A/N: Inspired by the scene in Series 2 Episode 2. My question is... Why the hell haven't I seen a story about this before?

GENE: "You're looking very chirpy, Bolls. You been sitting on the washing machine again?"

He had never seen something quite so erotic in all his life; and he has been to a fair few seedy strip joints in his time.
This, well this is not something he could make up. His masterful mind has conjured up many a delightful fantasy about his Detective Inspector, usually involving the flat surface of his hard wooden desk, the interview room or on the slab of raised concrete in the cells, even the thought of pressing her willing body across the hot thrumming bonnet of the Quattro has crossed his mind on several occasions.
Alex Drake. She was like no other woman he had ever met. Their arguments whilst predictable, was a constant he on occasion welcomed with open arms. Gene had thought the fire in her eyes then was something to behold, but when she took him by surprise, well she was a whole other kind of beautiful.

He heard the heavy vibrations and guessed one of the team must have beaten him to the use of the station washing machine. It was only when he pushed the unlocked door open did he hear the unmistakable squeak of his DI turn into a soft throaty moan of lust that he realized something was amiss. He was all ready to barge in shouting the odds, more then hoping whatever scrawny yuppie that was getting his jolly rocks off with his Inspector would make his exit a sharpish one. That was until Gene heard the murmur transform into a name, "Gene..." The jealousy quickly dispersing and his heart started to rattle uncontrollably in his chest.
Clutching his bag of washing so as not to drop it, Gene nudged the door open further his gaze finally settling on Alex Drake, alone and sitting on the washing machine.

Now this certainly was something spectacular. He knew there were moments when she could be casual with the poise of her body, she often seemed to revel in the effect it had on him. This, however, was different.
The bare bulb hanging above her highlighted her in an ethereal quality. He watched her, transfixed by what she had become. If he is to walk away it should be this very second with the memory of her perched on top of the domestic appliance the first few buttons of her shirt undone displaying her satin bra in the colour of the upper class, of rage and of passion, her charcoal skirt tight and undoubtedly creased after having been bunched around her waist. Gene let the image of her poison his mind, every last detail of wanton self pleasure corrupting and staining him.
He could close his eye now and mark out every part of her. Her hand clutching desperately at the bulky machinery as it shivered beneath her, the triangle of where he imagined her matching knickers would be had they not been cast in shadows, her plump bottom lip bitten down between perfect teeth, the way her other hand teased the flesh between her lace stocking top and the place she really wanted to touch.

He could walk away with that image forever burnt on his soul or he could react to the way she was unknowingly provoking him.
Gene could drop his washing, let the bag split open and spill his laundry across the dirty floor. He could watch her gasp and struggle to cover herself up. He could let her deny she was doing anything wrong, despite the scent of her arousal, her flushed skin and gaping collar and then he could kiss her until she submitted to him or he could encourage her to fight him; breath for breath, kiss for kiss, his body tangled in hers, as he forces her to take every inch of himself, not just into her slick heat, but also into her heart. He could make her every thought be dominated with only him so she could feel all that she makes him feel.

It was just a matter of turning on his heel and striding away, only his legs seemed to have a mind of their own.

Thank You for reading! Hope you enjoyed it :)