips. She turned to him with a small smile. "If this storm doesn't let up, you can always just stay at my place, Jack."

He didn't take his eyes off the road but acknowledged her words with a small nod.

"In fact, I've been thinking of just setting up a room for you," she continued. "So many nights, we share a drink, and then see each other again in the morning—you could spare yourself the drive. What do you think?"

"To join your little band of castaways?" he scoffed. "I'll pass, thank you."

They both froze at his harsh words. He pressed on the brake and spared her a glance, able to see a growing rage in her eyes even in the darkness of the vehicle. "Phryne," he began, not even sure what he was going to say. What he'd said was uncalled for, and he'd known it the moment he said it. He wasn't even sure where it had come from, but… "I'm sorry," he began.

"Stop the car," was all she said, already gathering her coat against her and putting her fingers on the handle.

"What? No," he replied.

"Stop the car now, or I'm opening this door and getting out."

He heard the tone of her voice and knew she was serious…and he knew she was just the sort to open the car door and exit a moving vehicle. With an exasperated sigh, he pulled to the side of the road. "Be reasonable. It's pouring rain, and-" his words were cut off as she opened and closed the door with a slam…and with her on the other side of it. Through the windshield, he could see her stiff back as she began to walk back to her home. "For crying out loud," he muttered to himself and leaned over to roll down the window closest to her. Rain pummeled the seat and his arm, and he hissed at the cool and icy feel of each drop. "Goddammit, Phryne, get in the car," he called as he slowly drove up beside her. She didn't reply, but merely kept walking, her face as serene and determined as he'd ever seen it, as if she wasn't quickly becoming soaked to the bone.

Annoyed at being ignored, he continued his slow driving, keeping her walking pace. His voice grew even more gruff. "You're being ridiculous. Get-"

"No!" she whipped around and pointed at him. With the night as her backdrop, her pale skin was even more illuminating, and she practically vibrated with rage. "No! No! I am yelling at you. You do not get to yell at me right now." She pulled in a deep breath, and his eyes tracked the movement, unable to keep from noticing how her soaked clothes now clung to her from head to toe. He blinked, and then realized she was once again walking away from him. He clenched his jaw and quickly pulled off his overcoat. He knew she wouldn't take it, but he wasn't going to roll up the window either, so it would have to do to keep the seat as dry as possible.

"Do you want me to call for Cec or Bert?" he asked as he came up alongside her once again.

"They have a meeting," she replied, not looking at him.

His jaw tightened. "I can call ahead and ask Dot to have tea and a towel ready?"

She quickened her pace before she answered. "She's out with Hugh this evening, to the movies."

"Right," Jack murmured to himself. He ran his tongue against his teeth and then clenched the steering wheel, keeping his mouth shut for the rest of the drive to her home.

-j&p-

Phryne went through the kitchen and spotted Mr. Butler on her way to the stairwell. "No visitors tonight," she said through the residual water running from her hair. "Tell Dot please."

"Yes, Miss," was all her esteemed butler said in response.

She ignored the tracks she was making and made her way up to her room. She enjoyed the satisfaction of slamming her door a bit too loudly, knowing there was no one upstairs to disturb. One glance at her reflection in the mirror showed just how soaked she was, but instead of shivering from the cold, her body continued to warm from the inside out, her anger fueling the heat. She discarded her coat and hat and moved to her vanity before unbuttoning her blouse and peeling away her earrings and necklace. She was just wiping away at her rain-streaked make-up when her bedroom door flew open. And in the mirror's reflection, she saw the inspector. He'd lost his hat, overcoat and jacket, and his tie was loosened around his neck. His white shirt clung to his shoulders and arms and his hair was wet and matted to his head.

"I told Mr. Butler no visitors tonight."

"And I'm not a goddamn visitor," he replied, his voice low.

One eyebrow rose, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of turning to face him. Instead she continued cleaning her face. "Apparently Mr. Butler's loyalties have shifted."

"Or perhaps he knows what's in your best interest."

Phryne rolled her eyes and turned then. "By letting you barge into my room?"

"If it makes you see sense, then yes!"

"Sense!" Phryne sucked in a quick breath before calming herself. "Listen, Jack, if you're here to yell at me again, I'm not interested."

Jack's jaw tightened at the way her blouse fell open against her body. "I'm not here to yell at you."

"Well, you're obviously angry."

"I'm angry at myself!" Jack's voice grew louder and then it was his turn to pull in a deep breath. "I'm here to apologize." He yanked at his loosened tie as if it was still too tight for comfort.

When she didn't reply, he realized she was waiting for him to make good on his words. "I'm sorry," he said, his hands unclenching at his sides.

"I'm not the one you owe the apology to."

"I realize that," he acknowledged. "Round up the whole household, and I'll apologize one by one."

Phryne considered him for a moment, and his nerves prickled at the way he couldn't read her thoughts or expression. "As tempting as that is," she began. "I don't relish their reactions and I see no reason to involve them."

"I agree," he replied and his words came out as a sigh of relief as he took a step closer to her. "But please know that if you wished me to, I would. Tonight. I just can't stand-"

"Me being angry with you?" she asked, her voice and face still impassive toward him.

"What? No," he took another step toward her. "No. I don't care if you're angry with me." One hand slashed through the air impatiently. "I'm sure you get angry with me as often as I do with you."

Her eyes searched his face and he thought he saw a tiny flicker of something there, something on the other side of the serene façade she'd put on. It gave him the courage to step even closer, close enough to see remnants of raindrops against her neck and collarbone. He swallowed hard. "No…I just…I can't bear to lose your good opinion!" he confessed, and the words came out low and serious, and he felt each syllable. "I…I can't stand to let even one night go by if I thought that…" he cleared his throat and tried again. He felt her eyes on his face and wondered if she could see how desperate he was. "If I upset you. If I hurt you. If I…"

The silence stretched between them, and at first, only the grip she had on the curved edge of her vanity chair indicated she was affected. Rain pounded against her bedroom windows, and somewhere in the house a clock announced a new hour had begun, but it seemed like every second in this room was drawn out, every breath suspended in the palpable quiet.

"Then why did you say it?" she finally spoke, and he heard the cracked-open hurt in her soft voice. Her slim throat worked with her words, and his lips parted in response. He knew she was open, was opening up to him, and he couldn't help but move until he was standing directly in front of her.

"Because," he began, and his voice was quiet but steady. "Because for many years of my life I've been cast away in some form or another."

Her eyes stayed locked on his, and he powered through. "And you draw people to you like magnets, these lost souls who need a home, someone who believes in them," he confessed.

"I love all of my people, Jack."

"I know that. I know that," he agreed. "And I know you would never consider them to be in your debt for anything. But for all that they bring to you, you have to admit you are the one who initiated all of it, that you are their benefactress." He ran a nervous hand through his slick hair. "Without you, who knows where any of them would be?" His jaw worked as he cupped the back of his neck before letting his arm drop to his side. "And I suppose that deep down, I fear that ultimately you feel sorry for me. You see me as a lonely man who needs pitied, another lost soul in need of saving, and once I'm in your collection, you'll move on to your next project."

She stared at his face and out of the corner of his eye he saw her hands relax from the chair. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second, and when they opened again, he saw a new softness in her expression. "I feel a tremendous amount of things for you, Jack." Her bare lips gently parted as she continued. "But sorry isn't one of them."

"Phryne," her name came out as a soft whisper.

"But if you can't see that and truly believe it, here," she illustrated her point by gently placing her hand over his heart. "Then there is nothing I can do about that."

Her eyes searched his face, as if looking to see if he believed her. He wanted to hear more from her but he knew that in order to do so, he needed to give more of himself. With two fingers, he brushed her hair away from her face. When she trembled at his touch, he couldn't help but cup her cheek in his full palm. Her eyelids drifted close at that and he leaned in, incapable of doing anything but pressing butterfly kisses to her soft skin. First her closed eyes, then the tip of her nose, the sweet corner of her mouth, the slim line of her jaw.

Both of her hands opened on his chest, and he paused, waiting to see if she was going to push him away or pull him closer. When her fingertips curled against his clothes and her neck tilted back to make more room for his mouth, he slid his hands to her hips and lifted, hitching her up on her vanity.

And that was it.

Everything to that point could have been shrugged off as comfort, apologies given and accepted, affection or even the allure of the pounding storm outside. But this was something else entirely; this was new.

He gripped her tiny waist in his palms before sliding his hands under her open blouse. His mouth moved down her neck and chest as he helped her strip from the damp fabric. "Jack," she whimpered when his mouth brushed over her chilled skin. He grew temporarily entranced with the feel of her heartbeat beneath his lips, and then he used his nose and lips to nuzzle the strap of her camisole down her shoulder. The tip of his tongue followed the path and she gasped and pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist and using her hands to frantically unbutton his waistcoat.

Jack grunted his approval and captured her mouth with his. They both groaned at the sensation and paused, staring into one another's eyes and stroking whatever skin was closest. "Bed," he finally murmured against her mouth, wrapping his arms around her waist and hitching her up to his body. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed kisses along his jawline as he backed up until he felt her bed against the back of his legs. He sat and kept her on his waist, using his new leverage to pull her camisole up and over her head. The cool chill of the wet silk fabric over her skin made her gasp, and he didn't give her time to recover. He palmed her breasts, immediately thumbing one nipple while taking the other into his mouth.

"Oh, God, yes," Phryne gripped his shoulders and moved her body until her knees were planted on the mattress and she could move against his mouth. He murmured his encouragement against her skin, gently mouthing her breast until he kissed over to the other one. He used his tongue and lips and teeth on her until she pulled his head away, firm enough to force his gaze up to hers. "More," she demanded in a husky whisper.

Jack eyed the rest of their clothes and by mutual unspoken agreement, they stood and quickly stripped themselves. It wasn't time for saucy seduction or slow unveilings. She finished first and then sat on the mattress before sliding her body back until she was flat against the dark bedspread, her pale limbs tempting him beyond his dreams. Her gaze trailed down his body and she watched as he finally climbed onto the bed and crawled over her, sliding one leg beneath hers and one forearm to rest on the pillow next to her head.

"What do you want?" he asked, willing to spend all night in supplication at her feet, willing to kiss and touch every inch of her skin until she came apart in his arms, willing to start all over again and again until she'd had enough.

"You, Jack," she breathed, her fingertips skimming his jaw, then his shoulders, and then his chest and ribs like tiny butterfly kisses. "Just you. Always you…" she arched up when he buried his face against her neck and breathed her in.

He kissed her there and palmed her hips, situating himself between her legs until he felt the wet heat of her core against his bare skin. "Jesus," he cursed. "You destroy me," he confessed and met her eyes as he steadied himself to her entrance. "And I adore you," he added as he slowly slid inside her to the hilt.

His stomach muscles contracted against hers and he forced his eyes to stay open, to see the way hers grew darker, the way her lips parted, the way her cheeks grew flushed with pleasure. He planted his forearms on either side of her head and used his hips to withdraw halfway out before sliding back in. Her head began to move from side to side on the pillow, and he felt the silky strands of her hair against his skin. Christ, he wanted to do this all night. But he knew that soon she'd be begging him for more, she'd be running her feet against the bed, alluring him with the rotations of her hips and the delicious way she ran her fingernails down his back, just this short of pain. With a blink and a curse, he realized he wasn't imagining it, and it was happening, and he was pumping in and out of her, faster and faster, deeper and deeper with every thrust. "Oh God," he cried out. "Oh my God, Phryne, please," he begged, not even sure what he was begging for.

"I'm here," she soothed, moving her knees back toward her, causing him to sink even deeper inside her. They both cried out at that, and he sank into her and froze, swiveling his hips against her in a way that had her gripping his back and holding him to her. He pulled out and then back in, pressing and throbbing inside her. "Jack, don't stop," she pleaded.

"Come for me," he urged, and incredibly, he felt her begin to tighten, as if his very words had conjured up her imminent release. Time stood still as he held himself high and tight within her, his eyes nearly crossing at the feel of her body closing in on his, her slick heated core wrapped around him like the silkiest fist. His name tripped from her lips in a soft, sweet tone, and her eyes flew open as she came, an expression of gratitude in their depths that resonated deep in his heart.

"Oh, Jack," she bit her bottom lip and undulated beneath him as she shuddered in his arms, stroking his back and clenching around him. He felt the way her breasts crowned against his chest, her tight nipples pressing against him. He felt her arms around his waist and her inner thighs against his hips. He thought he might drown in the sensation of being pulled into her, as if he could pour all of himself into her, an offering of everything he had. "Jack," she inhaled through her nose and then released a satisfied sigh.

The sigh was his undoing, and he withdrew once, twice, a third time before unraveling inside her, groaning and coming so hard his vision went black and his breath caught in his lungs.

He came to with his face buried in the curve of her neck and the feel of her fingers gently stroking the back of his neck. Gingerly, he moved back, careful not to hurt her as he did so. Even so, she gave a small hiss when he slipped from her core. Immediately he palmed her there, trying to keep the sensations pleasurable for her. She instinctively arched against him and he pressed a bit more as he moved to her side. Her eyes were on his face, and he watched her as she traced her fingers over his chin and jaw. "I adore you," he spoke, unable to keep the emotional husk from his voice.

"And I, you," she replied, and he watched as her eyes grew slightly damp. Despite their recent activity, he felt a bit shy as he leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers. She returned the kiss before pulling back and staring into his eyes, as if waiting for him to decide what happens next.

His mind was blank for a moment and so he kissed her again. And then again. When she smiled against his lips, he knew the jig was up, and he pulled back. She was smiling with her eyes too and she shrugged a shoulder. "Will you be spending the night, inspector?"

The side of his mouth curved up, and he matched her movement. "I may as well. And I believe Mr. Butler put my coat and hat in the closet instead of just on the rack by the door, so…"

"How fortuitous," she replied.

"Quite."

Her lips pursed with another smile before she finally moved up and off of the bed. He watched her body as she walked over and turned off her lamps, and he still studied her as she pulled back the bed covers. "Move, Jack. Unless you want to be my blanket for the evening."

"Mmmm," he pretended to consider before moving enough for her to finish her task. "A tempting offer."

She merely smiled and then rejoined him beneath the bedcovers. It took a bit of finagling before they were settled in comfortable positions, including switching sides of the bed altogether. But eventually they were still, her back against his front, and his arm wrapped around her. "If it makes you feel any better," he murmured against the back of her neck, letting his thumb stroke her stomach. "Mr. Butler made me knock twice before he opened the door."

Phryne smiled and traced her fingers over his arm. "Well, I suppose all is forgiven then."

Jack kissed her shoulder. "I'm glad to hear it, Miss Fisher."

"So am I, Jack…so am I."

They made love again that night, and again in the morning. Murmured words of love were exchanged, and soft touches affirmed heart-felt emotions. He was her steady anchor, and she was his port in the wildest storm.

-j&p-

Ingredients for Port in the Storm.

25ml. Johnnie Walker® Red Label® Blended Scotch Whisky

25ml. Ruby Port

1dash(es) Cognac

2.9 units of alcohol per serve

Fill a glass with ice.

Fill a mixing glass with ice cubes.

Pour Johnnie Walker Red Label Whisky, ruby port and cognac into the glass.

Pour 25ml Johnnie Walker Red Label Whisky, 25ml ruby port and a dash of cognac into the glass.

Stir until well combined.

Stir the mixture with a bar spoon until well combined.

Strain into a glass.

Using a cocktail strainer, strain into a short glass.