This came to me randomly and feeling in the Christmassy mood, I just had to write it up. It's only a short drabble-style piece, but I hope you enjoy it all the same and please leave your thoughts in a review at the end!
Disclaimer – I don't own Ashes to Ashes, or Christmas...though I'm not sure anyone owns that. =D
Alex Drake wasn't having the best of days. The heating had broken in her flat, she'd dropped her favourite mug that morning, their prime suspect in an armed robbery case had escaped right under their noses not three hours previously and to top it all off, there were three drunk senior detectives from Fenchurch West eyeing her up from a table in the corner. She honestly had no idea why she had even bothered to drag herself to the annual Fenchurch Christmas party, apart from maybe the fact that she'd have probably frozen to death if she had stayed in her flat. All that ever happened was that everyone got drunk, started singing what were to her, ancient Christmas songs (and badly out of tune at that), and by the end of the night, everyone was making a complete fool out of themselves on the dance-floor. It was the same every year, and even Shaz, who she could usually rely on to be another sensible soul amidst the chaos, was at that very moment trying to down a large glass of mulled wine faster than her fiancé, who was getting more of it down his shirt than in his mouth.
And so it was that Alex found herself leant back against a radiator, a fourth glass of red wine in her hand (or perhaps it was her fifth...), watching as everyone from the two stations joined in the festivities including, to her intense surprise, Gene. As had been happening so often lately, Alex had found her eyes drawn back towards her DCI and it wasn't until fifteen minutes had passed that she realised she was staring. Well, it was hard not to. Wearing a smart black suit, with the bow tie undone, the ferocious lion of Fenchurch East looked particularly attractive, and Alex was starting to wonder whether or not it was wrong of her to be thinking such things. This was Gene Hunt: the Manc Lion, the Gene Genie... Surely she wasn't admitting to finding him attractive, was she? She snorted inwardly, shaking her head as if to rid herself of such a ridiculous thought before taking another large gulp of wine.
She was not in love with Gene Hunt, not in any way, shape or form. The only reason she stared was because that had to be his eighth whisky and she didn't want him passing out on the floor, embarrassing the whole station in the process. And as for the almost gravitational pull she had been feeling towards him for the past few weeks, there was a simple explanation for that; he was her constant, her rock, a good friend. Definitely nothing more. And well, as for the irrational desire to kiss him during one of their high-fuelled arguments that had been rising up within her all too often of late, she blamed that on tiredness and maybe, dare she admit it, loneliness. It wasn't so much that she was in love with him...it was more that she just wanted someone to be in love with. Yes, she blamed all of it on consideration, respect and tiredness. In love, her arse.
Therefore, when the DCI in question began to cross the room and make his way towards her, an almost mischievous glint in his stormy eyes, she blamed the butterflies in her stomach purely on the cocktail sausages she had eaten when she arrived. And when he finally stopped in front of her, with a rare smile on his face, her heart only skipped a beat because of the surprise upon seeing him giving her a truly wide, and genuine smile that made him look so much younger than his years. And as for when he leant further forward, his warm breath brushing her face before pressing his lips to hers, she only let him do so because of the mistletoe that she seemed to have accidentally stood under. After all, she couldn't argue with tradition. Then, when a warm feeling of passion spread through her veins and a delighted thrill ran down her spine as his lips moved gently against her own, she blamed it entirely on the alcohol she had consumed.
But as for allowing herself to kiss him back, her fingers threading through his hair and lips parting to allow him access, their warm breaths mingling, a fiery exchange of desire taking place...Well at that point, she ran out of things to blame...
Except for maybe, the fact that she loved him.
Thank you very much for reading, please review and may you have a Christmas full of happiness, goodwill and Galexy goodness!