His left knee hurt like hell. A faint trickle of blood was running down his shin, and he was parched. His water bottle had spilled most of its contents on the ground when he'd fallen, and he'd long since finished the few remaining drops. Cursing under his breath, Jack Robinson limped along the dusty road, dragging his bicycle along with him as best he could.

He still had several miles to walk until he reached his own house, and he had no idea how he was going to manage. The club house would have been much closer, but he really didn't want to go back there. It would be too embarrassing to face the other club members, all of them seasoned cycle racers, who would have laughed off a minor accident such as this and gotten back in the saddle straight away. Heck, a seasoned racer wouldn't have gotten himself into such a mess in the first place. Jack could just imagine the looks he'd get if he told his story. There was no way he was going to face that kind of humiliation.

No, he had to make it home. As soon as he got there, he would see to his injuries, and then have a go at fixing his bike. Jack flinched at the squealing noise it made when he tried to push it a little faster. Maybe he'd ask Cec and Bert to have a look at it. Only, that would mean he'd have to explain the whole setup to them and-

The noise of a car slowing down right behind him made him freeze in his tracks. No. It couldn't be… That would be too much of a coincidence.

But sure enough, a familiar voice rang out from the cab. "Told you it was him."

"Blimey, Bert, you were right. Our very own Detective Inspector." Yes, that was definitely Cec.

The red-raggers, both of them. Had he summoned them with his thoughts? Sighing wearily, Jack turned to face them, only just remembering to remove his fake moustache before he did so.

"'Course it's him. I'd recognize that tushie anywhere." The stuttering noise of the engine dying down allowed Jack to pretend he hadn't heard Bert's muttered words.

"Gentlemen." He inclined his head in greeting. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I could say the same." Bert was grinning all over as he took in Jack's predicament. "Can we offer you a lift? We were on our way to Miss Fisher's place anyway, weren't we, Cec?"

Cec just nodded, though he didn't bother to hide his smirk.

With another heartfelt sigh, Jack nodded and climbed into the cab while Bert secured his bike. It was a relief to stretch out his legs. He didn't look forward to explaining the whole business to Phryne, though.

"So let me get this right." Phryne Fisher fixed her favourite detective inspector with her strictest look while she dabbed at his bleeding knee with an alcohol-soaked piece of gauze, using slightly more force than necessary. What has he gotten himself into this time? "You had an accident because?"

"There was a chicken. In the road." Jack avoided her gaze. "I… I was going at a considerable speed, and when I saw it I swerved, and the ground was sandy, so-"

"A chicken." Phryne had a hard time keeping her serious demeanour. "You nearly got yourself killed in order to save a chicken."

"Well, I could hardly just run the poor chook over." Jack looked legitimately upset at her suggestion.

"Of course you couldn't. But why on Earth were you out in the streets on a bicycle…" Her voice lingered disapprovingly on the last word. "… at this ungodly hour?" Gathering her silk peignoir around her bare shoulders with her free hand, she shivered slightly.

"It's nearly nine o'clock, Phryne." Jack winced when she found yet another sore spot. "And, I already told you. I'm training for the Warrny."

"The what?" Phryne felt her lips set in a thin line.

"The Melbourne to Warrnambool Classic. It's a cycling race," he elaborated.

"I knew that." She shot him another glare. It was a blatant lie, of course. Phryne had never been interested in bicycles. Cars were so much more exciting. "But why would you wish to take part in it?"

"It's complicated." When he hesitated, she motioned for him to go on, at the same time reaching for a bandage. "There've been three fatal casualties at the Coburg Cycling Club over the course of the past five months. A heart attack. A tram accident. A mechanic who fell down the stairs. All three were ruled accidental, but-"

"You think it's a bit too much to be a coincidence. I agree." Phryne nodded eagerly. "So you decided to investigate."

"The colleagues from Fawkner Station asked me to look into it for them, seeing as I'm an unfamiliar face." He flinched again when she tightened the bandage around his knee. "The racers are a close-knit bunch. They're far more likely to spill the truth to one of their own than to a policeman. And since I took part in a few minor races before the war, they felt I could act the part convincingly. Only it seems…" He took a deep breath. "I'm a little out of shape."

"Oh, I don't know." Phryne ran her hand lightly up his well-muscled thigh. "You look in fine shape to me, Jack Robinson. And you're certainly dressed for the part." Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. "Goodness, Jack, those shorts are… short. And tight. Not that I have any objections, mind you."

Jack inhaled sharply. "Right. Thank you very much. I believe I need to get changed now. And then I have to get to the station and write my report."

"Nonsense." Phryne couldn't believe her ears. "You're injured. Mr Butler can call Hugh and tell him you're not coming in today. You need to rest." She fluttered her eyelids at him. "And I'll gladly take care of you, while you recover."

"It's just a scratch." He shook his head, trying to look sober and determined. But wasn't there a smile tugging at the corner of his expressive mouth? And he really looked mouth-wateringly delicious in his cycling gear.

"But, Jack…" A particular creative manoeuvre of her hand on his thigh made him groan and go taut. "I really don't think it would be appropriate for you to go to the station like this." Delicately, she indicated the sizable bulge in his shorts.

"You're impossible!" Jack glared at her, but he could hardly deny the truth of her claim. For a moment, he seemed torn between anger and amusement, but then the latter won out. "So… What do you suggest we do about it, Miss Fisher?" His voice had dropped at least an octave, to a deep, sensuous purr that did interesting things to Phryne's insides.

"Well…" Her hand wandered further up, tracing the seams of the shorts. "We should probably get you out of these, first. You can't possibly be comfortable."

And that was nothing but the truth, wasn't it? The way he was straining against the thin fabric looked almost painful. Phryne couldn't take her eyes off him. Not that she particularly wanted to.

Jack moaned, deep in his throat. "Phryne…" His hand was cupping her cheek, gently, despite the growing tension in his body, and there was a vulnerability in his expression that made her heart ache.

He didn't spell it out, but then he didn't have to. She knew exactly what he wanted from her.

The noise of his own blood thrumming in his ears was deafening. How had this happened, how had she managed to get him to this point in such a short time again? Jack was helpless, paralysed with want, unable to take his eyes off her.

And Phryne just smiled, damn her, as serenely as if she was hosting a tea party, while she was slowly peeling his shorts off, freeing his cock inch by inch from the constraining material. He shivered when his heated flesh met cool air, but he didn't even have time to get used to the sensation before her lips closed around him and he had to close his eyes. So good, so hot, so sweet!

Her soft laugh pulled him back into the present. When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him, damn it, meeting his gaze without a trace of shame or embarrassment, even though her lovely lips were wrapped around him. And Jack was torn, torn so badly. Some part of him wanted to close his eyes again, to preserve a last shred of sanity, but at the same time he wanted to see this, wanted to commit every tiny detail to memory, so he could take it out and examine it at leisure when they were apart.

Phryne sighed, a happy sigh of sheer enjoyment, and then she hollowed her cheeks and sucked, and the world went away for a moment. "God, Phryne."

He'd only ever had a woman's mouth on him once before he'd met Phryne. It had been during the war, when the loneliness and the horrors of the war had become too much to bear, and he had finally given in to the temptation and visited a maison tolérée. The girl had offered to perform that particular service, and it had seemed less of a betrayal than actually sleeping with her.

He'd ended up enjoying it far too much, though, and his feelings of guilt and shame had haunted him for months. And while he'd found himself occasionally hankering for more of the same, it would never have occurred to him to ask Rosie for such a thing. The first time Phryne had done it, unasked, and with an expression of sincere enjoyment on her face, he'd nearly fainted.

He was a little more used to it by now, but he still felt his arousal grow far too quickly, and he knew he had to stop her. Threading his fingers through her hair, he pulled her up into his lap for a kiss, moaning when he tasted himself on her tongue.

"Awww." She pouted adorably when he let go of her lips. "I was just starting to enjoy myself. Are you sure you don't want me to continue?"

It took an effort, but he firmly shook his head. "No."

Her peach-coloured negligee was half transparent, as usual, but he wanted to see all of her, to touch her skin, so he made short work of the ribbons holding it in place. When the delicate fabric parted to reveal her breasts, he took a deep, stuttering breath. She was so gorgeous, so perfect, and he wanted her with an urgency that frightened him.

"Phryne…" She must have heard the change in his voice, because her expression softened, and the tenderness in her eyes nearly made his heart stop.

"Shhh, Jack." Gently, she ruffled his hair, then pulled his head toward her left breast.

And he didn't have to be asked twice. Hungrily, he caught her nipple between his teeth, tugging gently before he swirled his tongue around it to soothe the sting. Phryne cried out, arching into his mouth with a breathless whimper. He felt a fierce surge of pride at this. He could do this to her, he, Jack Robinson, could make her shiver and moan and beg. His hands settled on her strong thighs, arranging her so she was straddling him, and then his fingers found her heat and once again, she felt so good. She was wet for him, wet and hot, and suddenly he couldn't wait any longer.

"Please. Now." Placing both hands on her hips, he lifted her a little, and Phryne laughed in sheer joy as he lowered her down on his cock, struggling to keep it slow when all he wanted was to be surrounded by her warmth, finally, just where he belonged, just where he needed to be.

"Jack. Gods, yes." Her voice was rough and throaty, and when he was fully settled inside her, her head sank back, exposing the long line of her perfect white throat. So beautiful.

The pain in his knee was just a distant memory, and all other sensations paled to nothing when she started to move: the taste of her skin under his lips; the scent of her perfume; the rustling of her silky gown. There was just Phryne, Phryne and the slow undulating movement of her hips that drove him utterly and completely crazy.

He didn't know how long they remained like this, he'd lost all track of space and time, but at some point, he simply couldn't bear it any longer, and thrust up hard beneath her, breaking her rhythm. And then he could no longer stop himself and did it again, and again, holding on tightly to her hips, leaving her no room to wiggle away.

Phryne made no attempt to stop him, just clung to him tightly, hiding her face against his shoulders, her breath coming in quick, hard gasps. And just as he thought he couldn't go on any longer, couldn't take it anymore, she cried out, clenching hard around him, and he let go. They came together, trembling and panting, their bodies sticky with sweat, their remaining clothes rumpled beyond repair.

"Jack…" Phryne's voice sounded small and weak as she shifted in his lap. "Oh, my. That was…"

She didn't finish the sentence, and he decided to take that as a compliment. After all, few men could boast of having left Phryne Fisher speechless. Not that he himself was feeling particularly articulate now. Making a small, affirmative noise, he held her in his arms, held her until they both had calmed down a little.

"You need a bath. And so do I." Phryne's tone brooked no contradiction. "Come on. I'll help you with the bandage."

Later, when they'd settled down for a very late breakfast, she gave him a speculative look over the rim of her teacup. "So… Are you still determined to go through with the cycling race?"

"If I can get my bike repaired and my knee heals in time." He took a deep sip of his own tea. "I've no idea what's going on at the club yet, but I'm sure it's something fishy."

"Hmmm." Phryne sounded thoughtful. "I believe my friend Edith's younger brother is a member, too. Maybe I can have a chat with him."

"It can't hurt." He shrugged. "They don't allow women as club members, I'm afraid."

"Of course they don't." Phryne's eyes narrowed. "Luckily for them, this is not a hill I'm prepared to die on. But…" Her face lit up in a sudden smile. "When did you say the race was?"

"I didn't say," he replied dryly. "In October. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I could come along to cheer you on!" Her smile widened and became altogether too innocent. "Provided you won't find my presence too distracting, of course."

This was written for the Second Phryne ficathon and first posted on AO3. Hope you enjoy it. As always, hugs and thanks to my amazing beta suilven.