Hi all, this is my first attempt at a fanfic. I've had a great time writing it so far, so I hope someone else enjoys it too. Let me know what you think!

Please do not read if you are offended by Galex related smut and angst x

Sadly I do not own Ashes to Ashes.

Chapter One

The bonnet was still warm as Alex slid across the smooth, red surface of the front of the Quattro.

"Don't you dent my bloody car, Bolly," barked Gene with a twinkle in his eye and a smile creeping in from the corner of his mouth. He pushed her back further until she was seated fully on the car, barely able to steady herself with her heels, fingers raked through her hair. She writhed as he pressed up against her, willing her to relent and submit. He was hard already and his excitement only drove her on to further reckless abandon. Alex had given up on steadying herself and raised her legs, wrapping them around his waist, pulling him even closer.

Gene sensed her need and his mouth came crashing down on hers. Her lips parted instantly to receive his probing tongue that grew greedier by the second. His roving hands slid up her thighs, heading rapidly towards the liquid heat that was gathering between her legs. She willed him on, whimpering and moaning against his forceful kiss. She had lost all sense of the world around her, even the fading heat of the engine seemed unreal. Nothing, nothing but this the here and now.

Suddenly, without warning Gene pulled back. Her eyes opened in a mix of shock and disappointment. Before she could speak his hands were tugging at her jeans.

"Watch you don't burn your arse Bols," he laughed as he dragged her jeans and underwear down in one go. Next, he tugged at her top, her arms lifting to help him remove it completely, her body compliant, powerless to act or to stop. She felt exposed and suddenly self-conscious, her jeans rolled down to her knees, her top discarded somewhere, only a black lace bra protected the remaining scraps of her modesty. He didn't bother to unclasp it, but slid the straps down and pushed her breasts free from their lacy prison. His fingers against her skin made her shudder; sent bolts of electricity down her spine. The cool breeze across her nipples made them harden for his touch and made her even wetter than she had been already. He stood back to admire her for a moment.

Alex could stand no more of this torment. "Please," her voice no more than a whisper. He reached out and cupped her breast and once more their lips met, this time she was the greedy one, biting at his lower lip, sliding her tongue over his, imagining what might follow. He pressed against her again; she thought she might explode soon. His free hand traced a line down her side, across her stomach, so close. Her soft moans grew desperate, pleading for more until his hand had burnt a trail all the way down her body.

She gasped for air as his urgent, perfect fingers stroked and teased in just the right spot. So good, almost too good. He dipped a finger inside her, then another and she cried out as they thrust and twisted inside her. His other hand was still caressing her breasts, sometimes pinching at her swollen nipples just hard enough to send jolts of pleasure through her, before returning to gentler teasing.

Alex knew she wouldn't last long; her cries grew louder, "God, Gene yes, don't stop, please, please, Gene." She cried his name as she came, harder than she had ever done in her life, harder than she thought possible.

Alex opened one eye. She was in her own bed, very much alone, thankfully, she thought. She felt unusually aroused and then the memories came flooding back, she'd dreamt about him, again. Of all the men in the world, wonderful, clever, attractive men, why did he disturb her sleep? Gene Hunt, her misogynistic, bigoted, dinosaur of a DCI. Alex shook her head as she pulled herself out of bed, "I think I preferred the clown," she said aloud.

It was Sunday morning, a whole day to herself. No CID, no criminals and no Gene Hunt. The sun was bright, streaming in through the gaps in the curtains and a walk to clear her mind of those thoughts seemed to be just what the psychologist ordered. She showered and dressed. Pulling on her white jacket she stepped out into the street. Despite the sunshine, the morning air was crisp and had a distinctly autumnal feel. The trees were laced with glorious reds, oranges and golds and the early fallers had already began to pile up and turn to a mash of deceased greenery. She took a deep breath, and turned towards the park.

As she rounded the corner and stepped towards the Victorian, wrought iron gates a familiar sight greeted her, abandoned at the kerb-side the cursed Quattro. Cheeks flushed with shame she wondered what on Earth he could be doing here. A crime scene, perhaps? No, someone would have called her. A brisk walk, like her? Surely not, she imagined Gene spent his Sunday mornings sleeping off the gallons of whiskey he had consumed the night before. A flatulent, snoring Gene, now that was more like it. Jogging? Certainly not, though the idea of that hot, sweaty body excited her more than she dared to admit, even to herself. Putting that psychologist's hat on again, Alex consoled herself with the thought that dreams didn't have to have literal meanings...did they?

The park was pleasant. Full of couples walking dogs, kids kicking footballs and shouting, kicking leaves. Her mind drifted to Molly, but she pushed the thought away, it was too much. An over eager Labrador bounded up towards her, wagging its tale.

"Hello there," she said enthusiastically to her new friend. A young couple approached, hand in hand. The young man whistled and beckoned his pet. Alex suddenly felt very much alone in her world. There's always Gene. It was in part a comfort, but it made her wonder what it was she really wanted from him. The dreams were becoming an increasingly frequent occurrence.

She made her way along a tree-lined path, determined to enjoy the morning and that's when she spotted him, but who was he with? As he turned a petite blonde girl came into view, arm in arm with Gene. She was young, very young not much more than twenty. Alex ducked down behind a shrub; she didn't want to be seen.

She watched as they made their way along the path. She'd never seen him like this. His smile was broad and warm, genuine. They were too far away to be heard, but the girl laughed, giggling she pulled herself closer to him. She was tiny beside his large dark-coated frame, fashionably dressed like a young Madonna in pretty, white lace gloves and a multitude of vibrant beads and bangles, with shiny, gold fabric tied in a bow around her head. A rush of sickness rose up from the pit of her stomach. Alex chastised herself, what did she care if he had someone? So what if she was young and strikingly beautiful, it was nothing to her, was it?

She knew she should go, but she was transfixed. His face lit up as he gazed down at the girl and her huge doe-eyes looked back up at him in awe and wonder. He seemed to like blondes. Alex couldn't help but think of Jenette, it made her shudder, desperate to rid herself of any thoughts of that woman. The bile rose further up her body, this was ridiculous, none of her business, but she couldn't help it.

They were getting too close now, almost in earshot and much as she wanted to listen to the conversation, she knew she had to get away. The embarrassment of being caught skulking in the bushes spying on Hunt was too much to risk. They were probably heading back towards the car and then... "Stop it Alex," she whispered just under her breath. She slipped along the pathway and out through a side gate, thankfully unseen.

The walk home was slow; she was determined not to think about what she had seen, that girl, the look on his face of absolute joy that stung the most, it looked like her really cared, even loved her. Alex refused to torture herself any more. She let herself into the flat and put on the kettle, "I don't care what that bloody man does, or who with, I don't," she told herself.

She did, and she knew it.