Title : What the DI saw

Rating : Brown Cortina

Wordcount : 2042

Pairing : Gene/Alex

Disclaimer : Not mine. Never were. Never will be.

A/N : For Sladest who wanted a wank!fic and who is an inspiration to all the Galex Smutresses.

"I'm just going down for breakfast. Are you coming?"

Receiving only a grunt from the sofa, Alex tried again.

"Guv. Breakfast?"

She prodded the slumbering form of her DCI who only groaned dismally and turned over, mashing his face into the padding of the seat. One bleary eye opened and swivelled in her direction.

"Bugger off Bols. Can't you see I'm dying here?"

"You're not dying - you're hung over. Totally self inflicted."

Gene groaned again, closing his eye and pulling the blanket resolutely over his head.

"Have a shower," Alex suggested brightly as she headed towards the door, "It'll make you feel better."

The door slammed behind her and he listened to her footsteps tapping their way down the corridor, heading for the lift.

Gene rolled over onto his back and studied the artex of the ceiling. Three days it had been. Three days stuck in a hotel room with Alex Bloody Drake.

Gene scrubbed his hands over his face and began to swear loudly and fluently.

Why him?

How had they got stuck with minding Sir David Fitzwatson, peer of the realm, chief witness in a murder trial and, according to Gene, all around lazy no-good pompous arsewipe.

In all fairness, Gene had done his damndest to get himself out of this situation, even going so far as to remind in the Chief Super that "Gene Hunt is not a bastard babysitter." Unfortunately, the Super had decided that Gene was, in fact, the perfect babysitter for this particular witness and had packed him off to the Four Seasons in Windsor, airily reminding him to pack a decent dinner suit and not to put too much alcohol on his expenses claim.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. The last thing he'd wanted was to spent a week making polite conversation with an upper class twit. It had seemed only logical that he bring Alex along - she'd be able to talk about ballet and opera and Chelsea bloody Flower Show, or whatever else the posh bugger wanted to talk about, leaving him free to sit by the bar and drink himself into happy oblivion at the expense of the taxpayer.

It had been such a good plan and it had all been going so well until they'd arrived at the hotel to be told that there had been a mistake in the bookings and that, as the Horse Trials were taking place that week, there were no spare rooms and they would have to share.

Since then his life had been sheer bloody misery.

As soon as they walked through the door, Alex had announced that she desperately needed a shower, being tired and dusty from the journey, and had disappeared into the en-suite. He'd shouted after her that they'd only travelled about 20 miles and that she should stop being such a girl. After that he sprawled lazily on the bed and lit a fag while he ran his eye over the room service menu.

Just as he began to read through the list of single malts that were available for his delectation, the shower started. The sound of running water pulled his attention away from the bar list and his imagination went into overdrive at the thought of a wet, naked, soapy, slithery Alex Drake not five feet from where he was sitting. All the blood in his body had rushed south and had remained there ever since.

He'd been walking around with a hard on for the past three days and it was definitely getting to be past a joke.

Three days of watching her prance around in a white towelling robe, smelling of soap and shampoo.

Three days of seeing her underwear draped around the room, tiny scraps of almost-not-there lace lying around, taunting him.

Three nights of listening to her sleep, her soft steady breathing interrupted by snuffly little snores, seeing the cotton sheets moulding around her form.

Three nights of trying to sleep on the bloody sofa, twisted up in pyjamas, feet hanging over the end, lying awake and praying for the strength to stay where he was.

Three days and nights of wanting, wanting, wanting.

Enough was enough. He had to do something about this now or he'd end up in a bloody medical textbook - the worst cast of blue balls ever known to medical science.

"Time to take yourself in hand, Genie-boy." He muttered as he manfully pulled himself up off the sofa and padded into the bathroom.

The atmosphere in the bathroom was still warm and steamy, mute testament to the fact that Alex had, not 15 minutes ago, been fannying about in there, the air softly scented with a mixture of shower gel, body lotion and hairspray. Gene breathed in deeply. Warm smells, female smells, Alex smells. His body twitched appreciatively and he quickly shed his pyjamas ('Pyjamas! When had Gene Hunt ever worn pyjamas?' ) wanting to feel the perfumed steam on his skin.

His hand reached out and hit the button, sending a hot spray of water against the glass of the shower cubicle, ready for him to step into as soon as he'd finished his other business.

He took another breath of Alex flavoured air and allowed visions of her to fill his mind - all the momentary glimpses of her that he accumulated over the past few days - seeing her through the bathroom door wearing nothing but a towel, her hair wet and hanging in twisting ropes across her shoulders; her turning over in bed, the sheets falling down to allow him sight of the white skin of her back; one perfectly turned leg stretched out in front of her as she carefully rolled on a stocking, the pink tip of her tongue peeking out between her lips as she concentrated.

He sighed softly, his hand drifting down across chest, gliding across his stomach and settling on his straining cock. He bit back a moan as he brushed his hand across the tip where luminescent beads of arousal were already starting to gather.

Spreading the lubrication around the sensitive head he held himself lightly, just his thumb and forefinger wrapped around his girth, his hand moving quickly as he teased himself, the gentle strokes enough to drive him insane but not enough to drive him over the edge. His breath came faster as he drew out each sensation, trembling, holding himself in check, knowing that the more he made himself work for it, the better it would be. And he had time, Alex always forever over breakfast. He had all the time he wanted.

His teeth sank into his bottom lip as his head tipped back and his eyes fluttered closed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"I'm sorry Madam, but the dining room is currently fully occupied. Would it be possible for you to return in, say, an hour?"

"Yes, of course. But could you arrange for a tray of coffee to be sent to my room while I wait? Room 714."

"Certainly Madam. And thank you for your patience."

"It's quite alright. I can see how busy you are."

Alex turned and headed back for the lift. Well, an hour wasn't too long , and she could always have some more fun torturing Gene about his hangover while she was waiting. There were worse ways to while away an hour than to see how quickly she could drive him to screaming pitch.

With a happy little smile on her face, she trotted back to the lift and set off back to their room.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

As soon as she opened the door, Alex came to a grinding halt.

Her brain yammered at her that this was not good. This was private. She should turn around and walk away now. Go. Now. Don't stay. Don't watch. Bad Alex. Naughty, wicked Alex. Bad. Bad. Not Good. Oh. Fuck. Yes!

All she could see was Gene. Lots of Gene. Lots of very naked Gene.

Standing in the middle of the en-suite, he was facing away from her.

His head was thrown back and his dark blonde hair, made damp and spikey by the steam, was just brushing against his shoulders. His unexpectedly broad shoulders. She'd always admired the way his coat fell down from those shoulders but - Good Grief! - she'd had no idea how wide they really were.

Alex allowed her gaze to wander across all that lightly bronzed skin before moving on down across his back which tapered, deliciously by the way, to his buttocks. My, my, didn't Gene have quite an arse on him. An arse which was, as she watched, flexing in a very interesting way, causing him to strain and release, strain and release, strain and release . . . . . .

It was, she thought, quite possibly the most erotic thing she'd ever seen. His thigh muscles bunched as his hips bucked. Now, if he would just turn around . . . . .

As if sensing her thoughts, he shifted slightly, turning to lean against the tiled wall of the bathroom, and all of Alex's breath left her body.

He had one hand cupping his balls alternately squeezing and stretching, his fingers sliding around and down, reaching further back to stroke the sensitive skin between his legs. The other hand was moving smoothly and rhythmically, the fingers tightening around his cock as he drove himself closer towards oblivion.

Alex devoured him with her eyes. He was so lost in the moment. So desperate. So . . . . beautiful.

He gaze flickered up to his face. His eyes were tightly closed, his eyelashes fluttering and his lips were parted, teeth sunk into his lower lip only allowing the softest of sighs and moans to break through. As she watched, though, his mouth fell open, his lips for once soft, parted, begging to be kissed.

And, oh, she wanted to kiss him. She wanted to be the one to make him buck and sigh. She wanted to run her hands over the hard muscle of his back and the soft roundness of his belly. She wanted to hold his hot, hard cock in her hand, to caress his balls and, maybe, to touch parts of him that no-one else had ever touched; between his legs, his arse, find his prostate, touch him, make him writhe and beg before driving him to scream her name out as he came, harder than he'd ever come before.

She wondered, briefly, who he was thinking of, whose body he was imagining underneath him. What woman could drive him to such heights. No, don't think of that. Masochist.

Gene breathed harder, his hand moving faster, holding tighter. He was lost in arousal, his hips bucking and thrusting against a phantom lover. A whimper left his mouth and Alex strained to hear.

"Alex - please."

She gasped in surprise, liquid warmth flooding from her as he gasped out her name in ecstasy.

As her name left his lips his body tightened, every muscle straining, reaching for release. His hand was a blur on his erect cock, squeezing cruelly as he stuttered out his need. "Fuck - Alex - Yes - Alex. YESSSSSSSS!".

He came with a roar, ropes of liquid silk lacing his stomach while his hips bucked uncontrollably. His head flew back, crashing against the wall, a supernova exploding behind his eyes as he was, finally, released.

Alex watched, hypnotised, as Gene exploded, her name screaming from his lips. Her knees buckled, her breasts aching with want and her head ringing with the sound of his cries.

Allowing herself just one glance at his body, now collapsed against the wall, replete and relaxed, she ducked out of the bathroom and threw herself through the bedroom door into the impersonal corridor beyond.

Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, head in hands, trying to make sense of what she seen, what she'd felt as she'd watched him.

Her body shook with arousal yet a faint smile painted itself across her lips.

Four days.

They had four days left - and four whole nights . . . . . . .