Title: Under the Cover

Rating: You've seen Jack and Phryne's eye sex, right?

Summary: Phryne's in his lap. Jack's face is… well. And there's only so much denial a person can handle.

Disclaimer: *looks at empty bank account*

Dedication: Part One of CJ's birthday present. Enjoy, darling!

Jack Robinson thought he might actually die. He doubted that Miss Fisher's dear friend Mac would agree with him but he was absolutely certain in that moment that it was possible to die from too much goddamn temptation. First there had been the fan dance (although he really should have expected something of that sort) and now… this.

Phryne Fisher.

In his lap.

Straddling his lap.

Her—well, his face was—no matter.

"Is occupied!" Miss Fisher called. Jack had to admit that he didn't much care for her Spanish accent—he preferred her sultry, natural voice—but she was surprisingly good at undercover work. Or maybe she just naturally fit in at an establishment like this one.

Their would-be interrupters left, snaking the curtain closed behind them. And yet Miss Fisher made no move to get off his lap. In fact, she seemed to sink down further, the heat of her pulsing from between her thighs and passing into him, making his skin itch in a delightful and terrifying way. It had been a long time since he'd felt that kind of heat, that need, slinking up his spin and shuddering through each layer of skin. It had been coming back with a vengeance since he'd started spending time with Miss Fisher.

It was then that he realized he was still spending time with a very… generous part of Miss Fisher. His face was pressed into the soft swell of her breasts, the skin pale and smooth and tempting him, practically begging him to run his mouth over it. If he turned his head, he could nip at the line where the fabric of her dress met her skin, tug it down, slip his lips around a nipple…

He had to stifle a groan, swallowing thickly. He felt and heard the tiny sigh that Miss Fisher gave, and then fingers were pressing just underneath his chin, forcing his head to rise up, his eyes to lock onto hers.

"Jack…" It was her real voice, soft and drawing him in like he was a worm on a hook.

His hands flexed at her sides, releasing and then digging into her waist again. It was an instinctual move. That was all. Just like her answering hitch of breath, that slight stutter of her hips like she was stopping herself from rolling them forward into his—instinctual, all of it. It didn't mean anything.

"Jack," she said again, her voice surprisingly breathless. Her legs spread just a bit wider, making her sink farther down into him, against him.

He felt like a mouse captivated by a snake. He was utterly enthralled.

Her hand slid from his chin to the back of his head, her fingers slipping through to grab a handful of his hair. She didn't tug, but her grip was firm, and he knew that she could guide him any way she wanted.

Her other hand came up and took off her hat. She set it aside and ran her fingers through her hair, mussing it up and making it look more like Phryne instead of her undercover persona.

He couldn't move. He could only watch and wait.

When she next spoke her voice was still breathless, but it had a ring of command to it. "Touch me."

He could have denied her. He could have cracked a joke, or made a polite retreat. But she was there, right there, and he couldn't handle it anymore. He was a rope pulled tight, wound to the point where the slightest touch of a knife would snap him in half.

Phryne Fisher was surely as sharp as any blade.

He canted his hips forward, his mouth sliding over her breasts the way he'd pictured—fantasized—both a few moments ago and in the wisps of dreams on the edge of waking and sleeping. She arched against him, giving him more of her, and her hips rolled against his with purpose. She was hot, burning hot, and her skin was softer than butter. At first he was slightly frantic, kissing every spot of skin that he could lay his mouth on, but then he forced himself to slow down. Like a starving man confronted with a feast, if he gorged himself too quickly he'd regret it later.

"Take off your clothes." Phryne was working at his tie, her hips shifting maddeningly with her movements. "I want to see what Detective Inspector Robinson looks like underneath all of this."

"Just Jack will do," he replied, managing to sound dry from humor and not because all moisture had left his mouth at the feel of her moving against him in earnest.

There was the sound of raucous laughter and he remembered where they were. "We might not have time for that," he said. Regret shot through him, burning his stomach. He wanted to unwrap her piece by piece and lay himself bare before her in return. He wanted to explore her body, make her scream again and again. He wanted to see what she looked like above him, underneath him, every which way.

It looked like that would have to wait.

"Later, then," she replied.

He swallowed. "Later." And by God, he'd make sure there was a 'later'.

"But for now…" She placed a hand in the center of his chest and pushed him backward. His back collided with the wall and he had to swallow a noise of surprise. Her fingers were making short work of his belt buckle and it was all he could do to wrap his hands around her body and gather her close.

"You're going to be the death of me," he admitted.

"I certainly hope not." Phryne gave a small triumphant smile as she finished undoing his pants. "I have far too many plans for you."

She slipped her hand into his pants and he kissed her savagely, biting just a little as she wrapped her hand around the length of him. Jesus fuck, if the woman wasn't going to drive him mad. He grabbed at her hungrily, his hands sliding across her body, feeling her curves and delighting in the shiver that ran through her. She made a small, almost mewling noise into his mouth and stroked him, her movements quick and sure. The green-tinged part of him tried to surge forward at the thought of how many times she must have done this to get so good at it, but he forced it back. Whatever lovers Phryne once had, she'd had every right to them. He had her now, and hopefully for a long time to come.

He made the kiss more gentle, more assured, stroking his tongue along the roof of her mouth and learning the shape of her, what made her moan softly against his lips. He got an arm around her waist to anchor her and keep her close but moved the other one upward to take one of her soft breasts into his hand. He swiped a thumb across the nipple, feeling her body shudder slightly in response. He did it again and she broke off the kiss, throwing her head back, exposing that gorgeous long neck to his gaze. He latched onto the pulse fluttering in her neck and sucked at it. He'd be leaving a bruise, he knew, but he didn't care. She tasted too good, bittersweet and sweat-salty, and besides wasn't that what all her damn scarves were for?

Phryne shifted, spreading her legs wider and pulling away slightly, her knees coming to brace on either side of him. He pulled back dazedly as her hand around him tightened and then he realized what she was doing and he only had time to snatch his hand away from her breast and bring it to his own mouth to bite down on as she sank onto him with a satisfied purr—

His eyes had to be staring out of his sockets. Phryne was taking him, taking all of him, her head bent forward so that their foreheads were nearly touching and her breasts brushed against his still-clothed chest—God, they were both mostly clothed—and he could hardly handle it. His muscles shuddered with the effort of resisting the urge to roll her over onto her back so he could take.

There was a moment of stillness. Their foreheads touched, her hair falling just a little forward, the tips brushing against his lower cheeks. Their breaths mingled between them, hot and heaving. Everything was changing in this moment. There was no going back from this.

Jack found that he didn't want to go back.

And then the stillness was gone—snapped like a frail twig—and Phryne was moving. She was above him, around him, her hips rolling and twisting, and he could only buck his up in return, throw his head back and let her use him as she pleased. It had been a long time since he'd had sex, and most of that time had been filled with thoughts of her. He wasn't going to last long.

He slid a little farther down, keeping one hand at her hip and slipping the other down between her thighs. It was difficult, at this angle, but having adjusted his position gave him a little more room and he was able to slide his fingers through her slick folds. They were coated almost immediately, from his pre come and her slick, which was both a blessing and a curse because his fingers kept slipping. But he quickly found her clit and then—well, it really was just like riding a bike. And he'd done a lot of bike riding.

Phryne bit her lip, a muffled cry of pleasure vibrating, trapped in her throat. He knew this wasn't the time, wasn't the place, but oh God he wanted to hear her scream. He circled her clit again, pressing down a little, and her nails clawed at him as she flung her head back. The little sounds she was making were driving him insane.

It really had been a long time. Already he could feel his climax building up inside him, white-hot and bright like the sparkle of a diamond, blinding him and making him helpless. He gripped Phryne's hips in his hands and thrust upward, meeting her movements with his own, determined to give her pleasure ten as his own movements became erratic and he lost control of his body, moving frantically as it the sensations pressed against his skin like he would burst—

Thank God Phryne was always in control of the situation, even if that situation was having clothed sex in a public place. She bent forward and kissed him right as he started to shout, her lips covering his and her tongue stealing away the noise, swooping it into her own mouth where it was swallowed greedily. They were both trembling in that constant, almost unnoticeable way, exhaustion and pleasure making it impossible to be still.

"Oh, yes," Phryne said. She brushed her lips over his, her mouth curling up into one of her cat-got-the-canary smiles. "I can't wait to see what you can do when I get you to a proper bed."

The corners of his mouth turned upward despite himself, her uncanny ability to make him smile still intact after that fast and furious round.

He couldn't wait, either.