I don't own Ashes to Ashes

Well... Since it's Christmas, it seemed only fair to allow Gene and Alex to enjoy some seasonal festivities if you catch my unsavoury drift...

Written as a sequel to Trick or Treat, but works on its own, since all that included was Alex as a bunny and lots of sex... Not much difference now, really...

Unbeta-ed, so apologies for any mistakes, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!


It had been exactly fifty-four nights and fifty-three days since Gene had initially fallen prey to Alex's Halloween seduction, and sleeping in on Christmas Eve morning, with her body tucked easily into the crook of his arm, naked but for a thin scrap of material that had once resembled a thong, but was now snapped on one side, he was amazed to realize that he hadn't spent a night without her ever since.

Even the nights when they couldn't have sex – when one of them was working late, or on stake out, or when Alex was on her period – he'd begun to let himself into her flat, curling around her sleeping body in the double bed he had long since claimed as 'theirs'.

He'd booked the next two weeks off as holiday for the both of them, calling in a widowed DI and a bitter DCI resembling Scrooge from another unit, with the promise of double-bubble for the whole period. He had, actually, been somewhat surprised when Alex embraced the idea of such an extended period of his company with open arms- somehow, before he'd worked up the courage to tell her –fearing, not only her rejection, but her reaction to him making the decision alone- he'd convinced himself that Christmas and New Year with her boss was more than she would know how to handle...

And now she'd accepted the idea so happily, he was wondering just how to make it worth her while; sex was inevitable, and there was no denying it would be good, but it wasn't something he really wanted to plan out step-by-step – he'd much rather just shag her out of spontaneity than know what he was doing stroke for stroke... He had the smug inkling that she'd prefer it that way, too...

But, although the sex was perfectly acceptable in whatever form it wanted to take, he hadn't missed her odd seasonal hints, nor the glint in her eye when she teased him about his bright red nose a few days previously, nor the way she smiled brilliantly up at him when they passed the fake Santa in the shopping centre a week previously, before dragging him back to the flat for an afternoon of ridiculously exhausting sex...

It was an odd fantasy, he considered, when you thought about it; as a mother, it seemed highly unlikely that she'd find anything attractive or sexual about a man who sat kids on his laps all day and asked what they wanted for Christmas. In all respects, he was promising to give the child anything they asked for, and promptly forcing the parents to dish out ridiculous amounts of money so that they didn't ruin the childhood fantasy of a fictitious character... What was there to be sexy in a man who was fat, wore red, and forced people to spend money?

Although, he mused, the idea of her perched on his lap and whispering all the filthy things she wanted that year into his waiting ears was ridiculously erotic... He could understand the attraction of that... And the promise of fulfilling it all later that night was doing wonderful things to his body, stirring his groin familiarly as he glanced down at Alex's sleeping form...

He could wake her up, he considered. She wasn't likely to complain, particularly not if last night's continued pleas for more were anything to go by... But, oddly, the idea of waiting it out and finding himself a Santa costume was becoming more and more attractive as the seconds went on.

He could find her some slutty underwear, too, he thought, smirking. He felt himself twitch slightly, the duvet tenting around his length, looking almost comical as he lay there on his back, unable to move as Alex pinned his body down with her leg thrown over his, her arm over his chest and her head on his shoulder...

She stirred as he shifted himself slightly away, and a moment later he had lost all resolve to wait; her fingers danced down over his chest and wrapped around the length of him, her lips breaking into a smile as she peppered kisses across his shoulder, and he sighed...

It was Christmas, he told himself; he'd shag her now, and then he'd do it again later.


Despite his initial conviction, it was, apparently, stupidly difficult to attain a Santa outfit on Christmas Eve – Gene thought he heard fifteen various excuses, all stemming from the basic myth that Santa was busiest on that day, and therefore there was no chance of getting one unless you booked in advance.

So, in the end, Gene blackmailed the manager of the Costume Hiring store with the knowledge that he'd caught him copping a feel of one of the local barmaids, and if he didn't find him a suit sharpish, the Missus would be getting an anonymous tip-off that would send the marriage spiralling off the rails...

Within fifteen minutes, he'd been handed a coat hanger which was draped with a black zip-up cover, and didn't have to pay a penny. He put it in the boot of the Quattro with a smirk, and then drove off to the shopping centre at speed.


Usually, he'd have found some cause for complaint; on their shopping trip last weekend, Gene had made numerous complaints as Alex sampled perfumes, tried on shoes and hats and scarves, and spent fifteen minutes debating which packet of biscuits to buy from Marks and Sparks, with the excuse that one was low fat, whilst one was her favourite and dripping with calories.

He'd made the decision for her in the end, chucking her favourite packet into the trolley and jerking her firmly away with the assurance that he'd help her burn them off.

The only reason he'd agreed to put up with the whole fiasco at all was her silent promise that she'd buy an ensemble of ridiculous black-lace for him to rip off that evening, and even shopping for that had been torturous, since Alex seemed to have difficulty deciding which size would make her look better- the one that was comfortable, or the one that made her tits look absolutely delectable... He'd picked the latter, and proceeded to demonstrate that it didn't matter if it was comfortable or not, since it would only be on her body for five minutes before he fucked her out of it, anyway.

Now, however, he didn't have any such problem; he'd seen a varying assortment of raunchy numbers in the lingerie shop last weekend, and he made a bee-line to his favourite set without any hesitation, rolling his eyes whenever he caught a woman becoming distracted by a particularly frilly pair of knickers, and smirking knowingly at their male counterparts, who all looked willing to wring their own necks with the thongs and briefs their girlfriends were puzzling over. He flicked through the coat hangers, drawing out the size he knew to make Alex's tits look incredible, and then tossing a few of the various accessories sitting on the nearby shelves into his basket, before placing them onto the counter, in front of a young, blushing blonde.

"Jus' these love," he said, drawing thirty pounds from his wallet and placing it on the counter in front of her. She smiled at him, glancing nervously at his purchases, then at his face, as though surprised. He winked, and she promptly turned beet red, fumbling with the plastic carrier bag, stammering over the price and dropping two hangers on the floor.

"Reckon she'll like it?" He asked, smirking as she stared at him open-mouthed, before managing to nod her assurance. Gene chuckled, slid the money further across the counter, and waited a few moments for her to place the items in the bag, before taking it from her fingers.

"Keep the change, love," he said, winking again; she blushed.


Alex blinked when she awoke again, the mid-afternoon sun streaming through the window, and a small murmuring of noise coming from the television in the next room.

Smiling, she picked up the discarded red silk dressing gown from the floor, wrapping it around herself and tiptoeing through to the living room, finding Gene sprawled out on the sofa with one leg thrown over the arm, the other draped across the floor, his head was pillowed on his arm at the other end, both eyes fixed on the television. His hair was slightly ruffled, the top three buttons of his shirt undone, his socks mismatched and his trousers rumpled with creases... He looked gorgeous.

Sidling over to him, she laid her body alongside his own, grinning up at him when he slipped his free arm around her waist.

"You're looking very relaxed," she told him, toying with the open neck of his shirt. Gene shrugged, kissing the top of her head and running his hand lightly beneath her blouse.

"It's Christmas, Bols," he murmured, eyes still on the telly. "Lots to look forward to... food, fags, booze and shags," he turned his suddenly heated gaze on her with a lecherous grin. "Nothing to be tense about from where I'm sittin'..."

She rolled her eyes, pressing a kiss to his neck. "It would seem I'll be shagging Shakespeare himself..."

Gene blinked. "'ey?"

Laughing, Alex murmured, "Sonnets, poems, soliloquies... rhyming, Gene."

He made a strange noise of assent, tugging her slightly tighter against his chest and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Poncy bollucks, Bolly- nothin' poncy about shaggin'."

Alex was silent for a few moments, and then whispered, in a sultry voice that stirred his groin, "do you want to test that theory?"

Eyes smouldering, Gene nodded, hand on her cheek. "Yeah," he muttered, "later..." He pressed his mouth to hers, sucking her lower lip between both of his and tangling his fingers into her hair.

"How about now?" She murmured, kissing him back. He chuckled, swiping his tongue against hers before shaking his head.

"No... gotta go get something..." He kissed her again, rolling himself slightly on top of her, and then drawing his mouth away from hers. "Get dressed, Bols," he murmured. "There's somethin' nice in yer dresser." With a nibble to her lip, he got up, chuckling as she looked up at him with a disgruntled pout.

"Gene," she wheedled, sitting up and tugging at his belt, her eyes sparkling, and lips still firmly pushed out in a ridiculously sexy shape that made him want to lie right back down on the sofa with her. "I'd rather wear nothing..." Her voice lilted suggestively, but he shook his head, tugging her up by the hands and drawing her against his chest.

"You will," he murmured. "Later... just go get dressed first, 'ey?"

She pouted again, but he smirked, shaking his head and pushing her back onto the sofa. "If I ain't back in half an hour, start without me." He bent down, caught her lips briefly, and then pulled away, leaving her breathless and flushed on the sofa as he shut the door behind himself, refusing to glance back in case he lost his resolve.


Glancing at the ridiculous outfit on the hook, he tapped his toe impatiently, smoking the cigarette in his mouth with ridiculous speed, trying to tell himself it would all be worth it when he was buried inside her... But somehow, it was very difficult to see any sexual scenarios when he was faced with the seemingly stupid costume that now hung on the door of the gents toilets.

The red trousers and jacket he could handle; it wasn't like they weren't comfortable, given that they were lined with something similar to silk, and reasonably roomy to boot. He could almost see her devilish little grin when he considered just wearing them, but the hat and the beard were too much. He hated hats at the best of time, and a fluff-trimmed red one with a bobble on it seemed to him like the devil incarnate.

But he could handle that better than the beard; he hated beards, and artificial ones were tantamount to rubbing barbed wire against your face. They itched, they slipped down, they looked ridiculous and, most importantly in this situation, they stopped you getting down to the good stuff because you had to fight with fifty odd layers of fibres to get so much as a peck on the lips.

So, he told himself, the beard was too much.

But, dressed in the suit and the hat, it looked oddly incomplete without the comic accessory that was so popular... And it seemed silly, he thought, to have Alex dressed in such a ridiculously skimpy get-up if he wasn't going to exploit the role-play scenario as best he could... And he could always snap it off once he got there, if it looked like there was going to be little waiting around for the main event... He shuddered, shaking his head as he realized he was genuinely considering wearing the damn thing for a bloody bird...

With a mental shake, he reached into the blazer he'd just taken off, drawing out his hip-flask and draining it in one, letting the alcohol hit his bloodstream before, with nervous fingers, he reached for the white beard and slid it over his head.

"Think of the shag, Genie boy," he muttered to himself, gathering up the bundle of clothes as he unlocked the door. "Just think of the shag."


Alex sat on the sofa for several minutes, half expecting him to come back in and have her on the sofa, as he so often did when he attempted to demonstrate self-restraint. But, after having lain there provocatively for several minutes without him returning, the silk dressing down undone and breasts spilling out, she realized, to her intense disappointment, that, for once, he hadn't been joking.

With a sigh, she stood up, drawing the gown around her and sidling into the bedroom, pulling open the top drawer and blinking in surprise as she caught sight of the abundance of red silk that was carefully placed in the centre of the amassed collection of underwear. She glanced towards the door in surprise, almost expecting him to walk in and smirk as he ordered her to put them on; but he didn't, of course. Biting her lip, she drew the first item from the drawer, blinking as a small note flitted to the floor, picking it up before she really had time to glance at the ensemble with any real scrutiny.

His familiar handwriting adorned the small square of paper, slightly scrawled, but undeniably sexy; she could practically hear his grating, throaty voice as she read the words, and her stomach knotted slightly, her knees trembling.

Naughty Little Helper,

Santa's hoping to park his sleigh in your grotto... fancy it?


She laughed breathlessly, shaking her head and lifting up the item she'd just taken from the drawer; it looked like a skirt- and a very small skirt at that. Two v-shaped scraps of fabric hung from a red string, both of them made of bright red silk and trimmed with white fluff along the hem... And looking at it, she knew there was no room for modesty whatsoever; she could see that, when she put it on –and there was certainly no question that she would, given the undeniable wave of lust that was threatening to crest in her belly- it would barely cover her at all... She also knew from experience that Gene would consider that to be no bad thing... and the fact there was no knicker-barrier to stop him shagging her senseless was probably pretty high up in his approval ratings, too.

She placed the item down on top of the dresser, drawing out the next item with a roll of the eyes; the red bra was tiny, the cups cut just enough to push her breasts upwards, without hiding too much of them from the eye. There were no shoulder straps, but a pair of strings trailing from either side that she assumed was intended to tie around her neck, whilst the back of the bra consisted of white trim and a slight shot of red thread, though the cups were as silky and red as the skirt it followed.

Next, was a small, red hat, complete with bobble and trim; she was half disappointed when she realized there were no hidden surprises, but she stopped herself when she caught sight of the sheer, red stockings, red gloves, and the pair of kitten heels she'd worn to last year's Christmas party... Although, she thought shrewdly, last year's outfit was slightly more conservative.

She took a deep breath, before picking all of the items up and heading into the bathroom.

"Think of the sex, Alex," she told herself softly as she opened the door. "It'll all be worth it when it gets to the sex."


He dropped the bundle of clothes on the floor of the living room as he slid quietly in, itching briefly at the fake beard that now adorned his face whilst he walked slowly into the room, the large black costume boots surprisingly soft on the floor. He couldn't hear anything, and he waited in the living room for a few moments before peeking his head around the door of the bedroom; she wasn't in there, but he could hear her singing a shocking rendition of Slade's 'Merry Christmas Everybody', so he knew she hadn't gone anywhere.

Smirking, he walked back into the main living area, settling himself comfortably on the sofa, only pausing to scratch at his chin once before chuckling to himself at the odd sense of déjà-vu; on Halloween, he'd been lying on his back with her mouth wrapped around him, wondering how much she'd had to drink to convince herself it would be a good idea to invite him upstairs for a shag... Now it was Christmas Eve, and he was wondering at what point down the line he'd decided that dressing up as a fat man in a red suit would be a worthwhile experience for either of them...

And then she walked in, and he remembered it had been when he'd seen that ridiculous outfit in the underwear store last weekend, and set the old engine whirring as to how best to go about getting her into it, and, conversely, out of it...

He didn't regret it; she looked incredible.

She'd tied her hair back in a loose knot, a few ringlets falling free to frame her face, with the small hat resting on top of her head, slightly crooked, with the bobble falling to one side. Her arms were encased up to the elbow in thin red silk, her fingers looking ridiculously long and delicate as they flexed in nervous anticipation.

The bra he'd picked out pushed up her breasts, making them round and accentuated to such a degree that he thought for a moment he might combust with immediate release on sight. The thin white strings were tied around her neck, naturally drawing his eyes to the necklace around her throat, a long pendant which, naturally, forced his eyes once more to the valley between her breasts that he had just attempted to put to the back of his brain to save himself the embarrassment... After a few moments, wherein he counted backwards from ten, he managed to get himself back under control and tear his gaze away to look at the rest of her.

The knicker-skirt-thing he'd found just about covered her at the front, though he could feel the anticipation in his stomach double at the realisation that the perfect curve of her arse would be just round enough to lack complete coverage, a thought that made him want to get up and twist her around just to get a sneaky peek...

The stockings encased her legs, which seemed to stretch on forever as a result of the red heels he had –quite impressively, if he did say so himself- remembered from the previous year and sought out from the confines of her wardrobe. The sight of her forced any blood that might previously have inhabited his brain right down to his groin, and he had to grip his fingers into his thighs for several seconds to stop himself getting up and shagging her senseless right there, and finding himself incapable of speech, even when he'd convinced himself the wait would be worth it.


Alex was smiling, tugging her lip between her teeth for a few moments as she took him in; it wasn't a sexy outfit, by any means, but the idea of Gene Hunt dressing up privately as Santa Claus had been an oddly erotic fantasy that she hadn't been able to shake, and now here he was... It wasn't like he was showing flesh or demonstrating any sense of eroticism with the outfit itself – she could just make out a flash of skin at his forehead and on his hands, but that was it – but somehow it was both incredibly sexy, and horrifically wrong all at once... Her stomach clenched, wetness pooling between her thighs, and she gulped.

Santa wasn't sexy; Santa was an imaginary character used to make children enjoy Christmas; children like Molly... But she'd never encouraged Molly to believe in Santa Claus, and so, for some reason, it was perfectly acceptable to imagine Santa Claus as a sexual fantasy... and the idea of Gene giving her anything she wanted wasn't exactly discouraging, either...

"Do I get to sit on Santa's lap?" She asked eventually, smirking.

Gene nodded, his mouth dry. "Yeah..." he managed, nodding some more. "God, yeah..."

She smiled, sidling across and slipping into his lap, her arm around his shoulders, deliberately shifting slightly as she sat down, brushing against the now straining erection in his trousers as she moved. Gene's hand slid up her thigh his blue eyes locked on her hazel ones as he growled, "what'd you want for Christmas, little girl?"


I feel... guilty. I think guilty is the word.

Was gunna be a one-shot but, y'know... have to be a two-shot now, 'cause the smut's too much for this chapter haha.

Hope you liked it.

Merry Christmas!!

Mage of the Heart